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I see his smile stretch across his face as I geek out over it.
The Neuromuscular Electrical Stimulation unit is a tool used by physical therapists to combat post-quad inhibition after ACL reconstruction. I pull out all the wiring and connecting pieces to this specific unit, which costs no less than three grand. I'm like a kid in a candy shop.
“You can keep it,” he says.
My hands stall as I turn to face him.
His smile widens, and I see a small chip on his upper incisor I hadn't noticed before. But there it is. He's got a chipped tooth. More than likely from a nasty hit. Somehow, as much as I don't want to, I find it strangely endearing that this man of pure perfection has a minor imperfection. What I like more is that he never got around to getting it fixed.
“Seriously,” he continues, and I realize I'm still staring at him. “Keep it. I won't need it after this, and Carey's retired, so he doesn't need it.”
“Yeah fucking right.” I scoff. “I'm not taking anything else from you. Like I need you holding this over my head.”
I turn it on and begin playing with the settings.
He’s silent at my statement, and I hope he feels as guilty as he suddenly looks.
“Give me Carey's information and I'll pay him for it. Maybe I can work out some sort of payment plan.”
“Dylan…” he begins, then just shakes his head.
“Sit back,” I demand, looking up at him.
His eyes drop to my chest before quickly looking down.
I suddenly become aware that I'm wearing only a robe with nothing beneath it. This new toy has me forgetting everything. Forgetting my nakedness, forgetting the man who's in my room late at night, the one sitting back on his palms on the table in only a sleeveless t-shirt and a pair of tight shorts that melt to his massive bulge.
It’s hard to keep things professional when situations like this just pop up in the middle of my smut-reading session.
I tape the electrodes to his exposed thigh, my hands unintentionally pushing his shorts up even further to clear the space. I lightly massage the area, finding the proper placement on his quadriceps. He looks to the ceiling as I secure the tape, gripping the edge of the table with white knuckles. His jaw twitches.
“Am I hurting you? You're not sore, are you?” I ask, confused by his response.
“No,” he answers through his teeth, still looking up.
“Alright. This shouldn't hurt, only tingle.” I check the electrodes, ensuring they are all along the quad and above the kneecap. “I'm going to up the amps, and I want you to contract for five seconds on, then relax for ten seconds off. We'll do this set for about twenty minutes and then we'll add it into our normal routine. Got it?”
He nods, facing the light overhead, and I see the roll of his throat as he swallows.
I kneel on the floor between his legs, my hands finding his thick thigh again. When I hear the machine click over, I tap on his quad, instructing him to contract. When he finally rests, I draw my eyes up.
Directly in front of my face is his massive erection going down the other leg of his shorts, lying along his thigh. I can literally see the outline of the ridges and the tip beneath the shorts. It’s thick and long, and pressing so angrily against the dry-fit material, almost begging for some sort of intervention.
Now, I understand how sometimes a physical therapist or even a massage therapist’s touch can cause a patient to become aroused. They have trained us on how to handle these types of situations. Remain professional and don't draw attention to the potentially embarrassing situation. Steer the conversation back to healing. But at the moment, I can't seem to do anything but stare directly at it. I'm frozen.
This is too much for me to handle. Literally and figuratively. My eyes nervously dart away before I look back at it again. I feel my stomach churning with an innate desire deep within me, almost thirsting for it. My mouth is open and suddenly dry as that metaphorical desert I'd imagined.
The machine buzzes again, waking me up from my stare-down with the dick.
“I think that should do for tonight,” I say quickly, standing and turning it off.
He finally drops his gaze from the ceiling, those cobalt blue eyes suddenly dark and daring. That chest is rising and falling as he breathes heavily through his nose. His entire aura surrounds me like a fog I can't escape, closing in on me, making it impossible to see clearly.
His eyes fall to the neck of my robe that's slipped open, exposing the tops of my breasts as my erect nipples poke out through the material.Jesus, this is so unprofessional.
I clutch it shut, turning away from his gaze. With my eyes sealed shut, I ask, “What time tomorrow?”
He stands, and I hear the electrodes being ripped from that perfectly sculpted thigh. Feeling the heat of his body near mine as he stands above me, I swallow. I don't even know how to act anymore. I'm being a child, squinting my eyes closed and refusing to look at him. But this is about survival.
