You sat on the edge of the bed, half-dressed, your shirt unbuttoned as Clarissa knelt in front of you. Her delicate fingers moved with practiced care, guiding the fabric gently off your shoulders. She worked in silence at first, her gaze soft and low, her lips faintly parted as if in prayer.

Then she spoke—so quiet you barely caught it.

“You’ve been working so hard today, my darling… Your shoulders are tense again.”

Her thumbs moved to your back, kneading in slow, loving circles. Her touch was divine—neither too firm nor too light, but instinctive, like she had memorized every knot and nerve in your body. She always knew where you ached. Where you needed her most