Chapter 9 Something was wrong. This was all fucking wrong.

Elena's POV

Like he was unwrapping something he'd been waiting for.

Then his hand slid between my thighs.

His fingers moved with calculated precision—the callused pad of his fingertip pressed against my clit and began circling slowly, each rotation sinking deeper, applying more pressure.

Electricity shot through me and my back arched involuntarily.

I bit down hard on my lip, trying to stifle any sound.

This was supposed to be a spa. This was normal.

He changed the angle.

His palm shifted, his whole hand sliding lower along the slick, heated crease.

His fingertips brushed past my entrance again and again, circling, teasing the sensitive rim, but his thumb never stopped working my clit—faster now, relentless.

"Breathe," he murmured. "Let your body respond. That's what you agreed to, isn't it?"

"Mmm—"

When he pushed his middle and ring fingers inside me, curling them upward as he drove them deep along that wet, clenching channel, I couldn't hold back anymore—a muffled moan tore from my throat as my head jerked back, mouth falling open.

Heat coiled impossibly tight in my belly, then shattered.

Liquid gushed from inside me, soaking his hand, wave after wave of unbearable pleasure crashing through me until I thought I'd break apart completely.

I came.

The realization struck like a physical blow.

In a spa center. Under the hands of a stranger.

I'd come like I had no control over my own body, drenching his fingers, my thighs trembling uncontrollably.

This had to be my fault.

I must have been too long without physical contact, too stressed, too broken to maintain normal boundaries.

I pushed myself up, trying to get away, but my eyes caught on his lower body—the obvious bulge straining against his dress pants, the fabric pulled obscenely tight.

I froze.

Something was wrong.

This was all fucking wrong.

"Perfect. Looks like you got exactly what you needed."

He laughed softly near my ear, his breath hot against my skin, and the sound was dark, satisfied.

"Look at that—you're soaked."

He raised his right hand in front of my face.

His fingers glistened with clear, sticky fluid, strands of it connecting between his knuckles.

My mind went blank.

This was assault, and I'd walked right into it.

"Enough!"

I twisted violently, breaking free.

My hand swung back and connected with his face in a sharp slap.

I rolled off the bed, bare feet hitting the cold floor, panties still twisted around my thighs.

I yanked them back into place and looked up at him.

He stood by the bed, hands at his sides, wearing that same calm expression—but now there was something else there.

Amusement.

Like this had all gone exactly as he'd planned.

"You bastard!" My voice shook. "I'm calling the police!"

That slap didn't seem to affect him at all—his head didn't even turn to the side.

Instead, the flash of darkness in his eyes made my heart race—for the first time, I really looked at him, his presence, his build, even that perfectly commanding face.

Was he really just an ordinary masseur?

His mouth twitched into something that wasn't quite a smile.

"You think the police can touch me?"

I gripped my phone tight, the recording still running.

"I swear I'll put you in prison myself."

When I turned and shoved the door open, my shoulder hit the frame and pain shot through me—sharp, wet.

Without a doubt, the wound had split open.

But rage drove me forward.

I had to get out, right now, and report this bastard who'd assaulted me.

Mother was still in the lounge.

She stood quickly, concern and expectation on her face.

"How did it go?" She came toward me. "Does your leg feel better?"

The violation hit me then, something hot pressing behind my eyes.

But I forced it down and took a deep breath.

"Call the police," I said, my voice hoarse. "Mother, that masseur sexually assaulted me during the session."

I don't care who he is—

The man followed me out and leaned against the counter, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows.

His gaze moved past my mother's shoulder and landed on my face, those gray-blue eyes unreadable.

"The police?" he said slowly, something almost playful in his tone. "Miss Elena, are you sure you want to end our session this way?"

I glared at him, instinctively moving toward my mother—she would protect me, I knew she would.

But I reached for empty air.

Mother had stepped back.

She looked at me, clear impatience on her face.

"Elena, what are you making a fuss about now?"