My wife booked the massage as a gift.
A ninety-minute deep tissue to work the stress out of my shoulders. That's all it was supposed to be. A quiet room. Soft music. A professional's hands unknotting the damage a desk job had done to my back.

Then I met Tommy.

Twenty-four. Beautiful. Calm in a way that made me instantly nervous. And the second his hands touched me, something inside me started to come apart.

One slow brush of his thumb over my nipple, and my body betrayed the thirty years I'd spent believing I was straight. One deliberate circle pressed into the center of my palm, and I felt a flicker of curiosity so intense it scared me.

He called it a natural response. A professional reaction to relaxation and touch.

But the look in his eyes said something else entirely.

When he flipped me onto my stomach, the line between professional and personal disappeared. His hands slid higher. His mouth followed. And before I could stop myself, I was begging for things I never knew I wanted from another man.

That was the first session.

The second happened a week later.

No sheet. No excuses. No pretending anymore.

Just his mouth on my body, his hands pulling me apart, and the horrifying realization that nothing in my life?not my marriage, not my identity, not even my own body?felt the same after him.

Now I drive home wrecked and aching, carrying the taste of him on my tongue while my wife asks if the massage was relaxing.

The lies come easier after that.

Soon I'm touching her while thinking about him. Kissing her while remembering his mouth. Fucking my wife on our kitchen counter with my eyes squeezed shut because it's Tommy I'm seeing beneath me.

What started as temptation becomes obsession.

And the worst part?

I don't want it to stop.

The Masseur's Touch is a dark, addictive MM awakening romance about forbidden desire, obsession, betrayal, and the terrifying freedom of becoming the person you were never supposed to be.