Page 18 of Scornful

But she recovers quickly—impressively so.

"Geirolf," she says, her voice betraying only the slightest tremor. "I'll be working with you today. Please come with me."

I rise from the chair, acutely aware of Charm watching my every move around her daughter.

As I follow Astrid down a hallway lined with treatment rooms, I notice the gentle sway of her hips, the way the uniform hugs every bit of her luscious curves.

Stop it, I order myself.This isn't why you're here.

She leads me to a room at the end of the hall, opening the door to reveal a dimly lit space with a massage table in the center.

Soft music plays from hidden speakers, something with no words, just gentle sounds that already start to ease the tension I'm carrying.

Astrid closes the door behind us."First time?"

"Is it that obvious?" I ask, my voice sounding rougher than I want it to.

A small smile tugs at her lips. "Most of our clients don't look like they're walking into a lion's den."

That pulls a chuckle from me, some of the awkwardness between us dissipating. "Guess I'm more comfortable with Harleys than... whatever all this is." I gesture vaguely to the oils, candles, and other equipment arranged neatly around the room.

"It's just a massage," she says, trying to ease me. "Nothing to be afraid of."

"I'm not afraid," I counter, the words coming out more defensively than I'd like.

She raises an eyebrow. "Then take off your shirt and lie face down on the table. I'll step out while you get comfortable. There's a sheet you can drape over your lower half."

Before I can respond, she's gone, the door clicking shut softly behind her.

I stand there for a moment, staring at the massage table like it might bite me.

This was a mistake. I should leave.

But my back chooses that moment to send another spasm of pain down my spine, reminding me why I'm here.

With a sigh, I pull my cut off, and then my t-shirt over my head, toeing off my boots and socks.

After a moment, I decide to keep my jeans on. This is a legitimate massage, not... whatever else my mind keeps trying to make it.

I lie face down on the table as instructed, adjusting the face rest so I'm not smothering myself, and drape the sheet over my lower back.

A soft knock comes at the door.

Astrid calls. "Ready?"

"Yeah," I respond, my voice muffled against the face rest.

I hear her enter, the door closing quietly behind her.

There's a pause—a moment where I swear I can feel her eyes on my exposed back, taking in the tattoos and scars that mark my skin.

"You've got a lot of old injuries," she says finally, her voice professional but something’s underneath the surface.

"Hazards of the life," I respond.

"Hmm." I hear her moving around the room, the sound of a bottle opening, liquid being poured. "I'm going to use a medium pressure to start with, focus on your upper back and shoulders since that seems to be where you're holding most of your tension. Let me know if anything is too much or not enough."

"Got it."

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