Sore Winner

Victoria lay nude on the table, skin already warm under the muted lights. Siri walked in, smile easy, voice soft with that old familiarity. She’d been off the schedule for months, but the words passed quickly and Siri’s palms were already slick with oil. The first slow sweep down Victoria’s back pulled a low breath from her; she’d forgotten how sure those hands were. Oil slid over the dip of her waist, over the curve of her ass, fingers working out weeks of tight muscle. Each stroke made the quiet between them thicker, heavier. Victoria felt herself clench and soften at the same time, every pass of Siri’s hands drawing her open without a word. Heat gathered low, and neither of them pretended it was only about knots anymore.