Chapter Text
The man walked in like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be seen or like he was too used to it to care. His coat was tailored within an inch of its life, sharp enough to qualify as a weapon, and he moved like someone who knew exactly how much space he took up.
Nick looked up from the front desk and nearly forgot what words were.
Tall. Broad shouldered. Expensive looking everything,coat, watch, shoes. But nothing flashy. His hair was dark, almost black, neatly styled but not fussy. And his face…
His face could ruin a man.
Nick blinked once, twice, and managed a professional smile. “Can I help you?”
The man gave a nod that felt too formal for the setting. “I have an appointment. Under… Eric V.”
Nick glanced at the form on his screen. Eric Valentin. Clearly fake. Not his business. “First visit?”
“Yeah,” he said, after a pause like he was debating how honest to be. His voice was smooth but low like something meant to be heard in the dark.
Nick stood, trying not to stare and failing miserably. The guy had the kind of presence that made it hard to look away. Sharp jaw, long fingers, eyes like steel under ice. It was criminal, really.
“Come on back,” Nick said, leading him into the treatment room. “You can undress to your comfort level. Face down on the table, under the sheet. I’ll knock before I come in.”
When Nick returned a few minutes later, he had himself mostly under control until he saw the man on the table.
Sweet mercy.
He was all lean muscle, long lines and coiled tension. The kind of body that had probably been sculpted more by habit and discipline than vanity. His back was broad, tapering into a waist Nick tried very hard not to look at for more than three seconds.
Nick cleared his throat and warmed the oil in his hands. “Any particular areas bothering you?”
The man didn’t lift his head. “Upper back. Shoulders. Don’t hold back.”
Nick didn’t plan to. He started slow, firm pressure over the trapezius muscles, thumbs pressing into knots that felt like they’d been there for years.
Beneath his hands, the man exhaled just a sound, but low and involuntary. Nick bit the inside of his cheek.
Focus, Nick.
But it was hard when the man made small, tense noises every time Nick hit a deep knot. Not the usual kind of client moans either—more restrained, like he wasn’t used to showing any kind of vulnerability.
“You’ve got a ridiculous amount of tension here,” Nick said softly, letting his hands do most of the talking.
The man didn’t respond, but his shoulders slowly, grudgingly loosened.
Nick’s gaze drifted down the length of his back. He was gorgeous in that “quiet power” way, like a wolf in a suit. Nick’s hands were trained, respectful, but his brain was not.
He didn’t just want to touch him. He wanted to take a bite. Maybe several.
He tucked that thought away before it got dangerous.
The session passed in a strange, peaceful silence. No small talk. No distractions. Just warmth, breath, and the slow undoing of something that had been locked tight too long.
When Nick finally said, “That’s time,” the man sat up slowly, rolling his shoulders.
His eyes met Nick’s in the mirror. Gray, guarded, but softer now. “You’re good,” he said.
Nick tried not to look smug. “I get that a lot.”
The man dressed quickly, smooth and practiced. Before leaving, he paused by the door. “Same time next week?”
Nick nodded, heart already speeding up. “I’ll put you down.”
When he was gone, Nick leaned against the counter and muttered, “You’re lucky I’m a professional.”
Because if he wasn’t?
He’d already be asking for that man’s number and maybe whether he tasted as good as he looked.