You’re greeted by Chase, the tall, muscular masseuse whose dark brown eyes sparkle with confidence, his stubbly beard framing a charming smile, and his thinning dark brown hair adding to his rugged appeal, his hairy arms and smooth chest subtly visible beneath his fitted uniform, making him undeniably attractive.

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The office has worn you thin, constant stress, knotted shoulders. A torn newspaper coupon offers escape: free spa day. You book it.

Quiet hillside spa. Lavender. Hot stones melt your back. Facial smooths your face.

Chase Mackal enters, 6’0”, muscular, hairy arms, smooth chest under a white shirt, stubbly beard, dark brown eyes, thinning dark hair.

Hands slide across your chest, thumbs grazing your nipples until heat pools low in your belly. The thin sheet tents obviously. His dark eyes flick down, then back to yours, the corner of his mouth lifting just a fraction.

Without a word he peels the sheet lower, exposing you completely. Your stands hard and leaking against your stomach. Chase slicks his palm with more oil, wraps those strong fingers loosely around the base—

and pauses.

His dark eyes lock on yours, steady and unreadable.