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“It’s my nice way of telling you to shut up for a while so I can focus on your leg.”
Rhett chuckles, but thankfully, he closes his eyes and keeps his mouth shut for the time being.
All this constant verbal judo we have going on is enough to make my head spin, and I savor the rare moments of silence while I continue to massage his leg.
Moving my fingers up and around his knee, I carefully prod around the reconstructed patella tendon, examining its current state before slowly easing my hands farther up his leg to his quadriceps muscle.
More knots make themselves known as I explore the prominent muscle and slowly increase the pressure into each one to help work out the tension and fluid that have built up inside the taut flesh.
Eventually, I have to adjust the sheet that covers his body to reveal a little more of his upper thigh, and when my gaze spots the hint of his boxer briefs, it just kind of fixates there.
Don’t do it, Leah. Do not think about what lies beneath those briefs.
I try really hard to divert my brain to a safer mental route, but it becomes an impossible feat when my fingers locate another knot in his quad muscle that sits too close to his you-know-what for comfort.
A few more inches and I would nearly be right there.
Right at the promised land of cowboy cock.
Oh my God. Stop it. This is so unprofessional.
It definitely is completely wrong, and I should not be thinking about any of the things I’m thinking of, but holy hot bod, when my fingers hit a particularly tender spot on his upper thigh and a soft—and insanely sexy—grunt escapes Rhett’s lips, my nipples take that as their cue to join in on the inappropriate, horny fun and tighten beneath my bra and tank top.
Get it together, Leah!
I don’t know if it’s because I’m in one seriously long sex drought or because Rhett Jameson’s rugged hotness is a one hundred on a ten-point scale, but my body appears impervious to the memo of keeping shit professional.
He opens his eyes, and I don’t miss the way his gaze flits from my eyes to my lips to my chest to my fingers that are currently still touching him.
And I hate how fucking tempted I am to change up the purpose of the massage.
The urge to just…touch him and caress him and feel him instead of only treating him is so strong that I feel like my head might explode.
My mind races with a million different conflicting emotions.
Maybe you should move your fingers up a few more inches and to the left…
No! No! Don’t do that!
But, like, you should probably do it…you know…just to make sure all of his muscles are in good shape…
My cheeks heat and the room feels like it’s been relocated to the surface of the sun, and all of a sudden, the tank top and jean shorts I bought at Target the other day when I drove into town with Jenny are feeling like they weigh one thousand pounds.
Rhett’s eyes meet mine again, and I don’t miss the way his lips are ever-so-slightly parted.
If he keeps looking at me like that, I don’t know what I’m liable to do…
Rhett
Fuck, this is starting to feel too good…
If I would’ve known agreeing to let Leah massage my leg would’ve led to me lying flat on my back—in my fucking bed—while she threads her fingers up my thigh, I sure as shit would’ve never taken my pants off in the first place.
Christ. I hate how good her hands feel on my skin.
And I really fucking hate that every time I see her, I feel like she’s wearing fewer and fewer clothes.
Today’s outfit consists of a pair of cutoff jean shorts and a loose tank top that teases the curves of her breasts, which might as well be a fucking bull’s-eye.
Shit.
I shut my eyes for a moment and try to think about anything but how soft Leah’s hands feel or the way her breasts move up and down as she works her fingers into the muscles of my thigh.
All the shit I need to get done for the upcoming Fourth of July celebration.
The ridiculous shit Tiny says on a daily basis.
Goddamn baseball.
I roll through every possible thing that would serve as a good distraction from the woman who’s currently touching me, but when I open my eyes again, every thought disappears in a dangerous poof.
Her eyes lock with mine, and she doesn’t stop moving her fucking hands across my skin. And it should be illegal for this doctor to ever administer a massage to any of her male patients, especially when she’s dressed like this.
It feels too damn good, and my cock really wants to take notice.
Son of a bitch.
This woman looks like a goddess standing before me, and I’m starting to forget the actual purpose of this massage. Hell, I’m not even sure if I remember I busted my fucking knee at this point.
