He was close already, she could tell by his breath, frantic and wild, by his hands that no longer stroked her but instead tightened over her flesh, as if desperate to keep her from escaping. She let one hand drift behind her, bending back to take his balls in her gentle grasp. His back arched, his head thrashing from side to side as his own orgasm seized him.
“Come for me, baby,” she beckoned. Talking had never come naturally to her in bed, but JT’s words had reminded her how much he liked it.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” he cried out, impaling her onto his cock with such force she could feel his hipbones dig into the soft flesh of her inner thighs. She felt the warm surge within her with a savage satisfaction, like some kind of animal. Breathing hard, she bent over him again, his arms trying to pull her even closer.
Just then the chime of the timer sounded, interrupting the music. It was set to sound louder than the stereo, which she had already turned too high.
JT stiffened, coming off the table with her still in his arms, pressing her breasts into his chest as if to protect her from some imaginary danger.
“Is that an alarm? Is there a camera in here?”
Even through the daze of her pleasure-drenched senses she couldn’t help but laugh as she pried herself away from him and stumbled off the table, feeling wetness drip down her leg.
“Time’s up,” she giggled, feeling giddy.
She turned off the timer, bending over as she fumbled in the towel rack to clean herself up, tossing a rolled towel vaguely in his direction. She heard the massage table groan as JT shifted his weight. Thankful the lights were still dim, Maggie reached for her clothes and began to hurriedly dress. An hour up meant her next client was already in the lobby waiting. Jesus Christ.
She was pulling her scrub top over her head awkwardly as the lights came up and she saw JT standing by the panel, in just his boxers. He was still staring at her in a kind of stupor.
“Sorry you didn’t get a full massage,” she laughed again, feeling like a teenager and yet suddenly flooded with embarrassment for practically seducing him.
“You kidding?” he laughed halfheartedly, reaching for his jeans and stepping into them.
Dressed now, she turned away with a degree of bashfulness as he fastened his jeans and pulled on his shirt. She saw her hair tie on the floor and bent for it, gathering her hair up again. She felt an unexpected wave of self-disgust. It was one thing to fuck him, but quite another to fuck him while was essentially paying her.
“Listen, JT,” she began, moving around the room briskly to reset things. “I want you to know I, uh, I don’t do this, ever. I’m not that kind of masseuse. I don’t know what got into me.”
“Some of that old Maggie, I guess,” he answered, and she turned to him, confused. With the lights bright now, and the music off, the scene looked strangely prosaic. They were both fully dressed, nothing to give their tryst away but their mutual flush and labored breathing.
He smiled, his eyes wrinkling. “The old Maggie,” he said again. “The one who blew me in my parent’s basement closet when we were supposed to be looking for Pictionary. The one who rode me in the back of my old Volvo in December, with her coat still on.”