Jan Week 3: Spa Day with Samantha...Leah flirts back (Lust: +15)

Leah could tell Samantha was being flirty. Every word had a little extra sway, a practiced purr. It was the kind of thing Sam used to do to get free drinks at bars, but here it felt more like a dare than a performance. Leah never let her guard down fully, not even with Sam, but the heat and the bubbles and the fact that they were both naked except for a cloud of steam made it impossible not to play along.

“Jesus, I forgot how big your boobs are,” Sam said, eyes glimmering with both admiration and envy. “Like, they’re not even flotation devices. They’re full-on life vests. You could rescue Titanic passengers with those things.”

Leah snorted, sneaking a peek at her own chest, which did in fact look cartoonishly buoyant when she leaned forward. “You say that like yours aren’t the most perfect perky ‘teen movie’ tits ever. Give me a break,” Leah shot back, rolling her eyes but secretly pleased. She ducked lower, the waterline tracing her collarbone, and let her legs drift until they knocked gently into Sam’s.

Sam made a big show of stretching her arms along the edge, arching her back to display everything she had. “Maybe, but I don’t have the hips to match. And I had to work for these.” Sam cupped her breasts dramatically, then let them fall with a bounce, droplets spraying both their faces. “Yours are just unfair. Like, is it genetic or did you make a blood pact with a Victoria’s Secret model?”

Leah grinned. She was used to being the “curvy” friend, the one who got catcalled by roofers and whose exes sometimes forgot her face but never her cup size. In college, Sam had tried more than once to stuff her own bras with balled-up socks, mostly as a joke, but sometimes Leah wondered if Sam didn’t want the superpower for herself. “Definitely genetic. My mom had a rack like a Bond villain’s henchwoman. She had to special order bras from Poland.”

“Hot,” Sam said, and laughed, tossing her damp hair off her face. “My mom just had a thing for shoulder pads and the world’s tightest sports bras. She said it was ‘strategic’.” She reached over and, with no warning, poked the softest part of Leah’s breast, right above the water. “So unfair,” she repeated, but her gaze was softer now, almost reverent.

Leah wiggled away, but not far. She could feel the warmth of Sam’s thigh every time her own drifted too close. The spa was so bright and white and open that Leah forgot, for a second, that anyone could walk by and see them. The French women paid them no attention at all, but the idea of being watched made Leah’s skin prickle.

It occurred to her, not for the first time, that her friendship with Sam had always had this blurry, electric edge. In college, they’d made out at parties “for the shock value,” but then they’d kept doing it at home, on the couch, with nobody around. They’d always laughed it off—the default defense mechanism of two girls who didn’t want to deal with what it meant. Leah remembered a night after finals, both of them drunk and in pajamas, when Sam had crawled into her lap and pretended to give her a lap dance. Leah had let it happen, hands on Sam’s waist, and at the last second punched her lightly in the arm and called her a slut. If Sam had kissed her for real, Leah might have let her.

She could feel that same tension now, floating just under the surface, more dangerous than any bubble.

Sam’s hand slid down, not quite touching Leah’s knee, but close enough to count as a threat. “You know what the best part about a spa day is?” Sam said, voice going lower, “No men allowed. None. Just us girls, getting hot and wet.” She winked, and Leah felt herself flush, but this time she didn’t look away.

Sam’s hand lingered, fingers tracing the faint line of Leah’s kneecap.

“You know, you could probably get a killer OnlyFans with this body,” Samantha said, poking the inside of Leah’s thigh for emphasis. “You’d make more in a week than you do in a month at that hellhole school.”

“Don’t even joke about that. If anyone found out, I’d be dead. Like, actual-firing-squad dead.” Leah sputtered.

“Oh, I’m not joking. I’d subscribe. For science, obviously.” Sam’s eyes sparkled with mischief. Then, her voice dropping lower, she added, “I’ve always thought you were a little too hot for a boring teacher life.”

The conversation slowed, splintered into silence and a swirl of bubbles. Leah let herself float, body loose and warm, and let her eyes drift half-closed. She felt Sam watching her, and for a few seconds, neither said anything. Leah could have reached over, cupped Sam’s cheek, or pulled her in for a kiss. She thought about it. The urge was real, and strong.

Instead, Sam broke the tension with a tiny splash, flicking water into Leah’s face. “God, you’re such a prude,” she said, but her laugh was bright and forgiving.

“Says the girl who’s groping me under the water like a horny camp counselor,” Leah replied, flicking her back.

A spa attendant's sudden appearance stopped whatever Sam was about to say in response, they were wearing a powder-blue uniform and bowed slightly with dutiful formality.

“Ladies, your spa room is ready. Whenever you are,” she said, voice soft as a feather pillow.

"Oh what kind of massage was it again?" Leah turned to Samantha and cocked her head with an inquiry.