NENECHTE SVOU MANŽELKU JÍT SAMA DO SALONU - ŠANCE JSOU, ŽE PODVÁDÍ S KADEŘNÍKEM

It was late, the salon was empty except for him—the tall, confident hairstylist with strong hands. “Last client of the night,” he murmured, his fingers lingering at my nape. His touch sent a shiver down my spine. He worked slowly, his body brushing against mine, fingertips grazing my scalp, breath warm against my skin. “You have such soft hair,” he whispered. When he finished with the haircut, his hands slid down my shoulders. “Now for your free massage,” he said, . His strong fingers kneaded my tense muscles, his touch drifting lower, teasing the edge of my blouse. I knew I should stop this. I thought of my husband waiting at home. But when his hands slid lower, his thumbs tracing just above my breasts, I couldn't bring myself to move. The hairstylist smirked, his hands lingering. “Relax,” he whispered. “We're just getting started.”