TESSA.

“Hands on the edge. Ass up. We go deeper today.”

Rhys locked the suite door but left the glass panels clear the way he always did during scheduled hours. Afternoon light cut across the recovery table. I stripped without being told, training shorts and top dropped to the chair, completely bare under the open view of the corridor. The daily sessions had stopped pretending. Each one pushed further past the clinical language until the only thing left was the heat and the risk.

He started behind me, palms spreading my cheeks, thumbs pressing into the still-warm muscle of my inner thighs. The touch stayed slow, deliberate, mapping every place...