The masseuse's professional demeanor crumbles as she works, her eyes locked onto the curve of her patient's ass, her breath coming in short pants. She can't help but imagine the taste of the woman's skin, the feel of her muscles under her tongue. She leans in, her breath hot on the patient's ear, whispering, "I can't help myself," before her tongue darts out, licking a wet trail down the patient's back. She pauses at the small of her back, her fingers tracing the edge of the woman's panties, her heart pounding as she debates whether to continue. Her desire wins out, and she slips her fingers beneath the fabric, finding the patient wet and ready, her tongue joining her fingers in a dance of unspoken love.