I Blame My Husband

Julia moves through the lobby with a tan tote on her shoulder. She still books a couples massage even though her husband’s new job keeps him chained to a phone in another city. The oils warm on the table. Alberto’s hands start slow, knuckles pressing just under her shoulder blades, then slide lower until they cup the curve of her ass like they belong there. She does not move away. Instead she rolls onto her back, knees open, and pulls his wrist between her thighs. He takes the cue, leans in, and she tastes herself on his tongue before he feeds her his cock, slow thrusts that push deep enough to make her throat flutter. She climbs over him next, sits down hard, rides with lazy circles of her hips until her slick drips down his balls. He grips her waist, flips her, drives in from behind until the first hot spill lands on her lower back and slides between her cheeks.