“Pretty. You and your sweet mouth. Aurora. Please.”
She couldn’t move her gaze off his face, vaguely aware of the speeding motion of his hand in his pants.
“Bowen.”
Her whisper echoed through the empty room, and he came with a roar.
“Aurora.”
For a few brief seconds, she couldn’t do anything except gape. This had happened. Glazier’s second best scrub pants were shredded and covered in a copious amount of cum. A large amount was actually inside the right leg based on the stain streaking down Bowen’s thighs.
“You’re staying on the floor?” Bowen asked her, his tone more normal.
“Seems the safest,” she admitted.
“Then you’re in the wrong place. You’d have never come here if you wanted to be safe, Aurora.” Bowen stood, his face unreadable.
Now she was confused. It was highly likely, considering she had Glazier as her supervisor, that she’d heard that orgasms overcame the effects of morphine, versed, and ketamine to grant instant pissed off sobriety.
“I helped you take off your shoes. It’s my job.”
“So I’ve heard.” He removed the sling and pushed what was left of the pants off, standing in his inked glory. The muscles in his abs were practically enough to make her come, let alone the length of his shaft, which was still at half-mast.
“What are you doing? You can’t take the sling off.”
“Yes, I can. You gonna stop me? Didn’t think so, Roy. I’ve used a sling before,” he sounded ticked off.
“Your arm’s been back in its socket for an entire two hours.” She didn’t get up.
“And I need a fucking shower. I’ve got mud where the sun doesn’t shine. I’ll put it on later.” He trudged toward the steam room and showers section before turning around. “If you want to do your job, maybe you could help wash my back. Wouldn’t want to dislocate my shoulder again.”
Aurora could only stare at his broad shoulders until they disappeared behind the doorway. A toilet flushed and then the water turned on.
Eventually she stood, placing his cleats in the locker and setting out his wallet, jeans, and sling on the bench.
When she’d gained access to the Browns, she’d received an extensive handbook and signed many NDAs. There had been multiple sections about nudity and sexual contact. Specifically, any contact with a naked player was to be strictly for medical purposes, and the staff members had to remain clothed. Recreational genitalia and sexual encounters between herself and the players in the stadium were also forbidden.
The writers of the handbook had not anticipated Bowen’s (clothed) sexual encounter with himself. There was definitely no scenario covered where the medically intoxicated, injured male player masturbated with her present after affirming her consent, and then invited her to help him with his medically necessary shower.
The press portrayed him as made of stoneand undeserving of affection because he was unbreakable.
Football was harsh, injuries harsher, and the pain of failure the harshest yet.
Clearly, her rejection stung. Drugged or not, he’d opened up to her in a way he could not to others.
Too bad he couldn’t see her rejection for what it was. She didn’t want to reject him. She simply could not have him.
Aurora inhaled and exhaled. There was no way to give him what he wanted.
At least she could give him this.
She undressed, folding her clothes near his on the bench. Reaching into his locker, she removed his jersey and put it on.
As the handbook requested, she was clothed, and she would be performing an approved medical service to prevent the team’s top defensive player from dislocating his shoulder a second time due to sexual frustration.
Barefoot on the tile, she entered the shower.
He was standing under the spray, back leaning against the wall, every tattoo in sharp relief. His member immediately stood up to welcome her, and his face changed from hella pissed to mesmerized by her outfit.
