Massage

Jeremy smirked at my shocked expression before reaching out and adjusting the bikini straps. "There we go. This is how you should dress at home from now on," he declared, giving Mom's ass a firm smack that made her yelp. "It's tradition."

Mom rubbed her stinging cheek, but nodded eagerly. "Of course, sir! I'm just—hnn—so tired from work today..." She swayed on her feet, exhaustion catching up with her. "Oh dear," she murmured, her knees buckling. "I think... I might need to lie down."

Jeremy caught her wrist before she could collapse. "You know," he mused, fingers tracing circles on her pulse point, "in Bali, massages are considered sacred. Only the strongest men are trusted to perform them." His thumb dug into the tense muscle of her forearm, making her whimper. "Lucky for you, I've got magic hands."

I clenched my jaw. The thought of him running those brutish fingers over Mom's bare skin—of her melting under his touch—was unbearable. "Actually," I blurted out, stepping forward with my shoulders squared, "I took a course last semester. Sports therapy." The lie tasted bitter.

Jeremy snorted, barely glancing my way as Mom giggled into her hand. "Oh honey," she sighed, patting my cheek like I was still five, "that's so sweet! But Jeremy here is clearly more... experienced." Her eyelashes fluttered when Jeremy squeezed her wrist, her breath hitching at the pressure.