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rizzlesregal13 · 17 days ago

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When Tight Muscles, Result In Loose Morals

***NSFW - MDNI***

Carla Dunkler x Fem Reader 💜 Slow-burn, smutty as hell one-shot!

This idea has been a brain worm for weeks! All because of the below Carla GIF! And because there is a significant lack of Carla smut out there!😏

You’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t have a thing for Carla Dunkler.

And sure, it started innocent enough… she was your beautician, your once-a-month indulgence between PTA meetings, the endless conveyer belt of making lunch and dinner, and your daughter, Harper’s relentless extracurriculars.

Carla was loud, unapologetic, usually smirking at something that would make the average Mom gasp… but somehow, between juggling work and being a single parent you kept coming back.

It wasn’t just the massages, though God, the woman had hands. It was the way she made you feel seen, how she flirted without pressure, like she knew every woman in the room had a repressed wild streak, and she was always one inappropriate joke away from dragging it out.

But everything shifted that night.

Amy Carson’s “innocent” PTA takeover gathering, that ended up turning into a full-blown house party with wine flowing like water and the rules getting tossed out like those red plastic cups.

You should’ve left after the second glass of rosé.

Instead, you saw her.

Carla was in the centre of it all, leaning up against the wall, like she was holding court.

You recognised the two other Mom’s. Sarah Matthews was stood in front of Carla, followed by Rebecca Jones leaning in. Laughter turned to gasps. Jaws dropped. And you… you couldn’t stop starring.

You’d meant to look away, but couldn’t. Not when Carla’s hand was in Sarah’s hair. Not when her mouth moved to Rebecca’s neck. Then Carla pushed them together, having them make out in front of her.

And… like a punch to the gut… she looked up.

Right at you.

That damn smirk slid across her lips.

Your heart flipped, your breath caught, and like a goddamn coward, you bolted.

You haven’t seen her since. Until today. You’d thought about booking to see someone different, but you couldn’t bring yourself to.

Now you’re sitting in the waiting room of the health club, legs crossed tightly, trying to look normal. Like you didn’t fantasise about her more times than you’re proud of. Like your face isn’t burning just remembering the way she looked that night, owning the room, owning you with just a look.

“Well, well…”

Her voice wraps around you like velvet and tequila.

“Look who decided to crawl out of hiding.”

You glance up, and there she is, in her black tunic uniform and flip flops, hair in a sleek tight pony, like a goddess in disguise. Carla leans in the doorway, eyebrow cocked, amusement tugging at her mouth.

You stand, smoothing down your shirt. “Hi, Carla.”

She tilts her head, taking you in. “Been what… five weeks? Six? Thought maybe you’d finally traded me in for a nice, quiet Swedish masseuse.”

You laugh, awkward. “Never. You’re the only one who knows how to get the knots out… Just been busy,” you offer with a weak smile. “Harper’s schedule exploded. And—”

“And you’ve been avoiding me,” she finishes bluntly, stepping aside to let you pass.

You walk past her, pulse thumping in your ears, and mutter, “I haven’t been avoiding you.”

She chuckles. “Sure you haven’t.”

You follow her through the familiar hallway, dim lights, soft music, the scent of eucalyptus and orange blossom drifting by like colourless smoke. The therapy room is exactly how you remember, low-lit and intimate, the massage table waiting in the centre, like it knows…

You hover awkwardly near the edge. “Same routine?”

Carla nods, moving around the space with practiced ease. “Unless you want me to change things up.” Her gaze flicks up to meet yours, deliberately. “I can be flexible.”

Your breath catches. You know she’s flirting. She always flirts. It’s part of her charm. But this time, something lingers under the surface — something just that bit bolder.

You clear your throat. “No, um… same’s good.”

She smirks and steps toward the door. “You know the drill. Strip to your comfort level. Face down.”

The door closes behind her with a soft click.

You stand there a moment, heart racing. The heat that crept up your neck at that party is back with a vengeance, blooming across your chest now. You peel off your clothes slowly, down to your underwear, unclipping your bra and slide onto the table, chest down, trying to quiet your racing thoughts.

And then you hear the door open…

“You good?”

“Mmm” you mumble out, your face down in the cradle.

Carla moves with smooth liquid confidence around the bed. You feel her at your side, her presence electric even before she touches you.

Then come the towels… warm and weighty, tucked carefully across your back and thighs. Her fingers brush the waistband of your panties as she secures the towel. It’s casual. Professional. Maybe. But your breath hitches anyway.

Next it’s the oil. Warm, familiar, and soothing as she pours it onto your back… then her hands follow.

She starts slow, just like always. Her thumbs dig into your shoulders, working the tension from your muscles with practiced pressure. But the rhythm feels different today. Softer. Slower. Lingering.

Her palms slide over your ribs, down your sides. You feel her knuckles brush the swell of your breasts, and every nerve in your body lights up.

You close your eyes tighter, biting your lip.

You shouldn’t feel this. Not here. Not now.

But her hands keep going. Down to your lower back, her thumbs brushing dangerously close to the curve of your ass. You can’t help the way your hips shift slightly, involuntarily, like you’re answering a question she hasn’t even asked.

And she feels it. You know she does.

She leans down slightly, her breath brushing your ear. Her voice is husky, but laced with something thick and sweet.

“You sure you’re comfortable?”

You swallow, your mouth suddenly dry.

“…I am now.”

She doesn’t say anything right away, just carries on, her hands roaming the flat of your back, heat seeping into your skin.

She finds the knot without hesitation, like she’s been waiting for it… like she knows where you hold the tension from all those never ending teams meetings, the failed dates, and the chaos of life you pretend doesn’t weigh you down.

Her thumbs press deep, just under your right shoulder blade, and with one slow push, it pops free.

The sound that escapes you isn’t something you meant to make… more moan than sigh, soft and cracked open with surprise.

Carla freezes for half a second.

“That feel good?” she murmurs, low, close.

You swallow. “Yeah,” you breathe, voice unsteady. “Really good.”

But good isn’t the word. Not even close.

Because you should be relaxing… that’s the whole point of this, isn’t it? Letting go. Drifting off. Coming undone in a safe, soothing way. But your muscles aren’t melting. They’re coiling.

Her hands are moving, but not away. Deeper. Slower. Like she’s mapping you. Learning you.

And suddenly your mind is not here.

It’s at that party.

It’s rewriting it… only it’s not Sarah Matthews pressed up against Carla. It’s not Rebecca Jones being pulled in close.

It’s you.

You standing there with a glass of wine and flushed cheeks, as Carla walks across the room like she always knew you’d let her. It’s your hair she’s fisting, your lips she’s kissing, hungry and smug, the whole party fading around you.

“Jesus,” you whisper into the cradle without meaning to.

“Hmm?” Carla’s hands are on your lower back now, thumbs drawing slow circles, dangerously low.

“Nothing,” you mumble. But you know she heard the break in your voice.

Then she moves.

Her hands slide down to your legs… her touch starting just above your ankles, working upward with firm, methodical strokes.

Your calves twitch under her palms. Not from pain. From awareness.

She hits the back of your knee, the skin there extra sensitive. You jerk a little, a breath caught in your throat.

“Ticklish?” she teases softly, but there’s something else behind it.

You manage a laugh. Barely. “A little.”

But when her hands keep climbing, to the soft flesh of your thighs, there’s nothing funny about it.

Your breath hitches again as she works the muscle. A slow, rhythmic pressure that feels like she’s building something inside you, something you can’t hold much longer.

She’s so damn close. So high on your thigh you can feel the edge of her pinky brush your underwear.

You should be sore. That’s what a deep-tissue massage does. You should be aching where her hands are digging in. But you’re not.

God you’re buzzing.

Warm. Fuck, Wet.

You bury your face deeper into the cradle, as if that could hide the truth: the fact your body is begging for more.

This is crazy.

But you don’t move.

Because if she keeps going, if she dares to push just a little further… there’s nothing on earth that would make you stop her.

And you both know it.

Your lips press together in a tight line, eyes squeezed shut against the flicker of something that feels far more dangerous than arousal…. Need.

It’s pulsing low in your stomach, spreading out like heat beneath your skin, wrapping around your thighs, tightening your breath until every inch of you is tingling with it.

Carla’s fingers are so close. Her palms slide up your inner thighs again, slow, deliberate, her thumbs sweeping outward, then dragging back toward center. And each time, she comes a little nearer to the edge of your panties.

You’re wearing the light blue ones; the soft cotton kind you always reach for when comfort matters more than style. But now, now they feel like they’re betraying you. Because they’re clinging too tightly. Damp in a way you know she’d notice if she just looked.

And if she touched…

God.

You grip the edge of the massage table like it might anchor you.

Carla’s hands pause at the curve of your hips, her thumbs brushing slow circles just above the elastic. She makes no move to go lower. Not yet.

“Still comfortable?” she asks, her voice dipping into that too-casual tone that doesn’t fool you for a second.

You nod, maybe too quickly. “Mhm.”

“Hmm.” The sound she makes is thoughtful, amused. “You’re awfully tense for someone who comes here to relax.”

“I’m… trying,” you manage, though your voice barely cooperates.

“Want me to stop?”

You hesitate — and it’s not lost on her.

Carla leans forward, her lips suddenly close to your ear, her breath warm and taunting.

“I’ll take that as a no.’”

Your mouth opens, closes.

Because no. You don’t want her to stop. You want her to go further. To slide her fingers beneath that blue cotton, to finally, finally touch where the need has settled so thick and heavy it’s making your pulse echo in your ears.

But she doesn’t.

She doesn’t move lower. Doesn’t press her luck.

Instead, she shifts her hands, trailing them back down your thighs, fingers spread wide, dragging her nails just lightly enough to make you shiver.

She’s teasing you. Purposefully.

And you can feel the smirk she’s not even trying to hide anymore.

You open your eyes, blinking hard into the cradle, your breath coming shallow. She’s giving you every chance to pull away, to draw a line…. To stop this.

But you don’t…. You won’t.

Because part of you wants her to keep circling it. To test you. To see what you’ll do when the teasing becomes unbearable…. Because Christ, it nearly is.

And from the way her touch lingers, the way her hands keep returning to the highest point of your thighs…just shy of scandalous… Carla knows.

She knows exactly what’s happening to you.

And she’s loving every second of it.

You feel her shift beside you… a rustle of towels, the soft slide of linen over skin… and then her voice again, low and smooth.

“Alright, babe. Roll onto your back for me.”

Your heart kicks at the word. It’s probably nothing, just Carla being Carla… but the way it lands in your chest feels far from casual.

You move slowly, turning over, and she helps with the towels, lifting and tenting them just enough to maintain that veil of modesty… even if the fabric’s barely clinging to purpose at this point.

Your chest is covered again, but only just. The towel settles across your sternum, warm and thin, doing very little to hide how hard your nipples have become under it.

You shift slightly, trying to settle, but instead of relaxing, your hips push subtly into the table, your thighs pressing together.

The pressure doesn’t help… or maybe it helps too much… but you can’t stop the motion. The slick fabric of your panties clings to you, damp and utterly unforgiving.

Carla catches it. Of course she does.

“You sure you’re okay?” Her voice softer now.

You open your eyes, meet hers for a beat too long, and offer a breathless, “All good.”

She watches you a second more, like she’s not buying it but isn’t ready to call you out…

Instead, she moves behind you, fingers returning to work. Carla’s hands slide to the back of your neck, kneading gently, then sweep forward over your shoulders. She brushes along the front, her fingertips grazing just below your collarbones…dangerously close to where the towel dips.

You let your eyes drift shut again, but only for a second.

“So,” she says, her tone casual, but it cuts through the haze like a scalpel, “about that party.”

Your eyes fly open. You don’t move. You can’t.

She doesn’t see your expression, your eyes are still facing the ceiling, her position behind you hiding the way your lashes flutter, the way your mouth tightens slightly as you bite down on the inside of your cheek.

Don’t react. Don’t flinch. Don’t let her know she’s under your skin more than she already does.

But she’s quiet for a moment, her hands still gliding along your exposed chest.

“You saw me, didn’t you?” she says, softer this time.

Her fingers, her nails trail lightly across your collarbones again, slower now, and it’s like every nerve in your chest is connected directly to her touch.

You breathe through it.

You want to lie. To laugh it off. But you can’t.

“…Yeah.”

There’s a long beat of silence. Just the soft melody of spa music and the wet drag of oil across your skin.

“I saw you, too.”

Her voice is closer to your ear now. She’s leaned in, her hands never stopping their slow, teasing path.

“You were watching me. Did you think I didn’t notice?”

You feel the heat creep up your neck again, your thighs pressing together without thought.

“I wasn’t trying to be obvious,” you mutter.

“Oh, babe,” Carla whispers, lips barely brushing your ear. “You were adorable.”

Your breath catches.

Her hands have shifted again… one splayed across the top of your chest, the other tracing just above the towel’s edge.

“You left so fast,” she continues. “I thought maybe you were jealous”.

You don’t respond. You can’t.

Because your entire body is on fire, and if she goes even a single inch lower…

“Or you were turned on,” she says, and it lands like a match to gasoline. Her voice calm, knowing. As if it’s always been obvious — like the towel barely covering your body, the flush in your cheeks, the way you pressed into the table, didn’t already scream it.

And she’s not wrong.

You were turned on then… back at the party, watching her mouth on Sarah and Rebecca like it was nothing, like it was just for fun.

But now?

Christ, now?

You feel it thrum through you, low, deep and all consuming.

Finally Carla’s fingers move, slow but deliberate, sliding beneath the towel. Her touch grazing the curve of your breast, soft and slick with oil. The pad of her thumb brushes your nipple and your back arches without permission, a small, breathless moan escaping before you can stop it.

It’s like she’s reached under your skin and flipped a switch.

You can’t lie here anymore. Can’t just let her tease you until you break in silence.

So you move.

You sit up, quickly, deliberately. The towels shift with you, but not well, one falling to your lap, the other slipping slightly off your shoulder. But you don’t fix them.

Carla steps around the side of the table, coming to stand in front of you.

You expect surprise. Some flicker of shock or second-guessing.

But she’s not surprised… not in the slightest.

Her expression is steady, the corner of her mouth curling, her blue eyes darkening with certainty.

God, she knows.

She’s known this whole time… how badly you’ve wanted her, how hard you’ve tried to pretend otherwise. Every shift of your hips, every held breath, every stuttered word since the moment you walked into the room — she’s felt it. And now?

Now she’s asking for it.

“Why did you run?” she asks, her voice low but sharp as a blade.

You look at her. Really look. Her cheeks flushed, eyes locked on yours like she’s reading every thought in your head.

You swallow hard. “I…”

But she’s already stepping closer. Just a breath away. Close enough that the heat of her skin is touching yours, even without contact.

“Have you been thinking about me?” she asks, softer now. “Is that why you haven’t been in?”

The truth hangs in the space between you, raw and real.

You nod, lips parting with the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I couldn’t stop.”

Her lips twitch into a knowing confident smirk. Not cruel, not mocking. Just… Carla.

“Good,” she murmurs, fingers reaching up to gently pull the towel from where it rested against your shoulder, letting it fall to the floor.

She doesn’t look away. Doesn’t even pretend not to drink you in.

“Because I’ve been thinking about you, too.”

She steps in. Her hands slide to your thighs, then your hips, then up your waist, slow and reverent, until she’s cupping your face.

And when she kisses you — finally, finally — it’s not gentle.

It’s claiming.

Teeth. Tongue. Heat. Her hands pulling you flush against her body, your fingers digging into her arms as the last of your restraint melts away.

And this time, you’re not running.

Not a chance.

You don’t hesitate. No more second guessing. No more pretending this is just a massage, just a crush, just harmless.

You push away from the table, the last towel slipping completely from your hips, forgotten on the floor. Your skin is buzzing, flushed, every nerve wired and waiting for her.

Carla watches you move with that same smirk, like she knew you’d get here eventually. But even she’s caught off guard when you step right into her space and push her back… not roughly, but with enough force to show you’re done playing shy.

Her back hits the cabinets with a soft thud, and she gasps into your mouth as you kiss her, deep, hot, and hungry.

Her hands are in your hair immediately, tugging, guiding, as her tongue slips into your mouth in a way that makes your knees buckle.

This.

This is what you wanted that night at the party. This heat, this pull. Not watching from across the room… being in it, tasting her, touching her, feeling her melt against you.

She kisses you like she’s starving, like she’s been waiting just as long, like every teasing pass of her hands during the massage was foreplay for this.

Her mouth trails from your lips to your jawline, then lower, hot kisses painting down your neck. You tilt your head back without thinking, giving her access, your fingers trembling as they find the hem of her tunic top.

You slide your hands underneath, palms meeting bare, warm skin. Her stomach is soft, smooth, muscles twitching under your touch as you glide upward.

Carla groans against your throat as your hands find the curve of her waist, then her ribs, until you reach the swell of her breasts, covered only by a lacey black bra that’s more suggestion than support.

You press your body into hers, kissing the shell of her ear. “Take this off,” you whisper.

Carla doesn’t need to be told twice.

She pulls her top off in one clean motion, dropping it somewhere behind her, then reaches behind her back to unhook the bra. The straps fall from her shoulders, and then she’s there — bare, flushed, and every bit as turned on as you are.

You step back just enough to look at her.

Her chest rising and falling. Her lips swollen and red. Her nipples tight from the cool air and your hungry gaze.

“You gonna stand there and stare,” she murmurs, voice thick and teasing, “or are you gonna touch me?”

You step back in, cupping her breasts in both hands, your thumbs brushing over her nipples, loving the way she gasps… the way her body presses harder into yours, her hands flying to your waist, dragging you closer.

Her mouth finds yours again, deeper now, dirtier.

You rock your hips forward against her thigh and she feels it… the soaked heat between your legs rubbing onto the fabric of her trousers.

She moans into your mouth, fingers digging into your hips.

And just like that, whatever thin thread of restraint still existed?

Snaps.

Carla breaks the kiss like it costs her something. Her breath is ragged, pupils blown wide — but she pulls away anyway.

You barely manage to whimper her name before she’s halfway across the room. Her hand wraps around the lock on the therapy room door, and with one sharp click, she turns it.

It’s such a simple thing. But the sound? The deliberate nature of it?

It does something to you.

Heat pulses between your legs so fast and sharp it makes your thighs clench.

She turns back slowly… her gaze dark, dangerous, and you feel your whole body pull toward her without even moving.

Carla walks straight back, silent, determined, and when she reaches you, her hand wraps around your wrist and pulls.

You gasp as she spins you, your bare back now pressing to the cabinets where she’d just been. You barely have time to breathe before she’s lifting you, firm hands on your thighs as she guides you up and back, your ass meeting the edge of the counter.

You open your legs for her.

It’s not even a question. It’s instinct. A Hungry permission.

And her eyes drop instantly to the soaked patch between your thighs.

Dark blue. Spread wide and unashamed against the soft light blue cotton.

Carla’s gaze lifts back to yours, and you can feel what she sees; the wild heat in your expression, your bottom lip bitten raw, your chest rising and falling like you’ve run a mile.

You want her to see it.

You need her to.

Her fingers trail slowly up your thigh… teasing, featherlight, leaving goosebumps in their wake… before brushing over the damp fabric.

“Fuck,” you moan, hips jolting at the first real contact.

Carla groans low in her throat. “God, baby…”

She does it again. A firmer stroke this time, the pad of her finger pressing right against the soaked center.

“Carla—” your voice breaks, already gone.

But she leans in before you can finish, her mouth crushing yours, tongue claiming you completely, devouring the noise you make as her hand slips under the waistband of your panties.

There’s no teasing now. No more slow build.

Her fingers slide straight between your hot slick folds… and she swears into your mouth.

“Fuck, you’re soaked.”

Your head falls back against the cabinet as you gasp, thighs spreading wider, offering more, wanting to give her everything.

Her fingers dip deeper, gathering you, coating themselves in everything you’ve been holding back since that damn party — then she drags up, slow and deliberate, over your clit.

You jump, the contact feeling white-hot.

“F—fuck,” you breathe, your voice breaking around it.

She kisses down your neck, biting gently at the skin there as her fingers start to move in slow, torturous circles.

“You’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you?” Carla murmurs, voice rough against your ear. “Touching yourself, wishing it was me?”

You can’t lie.

“Yes” you whisper as your hips grind into her hand.

Her teeth scrape your collarbone. “You’re gonna come so hard for me, baby.”

And from the way her fingers slip lower, push inside you with maddening ease, curling just right — Fuck, you already know she’s right.

Your fingers grip the edge of the cabinet so tight your knuckles have gone white, like holding on to something solid will keep you from unraveling too fast… but it’s useless.

Carla’s working you open with her slender fingers, slow at first, then deeper, surer. Her palm presses just right, her thumb teasing your clit in smooth circles, and you’re already on the edge.

Your other hand claws down her back, nails dragging along bare skin, making her groan into your neck as she fucks you with her fingers like she owns every inch of you — because right now, she does.

“Fuck, Carla,” you gasp, the tension in your body snapping tight. “It feels so good. I’m—”

You’re so fucking horny for her. It’s been building for weeks — no, months — and now it’s rushing out of you in wet, slick sounds that fill the room every time her fingers drive back in.

And she’s loving it.

“Yeah?” she growls against your skin. “You gonna fall apart for me babe?”

She pushes your shoulder gently, and you let her guide you, leaning back on your elbows on top of the counter, breasts arching forward as her mouth finds your nipple.

She sucks it into her mouth, tongue swirling as she pinches the other between her fingers.

You cry out… your whole body jerking.

But her fingers never stop.

In and out, harder now, faster, and so wet you can hear it.

“Fuck, listen to yourself,” she murmurs, her voice vibrating against your chest, and it makes your thighs shake. “You’re dripping for me.”

You can’t stop the moan that rips from your throat, you’re too far gone, your whole body wound up and begging for release.

Carla pulls her mouth from your breast and leans up, pressing her lips hard and desperate against your neck, your pulse point, whilst her other hand clamps over your mouth just in time.

“Shh,” she breathes against your cheek. “You don’t want the other clients to hear you, do you?”

That hits you square in the chest — because fuck, she’s right.

You’re in the spa. Her workplace. There could be someone in the next room over, getting a facial or a hot stone massage while Carla has you bare and wide open, grinding against her hand like you’d die if she stopped.

That only makes it hotter.

You whimper beneath her palm, your hips lifting off the counter, legs shaking around her as she fucks you with those strong, perfect fingers.

And then it hits — fuck it’s all-consuming.

You come hard, biting down on your lip to keep from moaning so fucking loud, your body pulsing around her hand, wetness flooding her fingers, your whole world narrowed to the space between your legs and the woman wrecking you with nothing but her hands and that damn mouth.

Carla holds you through it, slowing only when your body starts to tremble, when it’s too sensitive to take anymore.

She kisses you, deep and messy, letting her hand slide out with a wet, obscene sound.

Then she smirks against your mouth. “Guess we’ll need a longer appointment next time.”

You’re still breathless, your body spent and your panties a lost cause, but you manage a smile.

She laughs… low, raspy, satisfied… as you slide off the counter, legs trembling and barely holding you up.

“You good?” she teases, still breathless, a little smug. “Need me to carry you out of here?”

But you don’t answer.

Because you’re not done.

You need to feel her. Need her shaking under you, moaning for you.

Carla’s still catching her breath, chest rising and falling, when you move toward her — something wild and unrelenting in your eyes. She sees it, and her smirk flickers into something hungrier.

You push her gently, but with purpose, guiding her backward until the back of her knees bump the edge of the massage table.

She sits, lips parted, legs naturally falling open as you step between them.

This time, you’re in control.

And she knows it.

Your fingers find the cotton tie at her waist of her wide leg trousers. You undo the knot slowly, looking up at her through your lashes as you do.

She’s watching you like she might combust on the spot.

You drop to your knees.

Carla swears under her breath, hips twitching forward, like just the sight of you kneeling for her is enough to undo the balance she had before.

You tug the trousers down, rough with need, and she lifts her hips immediately to help, so eager you could cry.

You throw them to the side, not caring where they land.

Your eyes move up her thighs… to…

She’s wearing a little black thong.

Of course she is.

Like hell would Carla Dunkler wear something comfy, something boring. No, it’s tiny, lacy, and cut high, hugging her hips and doing absolutely nothing to hide the slick sheen between her thighs.

You groan softly, your hands sliding up over her thighs, thumbs brushing the edge of that sinful little scrap of fabric.

“Jesus, Carla…” you whisper, your voice thick. “You’ve been teasing me in this?”

She leans back on her palms, blue eyes full of fire. “You like?”

You smirk, lips brushing the inside of her knee. “I’m about to.”

You hook your fingers under the band of her thong, dragging it down torturously slow, watching as her wetness pulls away, the fabric soaked through.

“Fuck,” you murmur. “You’re so wet.”

“You did just put on quite a show,” she breathes, her voice rough now, cracking at the edges.

And then your mouth is on her… hot, open, hungry… your tongue licking through her folds, tasting her, claiming her.

She gasps, loud and sharp, one hand flying into your hair.

You moan against her as her legs fall wider, hips rocking, already losing herself in you.

You’re not stopping.

Not until you’ve had her shaking, breathless, begging — just like she left you, and from the way she’s panting your name like a prayer, you’re damn close.

You drag the flat of your tongue from the base of her soaked slit up, slow and heavy, drinking her in. Carla’s hips jerk, a loud, breathy “fuck” tearing from her throat as you wrap your lips around her clit and suck, firm and deliberate.

Her fingers twist into your hair, nails scratching over your scalp, steadying herself through you as her thighs tighten around your shoulders.

She’s already dripping, already right there, but you want her wrecked.

Undone.

Ruined for anyone who isn’t you.

So you don’t hold back.

Your tongue flattens again, licking hard and fast in a steady rhythm, and then you change it…flicking your tongue over her clit, circling, teasing, until her thighs start to tremble.

You pull back just long enough to breathe, lips slick with her and swollen, voice low. “You taste so fucking good.”

Carla looks down at you like she might explode, chest heaving, her hand never leaving your hair. “Don’t you dare stop.”

You smirk. “Wasn’t planning to.”

You press in again, but this time, you shift.

You slide two fingers into her without warning … god she’s so hot, tight, wet — and her whole body arches off the table, her hand yanking at your hair in a mixture of surprise and need.

“Shit!” she cries out, voice cracking.

You curl your fingers, searching, finding that soft, spongy spot inside her that makes her hips grind down hard against your face, your tongue.

Her breath is ragged now, coming in short, stuttering gasps, and you know — you know — she’s close.

You glance up, and the sight of her… flushed, mouth open, her head tipped back as she rides your face like she was made for it, lights something wild in you.

So you give it to her.

Harder. Deeper.

Your tongue focuses on her clit again, lips locked around it, sucking and flicking, your teeth gently grazing, while your fingers fuck her fast, wet, filthy — obscene sounds filling the room as you take her apart… thrust by thrust.

Her thighs start to quake.

You feel it in your mouth, around your fingers. The tension, the build. She’s nearly there.

“Come for me,” you groan against her. “Come on, Carla. Let me feel you.”

That’s all it takes.

Her whole body seizes as she moans, her orgasm crashing through her like a wave, flooding your hand, your mouth.

You don’t stop. Not until she’s shaking, wrung out and twitching, her grip on your hair going slack as her body falls back onto the bed, breathless and fucked-out.

You finally pull back, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, panting.

Carla’s chest is heaving, her blue eyes glazed, lips parted. “Holy fuck,” she whispers. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You grin, rising slowly to your feet, body still humming from your own high and the one you just gave her.

You lean over her, pressing a kiss to her jaw, then her lips… letting her taste herself on your tongue.

“Then it’ll be one hell of a way to go.”

The room is quiet now. Heavy with the weight of what just happened, and the heady scent of sex, heat, and essential oils clinging to the air.

Carla’s still lying back on the massage table, legs sprawled, chest rising and falling as she catches her breath. Her dark hair mussed, cheeks flushed, lips bruised from kissing.

You’re standing between her thighs, steadying yourself on the edge of the bed, your fingers still slick from her, your mouth still tingling from the way she came undone.

You both start to laugh at the same time… quiet, breathless, borderline hysterical.

“Jesus Christ,” Carla says, dragging a hand over her face, “I’m never gonna be able to use this table again without getting turned on.”

You lean down and kiss her bare shoulder, before taking her hand in yours and pulling her up right. “Good. You’ll think of me.”

She groans, running her hand down her face.

Eventually, you both start to shift, limbs heavy, sticky, satisfied. You reach for the towels on the floor, wiping yourself down and passing one to Carla, who’s still grinning like she’s won a game she didn’t know she’d been playing.

She slides off the table with a dramatic groan and wobble in her knees. “Okay, maybe we went a little hard.”

You smirk. “You’re welcome.”

Carla grabs a clean towel from the cabinet and starts spritzing the air with a citrus spray like her life depends on it. “This room reeks of sex.”

You laugh, adjusting your panties, now dry, and somehow, salvageable as you search for your bra. “Yeah, that eucalyptus diffuser’s not fooling anyone right now.”

“Not unless they think it’s part of some very sensual essential oil blend,” she says, still spraying the room like she’s trying to drown out a crime scene.

You’re both half-dressed, still flushed, when there’s a knock at the door.

A sharp, distinct knock.

You both freeze.

Carla whips her head toward you, eyes wide, mouth forming a silent fuck.

You grab your shirt, pulling it over your head in record time, and shove your feet into your shoes while Carla practically dives for her top, hopping on one foot as she wrestles with her trousers.

Another knock.

“Carla?” a voice calls through the door. You think it might be Renee, the spa coordinator. “You’ve got a 2:15!”

You shoot Carla a look. “It’s definitely not 2:15 yet.”

She checks the clock. “Shit, it’s 2:13. Two minutes is not enough time to get this room back to holy ground.”

You both scramble, Carla rubbing down the table with wipes and a fresh sheet, you grabbing the towel that still smells very much like sex and shoving it into the laundry bin like it’s contraband.

She sprays again. A lot.

“Carla?” Renee’s voice is closer now. “Everything okay in there?”

Carla clears her throat, loud enough to sound like she’s not out of breath. “Yep! Just finishing up with a client… I’ll be right out.”

You both freeze again, then look at each other… and laugh.

Because there’s no way this room doesn’t still smell like what you did.

“I should go,” you whisper, biting your lip and brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

Carla looks at you… really looks… and then reaches for your hand, pulling you back in for one last, slow kiss.

“Come back next month,” she murmurs against your lips.

You grin. “You’re gonna pretend this was a one-off?”

Carla chuckles, smirking. “Nope. I’m gonna pretend it’s part of a new package deal.”

You kiss her once more, heart pounding for a whole new reason now, and walk to the door, turning the lock, just as Renee opens the door.

You smile at her, and walk past as if nothing out of the ordinary happened - that you hadn’t just been utterly ruined.

You hear Renee say something about the diffuser smelling strong today.

You smile to yourself as you walk out into the sun.

Yeah.

Strong, and totally worth it.

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