Ethan
Monday morning arrives and I'm dreading it.
I've spent the entire weekend replaying what happened in the locker room. Natalie’s mouth on mine. Her breasts in my hands. The sounds she made when I sucked on her nipple. Every time I close my eyes, I'm back on that bench with her straddling my lap and my cock pressed against the heat between her legs.
I told her it wouldn't happen again, and I meant it. She's my physical therapist, and I need her to fix my knee so I can save my career and take care of my family. That's all that matters.
But my body doesn't care about what matters. My body just remembers how soft she was and how good she tasted and how badly I wanted to bury myself inside her.
Theo texts me just as I’m hobbling out of the conditioning room.
Theo:Olivia and I are coming over for dinner tonight. We're bringing food.
I lean against the wall and type back.
Me:Fine. But don't bring food. I'll handle it.
Theo:You sure?
Me:Yes.
Theo:Alright. See you at 7.
I pull up Arlo's number next. He's preparing my food for the week, so he’s already at home.
Me:Need dinner for 3 tonight.
His response comes within seconds.
Arlo:Got it. I'll make more than enough. Any allergies I should know about?
Me:No.
Letting out a deep breath to get rid of the pocket of anxiety in my chest, I pocket my phone. I step into the treatment room at exactly eleven o'clock.
Natalie is already there, arranging equipment on the table. She's wearing black leggings and a Renegades staff polo that's buttoned all the way up to her neck. Her hair is pulled back in a tight bun, and there are no loose strands framing her face like there were on Saturday.
She looks like a completely different woman from the one who moaned my name while grinding against my cock.
“Good morning,” she says without turning around. “Have a seat on the table.”
I lower myself onto the treatment table and extend my leg. The silence stretches between us like a rubber band about to snap.
“How's the knee today?” She still won't look at me. She's focused on her clipboard, making notes about something that can't possibly be that interesting.
“Fine.”
“Any pain overnight?”
“Some.”
“On a scale of one to ten?”
“Four.”
She nods and writes something down. “Let's start with some stretches.”
The session begins, and it's nothing like our first one. Before, she would chat while she worked and ask me questions. Now there's just silence and the sound of her hands on my leg.
