Parlor Power Failure

Candice's hands glide over Georgia's bare back, slow and firm, working out knots with the kind of attention that makes clients melt. Georgia sighs into the table, voice thick. "God, I really needed this," she admits. "Work is brutal, and I barely get time to breathe, let alone relax." Candice nods. She gets it. Says she lights a couple of her aromatherapy candles between clients now. Something about the scent settles the room, resets the whole space. Georgia asks what kind, and Candice tells her. The lights die without warning. Darkness swallows everything at once. Both women start, heartbeats quick. Candice suggests leaving, safety first. Georgia reaches up through the dark, catches her wrist. She doesn't want to stop. Not when she's finally unwinding. Candice hesitates, then gathers the candles she keeps on the shelf and lights three of them. Flame catches, soft glow spilling across skin and oil. Candice returns to work, hands slick, moving lower now. Every touch lands hotter, sharper in the hush. Fingers skate down the spine, curve over hips. Georgia's breath catches, spreads her legs without being asked. Candice doesn't miss the invitation. Her hand slides around, down Georgia's stomach, and finds the slick heat between her thighs. Georgia pushes into the touch, silent plea. They don't speak after that. Candice's mouth finds Georgia's shoulder first, then the side of her neck. Georgia turns her head, meets the kiss halfway. Candice presses two fingers in deep, slow and deliberate, and Georgia bites back a moan that echoes anyway. Power out or not, neither of them is leaving until the job is done.