Massaged By The Help Novel by Astra Marlowe _ Novel




Massaged By The Help Chapter 01

"Wake up, everybody. We're almost at the hotel. Grab your stuff and stick together so nobody gets lost. You can all get some decent rest once we check in."
I'd been resting with my eyes shut, my mind still totally wrapped up in the dream, completely losing track of time until the guide stood up in the aisle with a crackly little megaphone. All around me, people started standing up and gathering their bags. A few, still half-asleep, groaned about how brutal the bus ride was. Within seconds, the whole vehicle was just a wall of loud chatter.
When we pulled up outside the hotel, I shuffled out with the rest of the crowd. Inside the lobby, our guide grabbed our pre-booked key cards and passed them around. Carrying my light luggage, I snatched my key and headed straight to my room.
My name is Elena Voss. I built a fucking empire from nothing — CEO of one of the biggest tech-security companies in the industry. I close million-dollar deals before breakfast, crush competitors in the boardroom, and make grown men piss themselves in negotiations. I’ve got money, power, respect… but no husband, no kids, no family waiting for me anywhere. Just empty penthouses and even emptier nights. This stupid “wellness retreat” was forced on me by the board so I wouldn’t burn out. Like hell. I just need to survive it without losing my mind.
It was nice — a huge, plush bed made up with crisp, neat white sheets. I cranked up the AC, took a fast shower, threw on a bathrobe, and absolutely collapsed onto the mattress.
I checked the tour's group chat. The guide had mentioned we could eat down in the dining room or just order room service. Between the long flight, the bus ride, and the hot shower, there was no way I was leaving the room. I called down to the front desk and ordered dinner.
When the waiter brought up my food, he lingered in the doorway. He just stood there staring at me, clearly waiting for something. It took me a few awkward seconds to realize I hadn't tipped him. I fished some cash out of my wallet. He took the money and finally left.
After I finished eating, I crawled back under the covers and closed my eyes for a nap. By the time I woke up, it was pitch black outside. I checked my phone — it was almost eight thirty.
The guide had posted tomorrow's itinerary in the chat — we were hitting the beach behind the hotel, then spending the next three days exploring the surrounding area. At the bottom, he noted that a massage therapist would be coming around to each of our rooms at eight thirty every night, a perk that was already included in the tour package.
I was still scrolling through the messages when there was a knock at my door.
I dragged myself out of bed and opened it.
Standing there was a tall young guy — maybe 185 cm — wearing a hotel name tag and a medical mask. The only part of his face I could actually see was a pair of strikingly gorgeous eyes. He wheeled a small cart into my room, fully stocked with fresh towels and bottles of essential oil.
I stood frozen, trying to wrap my head around the situation.
"I'm the massage therapist the hotel sent up," the man said. His voice was clear and pleasant, and his English was flawless.
Relaxing just a fraction, I managed a smile. "American?"
A spark of amusement lit up his striking eyes as he nodded.
I lingered at the door, my hand still resting on the knob as the awkwardness rushed right back.
"I'm sorry, but I'm not really comfortable with a male massage therapist," I said, trying to keep it polite. "Could they send a woman up instead?"
He gave me an apologetic look. "I'm very sorry, Ms. Simonds. All the therapists have already been dispatched, and I was assigned to your room. There isn't anyone else available right now."
I opened my mouth to tell him to leave, but he had already picked up a towel. "Please, just give it a try, Ms. Simonds," he urged gently. "I'm very good at what I do. If you still mind it afterward, I can arrange for a different therapist to come to your room tomorrow."
I hesitated, then shut the door without entirely knowing why. "He's just a male massage therapist," I rationalized to myself. "It's perfectly normal. It's no different than having a guy do my hair."
Dragging my feet over to the bed, I kicked off my slippers and lay face down.
"You'll be more comfortable if you take off your clothes, Ms. Simonds," he said.
I sat up abruptly, clutching the bathrobe tight against my chest, and waved him off. "No, no. Just do the massage with this on." I had thrown the robe on right out of the shower with absolutely nothing underneath; if I took it off, I would be completely naked.
Turning his back to me, he held out the towel over his shoulder, his voice softening. "You can drape this over yourself. The massage is going to feel a lot better through a thin towel than a bulky robe."
Reluctantly, I loosened my grip on the terry cloth. My gaze dropped to the soft, thin white towel, and then to the hand offering it. His skin was smooth and delicate, his fingers long and slender with distinct knuckles. It was a genuinely attractive hand — so handsome, honestly, that he could have easily been a hand model.
Mustering my courage, I took the towel. Looking down, I untied my belt and slowly slipped out of the robe, leaving it at the head of the bed.
Sensing I had taken the towel, he pulled his hand away. With his back still firmly turned to me, he let out a quiet, almost silent laugh.
"Jax Partridge," he said.
I paused for a second, realizing he was introducing himself. "Right. Nice to meet you," I replied politely.
I scrambled onto the mattress, flattened out on my stomach, and reached back to drape the towel over my body. It was big enough to cover me from my lower back down to my thighs, which put me slightly at ease.
"Okay, you can start." I'd never had a massage from a man before, nor had I ever been this physically close to one. My heart was racing, and my muscles gave a slight tremble from pure nerves.
Those attractive hands settled gently against my bare shoulders. He started kneading my back with a soft touch, slowly, steadily ramping up the pressure and pace in a smooth, fluid rhythm.
"Try to relax, Ms. Simonds. Deep breaths," he murmured. "Inhale... relax... and exhale." Jax kept working, hitting my lower back with the absolute perfect amount of pressure. "Good. Just like that. Breathe in again, and out."
Slowly, I let my guard down, finally uncurling my tightly clenched fingers.

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