""Fine then," Lana said, her voice low and charged. "Get on the bed."
Joren didn't hesitate.
He climbed onto the bed, his breath quick. Lana straddled him without hesitation, her fingers trailing down his chest, her lips brushing his. The scent of lavender oil hung in the air, mixing with the sound of their shallow breaths.
Outside, the masseur returned, the small bottle of softer oil in hand. He walked quickly down the hallway, shoes tapping against the tile. When he reached the massage room, he stopped.
The door was shut.
He tried the handle.
Locked.
He frowned, then knocked twice.
"Hello?" he called. "I've got the oil you asked for."
No answer.
He knocked again, louder. "Hello?"
Inside, Joren tensed. "He's knocking," he whispered, his voice laced with fear. "Lana, he's knocking."
She didn't even look up. "So? He can't come in."
"He's gonna know something's up," Joren said, his voice tight.
Lana rolled her eyes. "You're being whiny. Just focus."
