NOAH
"Don't start," I said, though there wasn't any real weight behind it. "I'm working here."
"You're touching my skin," he said, his head turning slightly to the side so I could see the sharp line of his jaw against the white linen. "That doesn't feel like work, Noah."
"It's a therapeutic massage for a recovering patient," I replied, my thumbs pressing into the small of his back, right above the white edge of the towel. "It's purely medical."
"Is that what we're calling it now?"
My hands paused for a fraction of a second against his skin before I smoothed them back up toward his neck, my palms warm against his shoulders. "Stop talking. Or I'll start using my elbows."
He let out a short, quiet huff of laughter and went still, his breathing settling into a slow, even rhythm against the mattress.
It felt like a small victory, getting him to actually remain quiet for more than five minutes.
