The Shy Girl

Ariel stood in the small room, her heart hammering like it did the first time a boy slid his hand under her skirt at a party years ago. Ash guided her onto the table, skin sliding over crisp linen. When the hands moved to her chest, Ariel felt her breath catch, but Ash said clients expected it. A fingertip brushed each nipple until Ariel stopped looking away. “Close your eyes,” Ash whispered. Ariel obeyed. Her knees parted on the soft click of the door latch, and then a hot, wet mouth sealed over her folds. Every slow lick made her thighs quiver. Embarrassment flickered, then melted. “Can I taste you too?” she whispered. Ash slipped out of her dress and climbed onto the table, knees bracketing Ariel’s face. The scent was light, floral, almost lost in the hotter taste of skin. Ariel let her tongue flick Ash’s clit, but the masseuse gripped her hair and pulled back. “Not yet,” Ash said, turning her onto hands and knees. Soft breasts swayed as Ash bent behind her and dove in again—broad, flat strokes followed by the point of her tongue circling and prodding. Ariel’s palms burned against the sheet; each pass drew a breathy sound that echoed off the tile. She felt heat rolling through her, then snapped tight, the orgasm hitting so sudden she almost apologized for the way her body shuddered and pulsed. Ash’s chin was slick when she stood and kissed Ariel’s spine once, like a seal on a deal neither of them had signed.