Chapter 102: Fury And Fantasy
The evening air outside the Lotus Serenity Massage Parlor was heavy with the distant rumble of traffic along the boulevard, a faint pulse of city life that seemed worlds away from the quiet venom brewing under the parlor’s awning.
Robert and Gregory sat shoulder to shoulder on a cushioned bench, their white robes loose and slightly damp from the steam of their hour-long massage, their skin flushed a faint pink from the heat and the unresolved fury that simmered in their veins. Each clutched a magazine, Robert’s a glossy sports rag, its pages splayed open to an ad for overpriced watches he’d never buy, Gregory’s a creased medical journal, its cover featuring some breakthrough he hadn’t bothered to read.
Their conversation was anything but casual, their voices low and jagged, laced with a resentment that had festered for weeks, now spilling out like poison from an open wound.
"Son of a bitch," Robert growled, tossing his magazine onto the bench with a flick of his wrist, the pages fluttering like a wounded bird. "Devon fucking Aldridge, Chief of Emergency Surgery. What a crock of shit." His dark eyes burned with disdain, his jaw clenched so tight the muscles twitched, his broad shoulders hunching as if the weight of Devon’s promotion pressed down on him physically.
Gregory snorted, his own magazine slipping to his lap as he leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest, the robe parting slightly to reveal a patch of graying chest hair. "A crock? It’s a goddamn disgrace. The board’s nothing but a bunch of gutless cowards, handing him Thorne’s seat like it’s a fucking charity prize." His voice was sharp, cutting through the humid air, his graying hair slick with massage oil, his thin lips curling into a sneer that barely masked the sting of his wounded pride. "They’re all petrified of him, you know. Scared witless of whatever dirt he’s got on them."
Robert’s laugh was harsh, a bark that echoed off the parlor’s glass facade, drawing a fleeting glance from a couple passing on the sidewalk. "Scared? They’re just licking his boots because he’s got that golden-boy bullshit down pat. Flawless surgeries, my ass."
His words dripped with venom, but the edge in his tone betrayed the truth, jealousy, raw and unrelenting, fueled every syllable.
Gregory’s phone buzzed in the pocket of his robe, the sound sharp and intrusive. He fished it out, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the screen, his sneer deepening. "Well, look at this," he muttered, tilting the phone toward Robert to reveal Julian Croft’s message, "Devon asked about you both. I said you’re sick and out of town. He didn’t seem to buy it." the two men locked eyes, a shared spark of defiance igniting between them, and then they burst into laughter, the sound loud and mocking, ringing out like a challenge to the evening air.
"Sick and out of town!" Robert roared, slapping his thigh, his robe slipping to expose a sunburned patch of skin on his leg. "Julian’s got the backbone of a wet noodle. Bet he was shitting himself when Devon stared him down." His laughter was a mix of scorn and glee, but his eyes remained hard, glinting with a bitterness that refused to fade.
Gregory shook his head, his chuckle dark and biting, though his grip on the phone tightened. "Poor bastard’s probably still trembling in his loafers. Devon’s got the whole damn hospital on a leash, and they’re too blind to see it." He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial hiss, his eyes darting to ensure no one was close enough to overhear. "You hear the latest? Thorne’s ’case’ that vague bullshit they fed us about his exit? I bet that son of a bitch has something to do with it. No proof, but the timing’s too fucking convenient."
Robert’s laughter faded, his expression darkening as he leaned closer, his voice a low growl. "Wouldn’t surprise me one bit. That slippery bastard’s. I can’t believe they gave him the chief position. That’s a step too far. The hospital’s lost its damn mind." He paused, his fingers curling into a fist, his knuckles whitening. "It should have been someone else. Not that smug, self-righteous prick."
Gregory nodded, his sneer twisting into something uglier, his eyes glinting with a mix of rage and desperation. "It’s all politics and ass-kissing. The board’s too busy stroking his ego to see he’s just a glorified butcher with a knack for headlines." His words were a bandage over their wounded egos, but the fire in their eyes told the real story, Devon’s promotion wasn’t just an insult, it was a theft, a brutal robbery of the futures they’d both envisioned. They sat there, stewing in their shared resentment, the magazines forgotten, their robes stark against the twilight, their anger a living thing that pulsed between them.
"Let’s call Thorne," Robert said abruptly, yanking his phone from his robe with a jerk, his movements sharp with purpose. "Bet he’s got something on Devon, some dirt we can use to bury him." He jabbed at the screen, dialing Thorne’s number with more force than necessary, his thumb pressing as if it could crush Devon’s name from existence.
The line rang once, twice, then cut to a dead tone, the call failing to connect. Robert cursed, slamming the phone onto the bench, the plastic clattering against the wood. "Fucking typical. Even Thorne’s ghosting us now."
Gregory’s face twisted, his voice rising with a fresh wave of fury. "Devon’s got his claws in everything, doesn’t he? Bastard probably scared Thorne into hiding. Goddamn him to hell."
"He thinks he’s untouchable, lounging in that office like he owns the world. I’d give anything to knock him down, see that smug grin wiped clean off his face."
Their laughter had long since died, replaced by a heavy silence, their jealousy a tangible weight that pressed down on them, thick as the humid air. They sat there, two men in white robes, their magazines discarded, their words spent, but their anger a smoldering fire that refused to burn out.
Inside the Lotus Serenity Massage Parlor, the atmosphere was a stark contrast, warm, fragrant, and intimate, the air thick with the soothing scent of lavender oil and the soft hum of ambient music, a gentle pulse that wove through the flicker of candlelight.
Elena and Samantha lay side by side on plush massage tables, their bodies draped in soft white sheets, their skin glistening with oil under the skilled hands of their masseuses. The room was a cocoon of calm, with candles casting golden shadows across the walls, their flames dancing in time with the low murmur of the women’s conversation. But their words were far from serene, crackling with the electric thrill of gossip, their voices low but alive with excitement, as if the very air vibrated with the name on their lips: Devon Aldridge.
"Did you hear from Robert?" Samantha asked, her voice a conspiratorial whisper as she turned her head toward Elena, her dark curls spilling across the table like ink. Her eyes gleamed in the candlelight, her lips curving into a mischievous smile. "Devon’s the new Chief of Emergency Surgery. It’s official."
Elena nodded, her own smile bright and unrestrained, her brown eyes sparkling with a mix of delight and sly amusement. "Oh, I heard. The hospital’s practically on fire with the news. Robert was whining about it earlier, going on about how unfair it is, how Devon doesn’t deserve it." She mimicked Robert’s gruff tone, her voice dripping with mockery as she rolled her eyes.
"Life’s so unfair, poor us, blah blah blah. It was pathetic."
Samantha laughed, a throaty sound that echoed softly in the room, making the masseuse pause briefly before resuming her work. "Gregory’s no better. He was ranting practically frothing at the mouth every time he said Devon’s name. You’d think Devon personally stole his promotion." She propped herself up slightly, ignoring the masseuse’s gentle nudge to lie back down, her eyes narrowing with curiosity. "It’s like they’re obsessed. What’s their deal? Why do they hate him so much?"
Elena’s smile turned sly, her fingers toying with the edge of her sheet as she leaned closer, her voice dropping to a murmur.
"It’s jealousy, plain and simple. Devon’s got that... aura. He walks into a room, and everyone’s either tripping over themselves to impress him or too intimidated to speak. Robert and Gregory can’t stand it because they’ll never have that kind of power." She paused, her eyes glinting with mischief.
"He’s magnetic, Sam. You can’t look away from him. It’s like he’s got this pull that makes you want to be near him, even if you know it’s dangerous."
Samantha’s cheeks flushed, her lips parting as she leaned in, her voice barely above a whisper. "God, yes. He’s... unreal. Insanely attractive. When I saw him at the gala I couldn’t stop staring. That jawline, those eyes that just see you..." She bit her lip, her gaze drifting as if conjuring him in the candlelit air.
"I’m so jealous of every woman who gets to bed him. Can you imagine what he’s like? All that intensity, that control, focused on you..." Her voice trailed off, laced with longing, her fingers tightening on the sheet.
Elena’s cheeks flushed a deep pink, her smile turning secretive as she glanced away, her fingers tracing the edge of the table. Samantha’s eyes narrowed, catching the shift in her friend’s demeanor like a hawk spotting prey. "Wait a second," she said, her voice sharp with intrigue, sitting up fully now, the sheet slipping to reveal her shoulder. "Elena, what are you hiding? Spill it."
Elena hesitated, her blush deepening, then leaned closer, her voice a hushed confession that sent a thrill through the room. "Okay, don’t lose it, but... I slept with him. Devon. During a hospital checkup." She paused, her eyes sparkling with the memory, her smile both shy and triumphant. "Robert was right outside. He... he heard me moan, but I gaslighted him so easily, told him it was just the doctor’s exam table creaking. He bought it, didn’t even question it."
Samantha’s jaw dropped, her eyes widening as she clutched the sheet to her chest, ignoring the masseuse’s attempt to guide her back down. "No way. You’re serious? During a checkup? With Robert outside?" Her voice was a mix of shock and giddy excitement, her cheeks flushing a vivid red. "Elena, you have to tell me everything. Right now."
Elena laughed softly, her embarrassment melting into a giddy thrill as she recounted the encounter, her words careful but vivid, painting a picture that made the air in the room feel electric. "It was... the best sex of my life, Sam. I’m not exaggerating. One minute he’s checking my chart, all professional, those eyes locked on mine like he’s reading my soul. The next, his hands everywhere, his mouth on my neck... It was overwhelming, like I was dead and he brought me back to life." She paused, her voice dropping to a whisper, her eyes gleaming with the memory. "He’s so confident, like he knows exactly what you want before you do. It’s not just control, it’s like he owns you in that moment, and you don’t even care."
Samantha’s breath caught, her eyes wide and unblinking, her face a mix of awe and raw envy. "Oh my God, Elena, you’re killing me. I can’t even... The best in your life? That’s insane." She hesitated, then blurted out, her voice a mix of daring and desperation, "Is his cock as big as everyone says?"
Elena’s laugh was wicked, her hand rising to gesture in the air, her fingers tracing an exaggerated outline that made Samantha gasp. "Huge. Thick, too. Like, I was almost intimidated at first." She grinned, watching Samantha’s jaw drop further, her friend’s cheeks now a blazing scarlet.
Samantha groaned dramatically, flopping back onto the table, her hands covering her face as if to contain her spiraling emotions. "You’re so lucky, I can’t even process this. I haven’t had an orgasm in... God, I don’t even know. Forever. My sex life’s a desert, Elena." She sighed, her voice heavy with longing, her eyes distant. "I want Devon so bad. His mouth, his hands, his... everything. I want to feel that kind of intensity, just once. I’d give anything to know what it’s like."
Elena’s brows knitted together, her expression shifting from amusement to a thoughtful intensity. She reached for her purse on the nearby stool, pulling out a sleek black business card with Devon’s name and number embossed in silver, the edges glinting in the candlelight.
She held it up, her eyes searching Samantha’s with a mix of caution and encouragement. "You sure about this, Sam? Like, really sure? If Gregory finds out, he’ll lose his mind, and you know how he gets."
Samantha’s gaze locked onto the card, her lips parting as a spark of determination flared in her eyes, bright and unyielding. "I’m beyond sure. I need this, Elena. Gregory’s not going to know, and honestly, I don’t care if he does." Her voice was firm, a blend of defiance and raw desire, her fingers twitching as if aching to snatch the card from Elena’s hand.
Elena nodded, a slow, knowing smile spreading across her face as she pulled out her phone and dialed the number on the card. The line rang once, twice, then clicked as a familiar voice answered, smooth and commanding, its timbre sending a shiver through both women, even through the phone’s tinny speaker. "Devon Aldridge," he said, his tone carrying that effortless confidence that seemed to bend the world to his will.
Elena’s smile widened, her eyes flicking to Samantha, who was practically vibrating with anticipation, her hands clasped tightly under the sheet. "Hey, Devon," Elena said, her voice low and teasing, laced with a hint of mischief. "It’s Elena." She paused, her gaze locked on Samantha’s flushed face.