My Turn To Take Care Of You

Adira Allure's kicked back on the couch when her roommate Kayla Paige walks in, clearly beat. They shoot the shit for a bit—Kayla explaining her day, her hands aching from squeezing muscle and cartilage for hours on end. Adira sees the opening. "Lemme rub those hands down for you," she grins, telling her it's only fair—Kayla's hands have done enough number on her to warrant a payback. So it starts innocent, warm oil in Adira's grip, fingers circling Kayla's cramped tendons, steady, unhurried. Then she slides farther up—forearms, biceps, drifting the press of thumbs under shoulder blades that have held a week's tension. The heat climbs. Fingertips linger, skin prickles, a flush riding Kayla's throat. When Adira palms her, the spark is too electric to ignore. She leans in, confesses the crush that's been rattling around her chest. Kayla blinks, mouth working, but her hips roll forward despite her hesitation, settling the score with a shy grin of her own. Turns out the fear was mutual—no line had to break; they were already toeing it, too horny to notice.