Jasmine

“YOU’RE SO HARD.”

Tom grunts under me. His big body splays out on my massage table, his face hidden, resting on rigid biceps. I’ve been kneading his shoulders for a half an hour and he hasn’t relaxed once. If anything, he’s gotten more tense.

I run a hand over the breathtaking expanse of his back, tracing the black vines of his tribal tattoos, scratching lightly. A breath rattles out of him, half growl and half something softer, gentle. A purr.

“You can turn over now,” I suggest delicately, and hold up the towel to help him turn with modesty. I never sneak a peek with clients, but with Tom, I can’t stop myself. The solid curve of his buttocks, the ridge of his hip, the barest glimpse of something fat and long nestled in a base of wiry hair—

He flops on his back and the source of his tension becomes clear.

“My. You are hard.” He’s eithe