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“It’s simple.” He walked into the living room over to the massage table. “I’m going to be pushing myself to the limit over the next month. I’d like to work with you on an as-needed basis, starting the day, ending the day, sometimes in the middle, too.”
I nodded. That was a lot. But he’d be my only client.
“I have a chance to make history at these games, win gold medals and maybe even break a world record. I think I can do it, especially if I work with the right team. I’d like you to be a part of it.”
My breath caught in my throat as I looked up at him, feeling a sudden rush of excitement. I’d always loved the Olympic Games, the triumph of will and athleticism, the inspiring moments of personal achievement and victory hovering over the risk of heartbreak and failure. I usually watched them with my parents, holding my breath, jumping up to cheer at a perfect vault or record-breaking sprint. Watching athletes fly through water had always been our favorite. Swimming was huge in Florida where the weather made it a year-round sport. I’d done some recreational team swimming as a kid, enough so I really understood what a Herculean impossibility it was to swim that fast.
Chase was one of the greatest swimmers of all time. He’d missed the last Olympic Games in 2012 due to an injury, leaving the spotlight to others. Now he had his chance. As a part of his team, Chase was offering me a chance to make history.
“Let’s do it.” I smiled up at him.
“Thank you.” He reached out and gave my shoulder a brief squeeze. The contact buzzed through me as I nodded, my stomach doing a slow flip. I didn’t know what kind of a ride we’d be on for the next month, but I knew I wanted to be on it.
Wasting no time—that precious asset—he pulled off his shirt and shorts, standing before me in just boxer briefs. I think I managed to keep a calm, professional mask on my face but inside I was leaping around and freaking out. Those abs! That V! He’s hung like a horse!
“Tonight, focus on my right shoulder and left quad.” He climbed onto the massage table, lying on his back.
I asked him a bit about each, making sure he didn’t perceive any recent injury or aggravation. He had general muscle fatigue, plus some symptoms of overuse. I would have to talk to his coaches and get the full plan on how he was going to taper. Somehow I didn’t think “scaling back” was a frequent phrase used in Chase’s vocabulary. He might need some help with that.
Zeroing in on the task at hand, I worked on his thigh, focusing on my every touch, making sure I applied enough but not too much pressure, easing his tension. I could feel some grittiness in his quad, maybe scar tissue, and he needed care and attention. I could lose myself in my work, and I did just that, but right as I gave his warm and relaxed muscle a pat and said “turn over,” something snapped me right out of it.
His cock, long and hard and fully aroused, strained against his briefs. Fully covered, I still could see every impressive inch of it pressing against the thin, form-fitting cotton. My mouth fell slightly open as I noticed the ridge around his crown. So huge. What would it feel like to be with a man that big? And in his kind of athletic condition? He could probably fuck me all night.
He flipped over, not saying a word. I hadn’t even met his eyes. I was too busy staring at his cock. I took a deep breath and tried to calm my racing heart.
Every professional massage therapist had a story about a client becoming aroused. It was only natural when a man was getting a rubdown with warm oils and stroking hands. It was the masseuse’s responsibility to maintain strict professional standards, not drawing attention to the potentially embarrassing situation but also clearly shutting down any alternate scenarios. There would be no happy ending from a professional masseuse.
Thankfully, I’d never had a client make an inappropriate advance. That wasn’t even happening now. Chase lay there on his stomach as I began working on his back and shoulder, breathing deeply, silent.
I was the problem. I was the one having inappropriate thoughts. Wondering what it would feel like to slip his briefs down and slide my hand along his thick shaft. How good it would feel to take him into my wet mouth and suck. How deep he could fill me if he drilled into me, looking down with his intense ice-blue gaze as he spread my thighs and entered me to the hilt.
I did my best to focus my thoughts, steer them toward safer subject matter. And once I finished, I nearly ran to the door of his suite. He hadn’t even fully sat up before I was at the exit saying over my shoulder, “See you tomorrow!”
“Nine, after my first workout,” he called after me. Of course, nine a.m. would be after his first workout session.
Back in my hotel room, I paced around like a nutjob. Why was there never anyone to massage the massage therapist? I felt so wired, but it was too late to go for a run. Maybe I could call up one of the women I’d met yesterday? We’d had a welcome meeting with all the staff members working with the team in various capacities through the Olympic Games. We were all staying at the same hotel, and I’d exchanged numbers with a few. I bet one would be up for going out for a drink.
Maybe there’d be a chance of running into Chase if we went out to a bar? True, I had just run out of his hotel room which would imply that I wasn’t interested in spending any more time with him. But that whole nervous jackrabbit thing? That was because I didn’t know what to do with myself. I’d been in a hotel room with him nearly naked in a professional capacity. But I’d wanted it to turn into much more than that.
I had to fan myself at the memory of him lying there in his briefs. His body was absolute perfection, every inch. And how many inches was he? His cock looked enormous. How did it even work with a man that large? I felt a throb at the prospect, something primal in me responding to the challenge. I bet he’d get me so wet I could take him all the way in.
Blip! My phone sounded off with a text. Maybe it was Chase?
Tori: Don’t fall for him.
With a groan, I smacked down the phone. How did she know me so well? Damn it. That was the problem with old friends. They knew everything about you to such a frustrating degree that they could predict your every move. Or mistake.
Grumbling, I headed to the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. Maybe it would be better to have a quiet night in, watch something dumb on TV or read a bit. Tori was right. I wasn’t even one full day into this assignment and I was already fantasizing about my new client. I had to watch myself.
I had a terrible track record with guys. You know how some people had a bad sense of direction? When the correct choice was to head left, they always decided to go right? That’s how I was with guys. Send a creep my way and I’d no doubt decide he was fantastic. My first love in high school? He’d cheated on me. My second love in college? Yup, him too. But my latest boyfriend had really taken the cake. Pair heavy drinking and occasional drug use with gambling and what did you get? Hint: the answer was not a fantastic boyfriend.
I should learn my lesson. When I found myself feeling a spark of interest in a man, I should head right in the other direction. And when the attraction was of epic proportions? I should run.
As I lay in bed, drifting off, I tried to keep all of the warnings in mind. All of the train wrecks I’d called relationships. Oh, and what was I forgetting? Perhaps the fact that I’d been hired as a professional to work with Chase as his physical therapist? I was not there to develop a wicked, panty-melting crush.
But the mind was a funny thing. Mine, like a magnet, kept getting pulled toward the sight of him laying before me like a magnificently sculpted erotic masterpiece. Irresistible.
CHAPTER 4
Chase
Flying through the water, arm over arm, kick after kick, I didn’t even feel like I was exerting myself. I may have been a dolphin in another life. Sometimes I felt more at home in the water than out, the rhythm, the balance, the effortlessness of it all. And this morning’s workout wasn’t about speed. It was about stamina. My daily two hours in the morning was just to maintain my baseline. The rest of the day was dev
oted to strength and flexibility in the gym, plus technique and speed back in the pool later in the day.
But morning laps were the time to zone out and relax into the activity. I’d done some reading on Zen philosophy over the years, with an eye toward how it could help me compete—yes, I got the irony—and there were some moments I almost experienced flow. That perfect harmony between brain and body, the two acting seamlessly, in perfect integration, without that hamster wheel of thought constantly churning and turning. No interruption of past or future, just now.
Except for Emma. That morning I kept thinking about Emma. I wouldn’t say she had me rattled. I didn’t feel off my game. It was almost as if I felt more focused, now on two goals instead of one.
There was something about her, quiet and still and so appealing. I couldn’t put my finger on it. I really wanted to put my fingers all over her.
Sometimes when I swam I had the mental visual of a racehorse wearing blinders. Trainers used them to keep horses focused on what was right in front of them. No crowds or noises interfering, just the course ahead. A great swimmer didn’t get distracted. It didn’t help performance to get knocked off course by events, letting my mind buzz with external distractions and activity.
I had strong blinders. I could filter out almost anything, honing all of my energies and attention toward one goal. But then there was Emma.
I liked the way she smiled, the way she touched me, the way her features melted into a laugh. I wasn’t always an observant person—and many people who knew me might have just spit out their drink had they heard that understatement—but I’d noticed Emma. Lying there on the table last night as she’d worked my sore muscles, she smelled like vanilla and lavender, clean and feminine. I wanted to bury myself in her.
I’d gotten so hard while she’d rubbed my quad. It was such a rookie move. I almost couldn’t believe it had happened. But no sobering thoughts had quieted the raging storm wreaking havoc in my body.
The way she stroked me felt so good, so sure and intuitive, firm but gentle at the same time. She really knew what she was doing. Like she’d had a lot of prior experience.
And, just like that, a wave jealousy washed over me. Which made absolutely no sense. Experience was crucial to becoming a good physical therapist. Plus, jealousy wasn’t an emotion I’d often experienced. In fact, I’d had plenty of women in the past try to make me jealous and I’d barely even noticed, let alone cared. Yet yesterday I’d instantly felt possessive enough of Emma to take her off the roster to work with anyone else. Now here I was, not even liking the idea of her having worked with anyone else in previous years. I had to get a grip.
My teammate Brian and I hauled ourselves out of the pool, heading over for a quick rinse. Brian was a good guy. He didn’t have too much to say, no boasting or bragging, just straight-out reliable performance. We’d be swimming the medley relay together, him on backstroke, me on butterfly. Together, we had a real chance at winning gold.
