Lingering Heat
In a quiet spa, Tootie reclines as Paulie tends her feet with unusual intensity, his touch and words sparking a charged intimacy that blurs their professional boundary.
Desire and restraint collide beneath dim lights.
The spa room was a haven of warmth, the air thick with the scent of eucalyptus and heated oils, the golden glow of dim lighting casting soft shadows across the marble floors.
Tootie lay stretched out on the padded table, her pale skin luminous against the dark fabric, her body relaxed but her senses alert.
She wore a thin, silk blouse that clung to the curves of her breasts, the fabric nearly translucent under the low light, and a short skirt that rode high on her thighs, barely concealing the lace of her panties.
But it wasn’t her outfit that drew the eye… it was her feet.
High-arched, delicate, her toes painted a glossy, blood-red, the polish still wet enough to catch the light like liquid rubies.
She flexed them slightly, watching as the therapist—Paulie—entered the room, his broad frame filling the doorway before he closed it behind him with a quiet click.
Paulie moved with deliberate slowness, his hands steady as he set down his tools… a bowl of warm water, a soft towel, a bottle of oil.
Each motion precise, professional. But his eyes betrayed him. They flicked to her feet, lingered there, then dragged upward along the length of her legs before snapping back to her face.
His jaw tightened, just for a second, before he exhaled through his nose, the sound rough. Tootie smirked internally.
Good. He’s already struggling. she thought…
