The male postpartum care specialist adjusted his touch with calm precision. Heat spread through my body, leaving me weak against the cushions.

"You're quite sensitive," he said quietly.

The warmth of his breath near my ear made me tremble, despite myself.

I, May Stewart, had just welcomed a baby girl into the world.

Everyone showered me with congratulations, but they had no idea what I was going through. I was in agony.

My breasts were painfully congested, the milk refusing to flow properly.

Each nursing session left me trembling with pain, sometimes drawing blood.

When my best friend found out, she hooked me up with a postpartum care specialist.

"Very skilled," she assured me, "with a steady hand and loads of experience."

She texted me his details, and I did not waste a second before booking a home visit.

I was desperate; the throbbing pain nearly drove me insane.

Two days later, the postpartum care specialist was due to arrive.

I had set the appointment for 3 p.m., and right on the dot, the doorbell chimed.

Opening the door, I was taken aback: the postpartum care specialist was a guy.

He looked to be in his thirties, clean-cut and easy on the eyes, dressed in crisp white linen, way younger than I had pictured.

A wave of doubt hit me. Could this young man, male no less, really be skilled at this?

It was not just any area we were talking about; it was personal. Having a stranger step into my space was deeply unsettling.

He must have caught the worry in my eyes because he quickly reassured me, "No need to stress. I'm fully trained and have been doing this for years. My only job is to ease your pain and get you feeling comfy again.

"I understand if you're uneasy about this, but just so you know, the deposit's non-refundable," he added.

Hearing that, I clenched my jaw and let him in.

Having a postpartum care specialist come to my house had not exactly been cheap, and I was not about to kiss that deposit goodbye.

If I had not been feeling so crummy, and if all those so-called experts had not been a total bust, I never would have thought to call him.

My best friend was the one who raved about him, saying his skills were 'out of this world'. She would not have recommended him to me if there had been anything questionable.

Thinking about that, I could feel the knots in my stomach start to loosen up.

Guess I have been extra careful since the kiddo came along. Hubby's always teasing me about turning into a worrywart.

The guy's name was Howard Jones. Right when he walked in, he slipped on some disposable shoe covers as if it were second nature.

He then glanced my way and asked, "Where would you like to start the session, ma'am?"

He left the question hanging, but I got the gist.

Even though I had psyched myself up to trust the guy, I was still a bundle of nerves.

My husband was not home yet. It was just me and the little one, who was snoozing in the bedroom.

I wavered between the bedroom and the living room but ended up choosing the living room.

Howard did not give off a creep vibe, but why risk it?

If I got even a whiff of trouble, I would bolt out the door and scream for help.

Howard just nodded when I told him, no fuss, no muss.

He laid out a sterile mat on the couch and wiped his hands like he was about to perform surgery.

"Please lie down, ma'am," he said, all business.

I let out a long breath, kicked off my shoes, and carefully laid back on the mat.

Lying there, fully dressed but face-up in front of a guy I barely knew, I could not help feeling jittery.

My hands clung to the couch like they were the only things keeping me grounded.

Howard caught on to my jitters and chuckled softly. "Just relax, ma'am. You can lift up your shirt now."

I nodded, bit down on my lip, and with a blush creeping up my cheeks, I pulled up my shirt just enough to bare my chest.

Howard gave a nod, his eyes locked on my chest with a look of pure wonder, as if he had just spotted the most incredible gem in the world.

I was well aware of my chest's appeal, and having a kid seemed to have only enhanced it.

However, Howard was not exactly subtle about it, and I felt like I was on display, like a fish laid out for inspection.

The thought made my cheeks heat up, and I shifted a bit, murmuring, "Mr. Jones, can we start now…?"

Howard came back to earth with a soft smile.

"Absolutely, you look stunning."

The way he said it was kind of double-edged, and I was not even sure what he was complimenting.

Before I could get a grip on that, a chilly sensation spread across my skin.

I gasped and recoiled a little.

Howard let out a low laugh, clearly enjoying this. "Ma'am, you're quite sensitive."

His comment only turned my face redder, my eyes darting around, not knowing where to settle.

Howard caught on to how flustered I was and offered an eye mask with a thoughtful tone.

"Would you like me to put this on for you? It might help you relax into the massage more."

I mulled it over and decided to go for it.

I mean, I could not just gaze at Howard for hours on end, could I? That would be way too embarrassing.

Howard looked like he was about to help me with the mask, but I quickly grabbed it. "I'll handle it…"

He got the message and backed off.

With the mask on, the world went black, and the awkwardness faded away, leaving my senses to focus on the sensation at my chest.

I have got to hand it to Howard, his touch was spot on: gentle, yet with just the right amount of pressure to put me at ease.

Howard's hands grew stronger, his palms radiating warmth as he worked the muscles with care. My body, ever so sensitive since having a child, reacted to his touch with a warmth that spread through me. I was internally glad for the eye mask that hid my flushed face.

The massage went on for over two hours, and by the end, my cheeks were tinged with a rosy glow. Howard's sudden firm grip caught me off guard, and a soft moan escaped my lips before I could stop it.

"Mmm…"

My foggy mind snapped to attention, and I quickly covered my mouth, feeling my ears burn with embarrassment.

I could not see Howard's face, but his deep, calm voice soon reassured me.

"Ma'am, there's a tight spot here that needs a little extra work," he said, pausing for a moment. "Don't worry about it, it's perfectly normal to react."

I felt so awkward, I could have sunk through the floor.

Howard's touch became lighter, soothing my nerves and lulling me into a near-sleep state. "We're all done, ma'am," he announced, just as I was on the edge of dozing off.

I sat up quickly, removing my eye mask in surprise. "Finished already?" I asked, a little disappointed that the session had ended so soon.

I glanced up to see Howard cleaning his hands with a damp cloth, noticing a smear of massage lotion. I looked away, my face heating up at the sight.

Howard remained unfazed, his expression unreadable. "Yes, this session should help you feel better. If you'd like to continue with the messages, just message me to set up another appointment," he said, packing his things to leave.

I sprang to my feet, ready to walk Howard out, but something about his look just did not sit right with me.

My shirt was still halfway up.

Then, out of nowhere, the door rattled.

I jumped, almost forgetting I had a husband in the picture.

If he walked in on another guy and me, my shirt half-off and all, he would be livid.

I yanked my shirt down quickly just as Howard made it to the door.

Sure enough, my husband's face soured the second he saw a strange guy standing there.

"Who are you? What are you doing in my house?"

My husband had a short fuse, and I was worried they would come to blows, so I jumped in with an explanation.

"Honey, this is a professional I found. He just finished giving me a massage."

"A professional? A guy?" My husband's face twisted up even more after that. "Since when do guys do massages? He's probably up to no good!"

He shot me a look full of doubt. "You were just getting a massage? Nothing else?"

"It was just a massage, for real!" I was ticked off that he did not trust me. "Don't believe me? Go check the cameras!"

We had put in a surveillance cam in the living room to keep an eye on the kids.

Never thought it would prove its worth in a situation like that.

Seeing I was not backing down, my husband started to get that maybe nothing sketchy was going on, and his frown eased up a bit.

"Sorry, I got it wrong."

"It's fine."

Howard was still all ice, gave a nod, and took off.

Did not look back once.

That made my husband breathe easier.

He saw I was still steamed and came over to wrap me in a hug. "Let it go, babe. Any guy would've been concerned in that spot..."

My eyes welled up a little. I got where he was coming from, but it still stung.

In the days immediately after giving birth, I was a bundle of raw emotions, tears coming easily.

My husband looked anxious, pleading for my forgiveness and doing his best to lift my spirits.

I was not truly angry; I could understand that in his position. I would have doubted, too.

I was the first to pull up the security cam footage. "Look! Nothing happened between us, see for yourself.

"Mr. Jones, or Howard, was a tip from my best friend. He may look young, but he's got over ten years under his belt, a total pro."

Since Howard's visit, I did not feel so tight in the chest anymore, and nursing my baby was a breeze.

My husband kept saying he trusted me, but his eyes told the real story.

He watched the entire surveillance tape.

Only then did he genuinely relax.