Page 49

Eric

E ric walked into the softly lit parlor of Serenity, a certain tightness in his chest loosening for the first time in days.

This was undeniably his favorite part of the month: his standing massage appointment. It was a gift he’d been giving himself the past year or so. An hour with Brenda—a six-foot-tall amazon with the hands of a goddess—working every knot out of his overburdened body.

The desk clerk—he thought her name was maybe Kacey, but she wasn’t wearing her badge—smiled at him in that blank professional way service people sometimes did as he walked up to the desk.

“Dr. Monroe,” she greeted, her voice oddly flat, missing its normal Valley girl–adjacent lilt. “I’m afraid Brenda isn’t available today.”

Eric’s stomach fell with disappointment.

He needed this today. He’d been striking out like crazy lately, not able to find anyone to go home with him.

There was a tight pressure in his chest and gut that wouldn’t go away with any amount of self-pleasure.

He needed this chance to be touched, to be… soothed.

Truth was, even when he was fulfilled sexually, the massages were something else: a physical release where no one was expecting anything back, where there was no opportunity to make a fool of himself with potential rejection. He could close his eyes and just feel good for once.

And now he had to wait another week for it?

Before he could spiral too hard, Maybe Kacey went on in that blank way, “But we have a substitute for you. Someone new on our staff, if you’re willing.”

“Oh.” An embarrassing amount of relief flooded through him at the offer. “That’s fine, then.”

She nodded, rising from her chair and stepping out from behind her computer. “I’ll take you to your room.”

Eric followed behind her, noticing absently that her movements were oddly stiff.

It looked like he wasn’t the only one in need of a masseuse’s touch.

He considered suggesting she take advantage of her employee discount and book one, but even he knew that would be pushing the limits of polite conversation, so he just smiled gratefully as she ushered him into the small, dim space, where soothing flute sounds were already pumping out of the room’s speakers.

“If you’ll get undressed to the level of your comfort, he’ll be right in.”

Eric’s level of comfort was completely nude, so he stripped down, folding his clothes neatly on the chair in the corner before sliding facedown under the cool sheet, grateful the massage table’s warmer was already going.

He fit his face into that weird hollowed-out pillow thing, blinking at the familiar, ugly patterned carpet and wiggling until he felt his body was more or less aligned.

He was barely waiting any time at all before there was a gentle knock on the door. “I’m ready,” he called out.

Eric heard the quiet creak of the door opening, then the soft rustling sounds of someone getting situated in the room.

A scent washed over him, one he didn’t recognize from his past visits; they must have gotten some new essential oils.

It was something citrusy, and the name of it was on the tip of his tongue.

He’d had a candle with that scent once, he was pretty sure.

Bergamot, that was what it had been called.

“That smells good,” he murmured, more to himself than to the nameless masseuse.

“Does it?” The soft, deep voice sounded almost amused, although Eric wasn’t sure why. Change that to mass eur , then.

“Um…yeah?”

The bottom half of a pair of legs appeared in Eric’s vision. Soft black pants, like Brenda usually wore, paired oddly with—were those dress shoes?

Eric chuckled, his muscles already feeling miraculously looser with the combination of the relaxing music, the soothing scent, and the promise of a professional touch any moment. “You don’t get uncomfortable, standing all day in those?”

The dress shoes disappeared from view. “I believe it’s your comfort we should be concerned with today, Doctor.”

Oh. That was definitely a British accent, careful and clipped. It brushed over Eric like a finger down his spine, causing a strange shiver to run through him, despite the warmth of the table.

What the hell was that about? Did he have a thing for accents now? He never had before. He was pretty easy with his preferences, to be honest. Maybe he was becoming more particular in his old age. The thought almost had him chuckling again.

“Tell me,” the masseur continued, seemingly unaware of Eric’s completely inappropriate response to a few accented words. “Any particular areas of trouble?”

Eric tried to focus his thoughts back on the matter at hand. “Um, my neck and shoulders kind of always bug me. I guess I hunch at the computer.”

“Mm. Charting on your numerous patients?”

“Um. R-Right.” What the fuck? How would he know that?

Except, duh, the man had already referred to Eric as “Doctor.” Eric had gotten a discount at this place because of his employment at the hospital; it wasn’t like his profession was a secret.

The receptionist always called him Dr. Monroe, never Eric.

Hell, they were a small enough town, if you discounted the tourists—half the population called him that.

He’d been so weirdly paranoid lately. This massage was definitely a necessity.

“We’ll see what we can do about that discomfort.”

Any worry Eric had that this stranger wouldn’t be able to achieve the same magic he was used to with Brenda was immediately put to rest the moment the man dug his fingers into Eric’s shoulders.

Eric moaned. He actually moaned .

“Fuuck.” Oh shit. That was rude. “Sorry. I mean— You have strong hands.”

“The better to tend to your needs.” The voice sounded amused again, although it was a subtle note, nowhere near mocking.

Fair enough either way, when Eric was making a fool of himself. Maybe he should shut up right about now and just let the masseur do his thing. And really, he did it so well . Eric was quickly putty under his hands, making the most ridiculous noises. But fuck, this dude knew how to work a knot.

He moved gradually from Eric’s shoulders, down his spine, seemingly unconcerned with the sounds coming out of Eric’s mouth, kneading in a way that had Eric wanting to arch like a cat. “With this physique, it can’t just be sitting at the desk that has you so sore, hm?”

Eric’s current moan stuttered into silence as he took that in. Was the guy…flirting? But no, that British voice sounded so cool, so detached. Professional as hell. Eric cleared his throat. “Um, yeah. I try to stay in shape.”

“Mm. Physical health is so important. Often underrated by the very people who tend to it in others.”

Yeah, definitely not flirting. Or not any flirting Eric was used to.

The masseur dug his fingers into Eric’s lower back. “And the pressure’s all right?”

“The pressure is amazing,” Eric sighed. “Everything you’re doing is amazing.”

Okay, yeah, definitely time to shut up. He sounded like a schoolgirl with a crush, not a massage client. So Eric did, remaining quiet except for the occasional uncontrollable moan, or the few times he had to answer the man’s questions about sore spots, pain threshold, etc.

Eventually the masseur started working on Eric’s legs, undoing tension there Eric hadn’t even known he’d had. He was starting to feel close to drugged, that bergamot scent wrapping around him, relaxing him almost as much as the man’s touch. This was heaven. Absolute heaven.

The only problem—and it was definitely becoming a problem—was that they were getting to the point in the massage where Eric was going to have to turn over, and he was—

Well, he was achingly hard.

Fuck. He didn’t normally have this problem; it wasn’t like the massages were a sexual thing for him.

But the guy kept talking to him in that sexy fucking accent, asking him if he felt good, if the pressure was okay, and the room smelled so goddamn tasty with the new incense or whatever the hell it was and…

his hands. The man’s magical fucking hands .

The masseur—and why hadn’t Eric asked him his name? It would be weird to do it now, this late in the process, right?—must have felt him tense.

Those hands paused on Eric’s calf. “Is there a problem, Doctor?”

“N-No,” Eric mumbled, grateful he was facedown and the man couldn’t see his burning cheeks.

“Ah.” The small noise seemed to be loaded with understanding. But the man couldn’t know, could he? What he was doing to Eric without meaning to? And then a warm, heavy palm settled on Eric’s lower back. “Time to turn over now, Doctor.” The instruction came out husky, almost a growl.

“Um.”

A soft stroke of fingers down his spine, like a reassuring caress. “Don’t fret. It’s a natural physical response.”

Okay. Fuck. So he did know.

How did he know?

Eric cleared his suddenly dry throat. “It’s not, um, usually an issue for me.”

But he did as he was told anyway, turning over under the sheet and blinking up at the ceiling in the dim light. His erection was clearly tenting the fabric, and embarrassment flooded him, but they were both guys, and the man seemed to know how it was sometimes. Not a big deal, right?

Long-fingered hands appeared in his line of vision, adjusting the sheet along Eric’s chest, but he kept his eyes averted, not ready yet to look at the guy’s face.

“Perfectly natural,” the masseur repeated. “I could even assist you with it, if you like.”

Eric swallowed hard. Was he offering…?

He turned his head to the side, for the first time fully taking in the man who’d been working magic on him in the dim light.

He was a little shorter than Eric maybe, just reaching six feet, and dressed all in black.

Light-brown hair slicked to the side. A sharp, almost severe face, with cheekbones you could cut yourself on.

And his eyes…they seemed to almost glow red, but that must have been a trick of the light.

“Um.”