Tantric Massage

Kiere opens the door and finds Adelyn already waiting. She slips out of her shirt, leans over the bed, and asks her to work on the lower back. Adelyn sits behind her, thumbs pressing into warm skin, tracing the muscle that tightens under her touch. Kiere shifts, sliding higher until her hips rest across Adelyn’s thighs. The movement is small, but every inch sparks. Heat blooms low. Adelyn’s fingers slide slower, no longer searching for knots. They linger, stroke, and press harder when they find the soft curve above the waistband. Kiere arches into it. A quiet breath. Adelyn’s hand drifts under the fabric, palm open. Her other hand brushes the swell of breast, catches the tightening nipple. Neither of them speaks. The air thickens. Kiere rocks once, deliberate, the seam of her panties brushing Adelyn’s wrist. Adelyn’s mouth finds the back of her neck. Teeth, then tongue. The massage keeps going, except now each stroke trails lower, each squeeze deeper, until fingers slip inside cotton and the room fills with wet sounds and the quick catch of two breaths trying not to break.