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She's staring down at the large scar on my leg, making a face I can’t place.
“Nasty scar I'll have, huh?” I ask, gaining her attention.
Her eyes fix on mine quickly, as if I caught her doing something she shouldn't have been doing.Is it that ugly?
She shakes her head, pulling her hand away and looking down. “It's best not to be ashamed of a body that heals itself with such beauty.”
I stare at her as she glances back at me. Her words aren’t what I expected to hear. Our eyes lock together for a moment, and it's strange. There's a softness beneath her gaze, a slight shift in aura. A compassionate, nurturing side to her that's there, but hidden by her hardness. I should've expected it, considering her profession, but she hides it so well with her aggressive boss-bitch energy.
“That was very poetic,” I comment, taken aback by the statement.
She says nothing, but fidgets with a timer before setting it on the table near my leg. Her tongue darts out and licks her bottom lip as she sets it. They’re perfectly pink against her creamy skin. The top lip is slightly turned up, making it look like she's had some sort of filler, but she's not the kinda girl that does that. Those are natural lips if I ever saw them. Totally natural, kissable, fuckable lips.
Pain level, good. Activate dick deflation, I beg of you.
I must be high. Faded sweats over here is looking fine as fuck with these painkiller goggles.
“We all have our passions,” she comments, looking down. “Some do it for more than just the dollar attached to it.”
Her gaze cuts up at mine, shooting bullets at me with that glare.
“And some people are just honest,” I retort, raising my chin.
She wouldn't keep working with me if it wasn't for the money. That much I know already. Her distaste for everything I represent is written all over her squeaky clean face. She's not the type to fake it for a buck. So it's apparent she needs the money more than she's letting on. But why is the question?
She clears her throat, turning quickly to break the contact.
“Twenty minutes,” she says sternly, walking away.
My eyes follow her as she quickly exits the room, leaving me with a hint of a grin beneath the fluorescent lights, the buzz of the refrigerator nearby the only sound filling the tiny space.
As much as I shouldn't, I think I like this place beneath her skin.
5
Dylan
Gettingintomycar,I sigh, resting my head in my hands. This is going to be difficult. I can honestly say I’ve never once been attracted to a client sexually. That was before Lake brought his fine, broken ass into this gym. I’ve worked with many clients already, not just top-tier athletes like Ashton would have everyone believe. No, more of the Cedric’s of the world, but no one needs to know that little secret. Even so, I’ve never gawked over their bodies like I did Lake Decker’s.
It’s annoying as fuck, the way my body responds to his. It likes Lake Decker. It likes him a lot. It comes alive in his presence, and that’s appalling. Disgusting, really.
He’s physical perfection. Tall, toned, manly, and everything is proportioned just as it should be. That’s not even talking about his face. The strong jawline, the muscular neck, the dark, thick, shaggy hair that collects sweat and turns it into gorgeous wet locks.Ugh.Don’t even get me started on the eyes. This asshole has the audacity to have gunmetal blue eyes. The kind that shoot you down, catching shrapnel to the chest with every gaze.
I can’t work with him.
He’s going to ruin me professionally, especially if he realizes how inexperienced I truly am. I'm new to this. Fresh out of school with bills to pay. And yes, Ashton has helped to boost my career with his non-stop adoration for the therapist that I am, but if I don't keep up this charade of confidence, Lake will never choose to continue working with me, and I'll never get compensation from the highest professional football league in America.
Not only am I still researching new techniques needed to get him back on the field, but he practically caught me staring at the massive bulge in his sweats that protruded the minute he laid back on that massage table. I couldn’t look away. He wasn’t even hard. Something in the pit of my stomach churned at the sight of him with his hands behind his head so casually, his sweats clinging to him in all the right places.
My vagina went straight to my head, and I’d imagined myself straddling his hips on that table, lowering myself onto him while explaining all the ways I wanted him to stretch me, yet still making sure he kept the ice pack on that knee for swelling because, therapy.
I’m losing my mind.
It’s been too long since sex. My body is just horny. Maybe my hormones are acting up because my period is on its way? It has to be. I don’t do this—think with my vagina. I think logically, with my brain. If I don’t, we’re screwed.
Lucky for me, nothing takes your mind off your sexual urges like discovering the spotless apartment you left this morning is now covered in piles of clothing strewn about the living room, food wrappers and trash littering the tiny kitchen. Walking in, I immediately release a loud groan, pulling at the roots of my hair.
Collecting endless burger wrappers, Happy Meal boxes and little plastic baggies of opened toys from said Happy Meals, I head to the trash can to dispose of it all properly. Stepping on the foot press to open it, I stall, dropping all the trash in my hands onto the floor.
