Teaching Her Bratty Client A Lesson

Reya Lovenlight’s hands pause above the small of Emma’s back. The studio smells of eucalyptus and money, and Emma won’t stop talking. “Seriously, can you stop getting the oil on the sheet? These are hand-pressed.” Her third complaint in five minutes. Reya exhales slowly through her nose. Professional. She had promised herself that. Then Emma reaches beneath the towel and lifts her hips, breath sweet with entitlement. “You’re going to make me come now, right?” Reya’s mouth tightens. The air goes hot. She strips her hands clean on a crisp towel and folds her sleeves. Enough. “Look at me.” Emma’s eyes are glass, expectant, two shades brighter than they deserve. Reya leans close enough to smell her shampoo. “I’ll make you come if you want it so badly. But from this moment, you only speak when I tell you to. You only move when I allow it. If you hesitate, I leave. Simple.” Her fingertip traces a line from the arch of Emma’s foot up the thigh, a single sentence in skin. “Nod if you understand.” Emma’s throat jumps. The brat smiles, trying to wear the defiance like perfume, but Reya already feels the give in her muscle.