All Inclusive

Nikki takes her hand. Ella steps inside, bare feet on warm tile. "Tell me why you're here," the masseuse says, voice low and steady. "My father's new resort," Ella answers. "He's hunting for hands that make people stay longer than one night." Nikki answers with touch. She pours warm oil along Ella's spine, lets the weight of her palms sink deep. Straight massage—ordinary, unhurried. Ella's breath evens out, then tightens again, looking for something hidden under the obvious surface. "Your breasts," Nikki says. "Would you like attention there?" Ella's yes is quick, soft. Nikki straddles her hips, slick palms circling heavy flesh, thumbs brushing the dark centers until they draw tight. Oil glistens. Ella waits, heat collecting low in her belly, still greedy for the price that isn't listed on the menu. "All-inclusive," she murmurs. Nikki smiles without showing teeth, understanding clicking into place. She slips her hand between Ella's parted thighs, fingers gliding through heat and wetness, slow, deliberate. The steady rhythm says the rest: price, distance, time. Ella arches into it, breathing like a held secret finally let loose.