CHAPTER 49: CHAPTER 49

I’d always been a loner in my high school years. Quiet, the kind of kid who sat in the back and blended in. Sometimes I went so long without talking to anyone that I’d start speaking to myself, just to remember what my own voice sounded like.

Ivy changed that. She was my only friend back then, stubbornly loyal in a way I never deserved. She pulled me out of the silence, kept me sane. But sometimes, I curse her for it. Because it was Ivy who introduced me to Lily. My ex.

I’d always had feelings for Lily, carried them like a weight through high school and even into university. It took me years to finally confess. When I did, she said yes. For a while, it was good. Simple. But then came the requests—the dresses, the shoes, the vacations I couldn’t afford. I never had the kind of money she wanted me to spend.

"Sorry," I muttered as I squeezed through the crowded bus aisle. "Can I just—yeah, sorry." I slid into a narrow seat near the back, the kind where your knees brush the one in front if you breathe too deep. The bus smelled like old fabric and diesel, the kind of scent that clings to you long after you get off.

I exhaled, staring out the window at the blur of the city. My chest tightened with the thought of what was waiting ahead. Velouria Retreat.

"Massaging Kayla," I whispered under my breath. The words tasted strange out loud, like a secret slipping free. "Can’t say I haven’t imagined that... countless times."

The image bloomed in my mind before I could stop it—Kayla stretched out on the massage table, her skin gleaming with oil, that ass of hers impossibly round and heavy beneath my hands. Just thinking about it sent a jolt through me, my pants suddenly too tight. I imagined pressing my palms into her curves, feeling her melt, hearing the little gasps she wouldn’t mean to let slip.

"Shit," I muttered, shaking my head and running a hand through my hair. "Focus, man. Focus. You can’t screw this up."

The rest of the ride crawled by. The bus rocked gently, and my knee bounced restlessly in time with the engine’s hum. I kept telling myself the same thing over and over: this wasn’t just about getting my hands on Kayla. This was about leverage. About making her weak enough to lie about that video.

And if it worked, the payoff would be more than just pleasure. I thought about the EXP that would flood in. The idea made my pulse quicken all over again.

Fifteen more minutes dragged past before the bus finally hissed to a stop. I stood, adjusted my bag, and stepped down onto the pavement.

"Okay," I said under my breath as I looked up at the building ahead, its sleek windows reflecting the pale sky. "That’s where I go... and that’s where you get on your knees and beg for me, Kayla."

I puffed my chest out and stepped through the doors.

The front desk barely gave me a glance as I walked past, my bag slung over my shoulder. The air smelled faintly of lavender, soft music playing somewhere in the background. Not exactly my kind of place, but tonight it would be.

I found the elevator tucked into the corner and hit the button. Just like Kelin had told me—third floor. The doors slid open with a tired sigh, and I stepped inside. My reflection in the brushed steel looked tense, jaw tight, eyes sharp. I exhaled slowly, rolling my shoulders as the numbers blinked upward.

Ivy said they wouldn’t be here for another half hour. Enough time to get ready. To settle in. To imagine how this was going to go down.

The elevator dinged, and I stepped out into a quiet hallway. The carpet muted my footsteps, the walls lined with abstract art no one really looked at. I found the door number, slid the keycard, and pushed my way inside.

The room was simple—too simple. Just a massage table sitting dead center, a few token decorations on the walls, and a handful of candles burning low on the dresser. Sweet vanilla and something fruity clung to the air, mixing with the faint musk of oil.

I set my bag down, pulled out the bottle of Sensual Massage Oil I’d brought, and placed it on the edge of the table. The glass caught the glow of the candles, gleaming like a damn promise.

Just as I did, my phone buzzed in my pocket. A message. My first thought was Ivy—checking in, maybe telling me they were on their way. I pulled it out, thumb already swiping the screen.

But it wasn’t Ivy.

Kim.

Of course.

She’d sent me a video. I tapped it, and the screen lit up with her voice, casual and cruel all at once. The camera panned down—her boyfriend Tom, flat on his back on the floor. His face was red, his breath ragged. Kim stood over him, one bare foot planted next to his head, the other pressing down lazily on his crotch.

She laughed as his little dick twitched under her toes, mocking him like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Look at you," she cooed off-camera, tone dripping with fake sweetness. "Pathetic little thing can’t even handle my foot. This is all you’re good for."

Tom moaned, desperate, humiliated. He jerked once, a tiny spasm, and a weak little spurt stained the top of her foot.

Kim snorted, then burst out laughing. A sharp, cruel sound that filled the whole video. She kept the camera angled down at him, making sure every second of his shame was caught.

I couldn’t help it—I laughed too. Shaking my head, grinning like an idiot in the empty room. "This girl, I swear..." I muttered, closing the video and slipping the phone back into my pocket.

—

Just when I was about to doze off on the massage table, the buzz of my phone jolted me awake. Ivy’s name lit up the screen. I sighed and answered.

"Ivy?"

"We’re here," she said. "Reception... wait, did you really pay for our massage?"

"I... didn’t," I lied. "Doesn’t matter. Just tell the guy at the desk you’re here for Mr. Amed."

"Who the hell is that?"

"Made-up name."

"Amed?" she repeated, deadpan. "Very creative."

"Thanks."

"That was sarcasm."

"I know."

She hung up, and I pushed myself upright, rolling my shoulders. My chest tightened. This was it—the test. Either I was going to walk out of here humiliated, or I was going to come out on top, collect the EXP, and finally have Kayla on her knees.

I slipped a surgical mask from my bag and looped it over my ears. Professional. Anonymous. Safer this way. I stood beside the massage table, arms crossed, trying to look like I did this every damn day.

Footsteps outside. Then the faint click of the doorknob.

Kayla stepped in.

I swallowed hard but forced myself still, my face hidden, my breathing steady.

She glanced around the room—the lone massage table, the soft glow of candles, the faint sweet scent in the air. "So... Ivy really had a discount here?" she asked, suspicion in her tone.

I gave a small nod. "She’s... a regular client," I lied smoothly.

Kayla arched a brow. "Huh. First time for me. What do I even do?"

"You can remove your clothes and lie face down on the table," I said, steady, like it was routine.

She hesitated, then: "Could you... turn around while I undress?"

"Of course."

I turned, eyes fixed on the wall, but my ears caught everything—the soft shuffle of fabric sliding down, the faint tug of elastic, the whisper of denim peeling off skin. My mind betrayed me instantly, filling in the blanks: her pants sliding over that massive ass, the weight of it bare, the curve that haunted my imagination.

"All right," she said behind me. "Done."

"Please lie down," I instructed.

The mattress gave a soft sigh as she settled onto it. I draped a towel across her ass, my pulse hammering louder than the quiet hum of the candles.

She broke the silence first. "First time doing this."

I forced a chuckle. "Nothing to be worried about."

I uncapped the small bottle of oil, tipped it over my palm, and exhaled as the warm slickness coated my skin.

It began.

The moment my hands touched her bare shoulders, she gasped softly. The oil did its magic right away, skin turning slick and warm under my palms.

"You’re... good at this," she murmured, her voice muffled by the towel and the table.

I didn’t answer. Just pressed deeper into the muscles along her shoulder blades, slow circles, my thumbs kneading knots I wasn’t even sure were there. I worked in silence, letting the rhythm and the weight of my touch carry the moment.

Her breathing steadied, then hitched again when I started sliding lower. From her shoulders to her mid-back, from her mid-back to the curve of her waist. Each inch I claimed seemed to earn me another sharp inhale, another tiny, unguarded sound.

Lower.

My thumbs pressed into the small of her back, and I felt her tense, then melt beneath me.

Lower.

Now my hands hovered just above the swell of her ass, the towel in the way, my fingertips grazing the fabric’s edge.

I leaned down close, letting my voice drop against her ear. "It’d be better if I remove the towel... if that’s okay."

Her answer came without hesitation. "Go for it. You’re the professional, right?"

Professional. Sure.