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Monday night football.
Our last night here before we fly home in the morning. I'm not playing, obviously, but sidelining it with the team and making my appearance on screen for my mom watching back home.
We get busy with our session, Dylan showing me some new exercises to implement with the old. Working in silence, she helps me with the knee slides, then follows up with the passive knee stretch with a hotel pillow under my heel. I’m hardly feeling my strength returning as we continue our sessions day by achingly slow day. It’s a tedious process and I don’t have the patience. It’s running thin already, and my therapist will hardly even touch me.
She's really cautious today. I noticed it right away when we started today's session, and I kind of hate it. She's a professional, right? She shouldn't be changing her methods, no matter who the client is. She should be touching me. Her hands on me. To ensure proper healing.
Hopping back onto the table after an hour of stealing glances at each other, accidentally brushing up against one another, and attempting to ignore the flirty grins back and forth, she's about to start the electrode strengthening session we tried out last night. I roll my shorts up my thigh, leaning back on my palms to prepare for the placement, but she surprises me by tossing the electrodes onto my lap.
“You remember where they went last time?” she asks, not making eye contact as she messes with the machine.
I know what she's doing, and I won't let her get away with it. Not anymore.
“Nope,” I reply.
She sighs, scratching the back of her head, her fingers sprawling through the sandy-colored messy bun that unintentionally makes her look sexy.
“I don't,” I continue, shrugging.
She rolls her eyes, her tongue dragging across her lips, and it makes me crack.
“You gotta touch me, Dylan,” I say huskily.
She blinks up at the tone of my voice, and the temperature in the room changes. The heat rises in her amber eyes, more than likely mirroring mine. I want us to deal with this sexual tension between us and put it to bed. Put us to bed. Her chest expands and contracts, like breathing has become as difficult as she's making it look. She's killing me, this girl.
“Touch me,” I demand.
“Lake…” she whispers breathlessly, as if my name alone pains her.
I study her face as if my life depends on it. Those lips call to me. The urge to kiss her is becoming something I can't deny myself any longer. Maybe I just need to get this out of my system. Just once.
Grabbing the tips of her fingers, I pull her closer to me again. She falls into the space between my legs, the stance very reminiscent of our first encounter on this table.
“Lake, this isn't—”
I press my finger against her lips to quiet her, enjoying the feeling of those plush, pink pillows against the lucky digit. I slowly drag my finger down, making her bottom lip spring up as I trail it down her chin.
“If you can honestly tell me right now you want me to stop, then I'll stop,” I whisper, staring directly into her gorgeous, burning eyes.
I wait for her to respond, but she just stands there, breathing through those parted lips, her eyes afraid to leave mine, almost knowing if she looks away, whatever we're both feeling will end as abruptly as it started.
“We don't have to tell anyone.” I pull her deeper between my thighs again, so her hips meet the edge of the table I'm propped on. “If that’s what you’re worried about.”
Who am I? I don't do shit like this. We don’t have to tell anyone?
“No one will know.” I continue, taking her hands and placing both of them around me on the table behind my back. The move forces her to bend forward over me as I sit with my hands planted behind me, knees hanging from the table.
“No one?” she whispers.
“Never,” I reiterate, shaking my head.
She sighs. “It’s a bad idea, Lake.”
“But you want to,” I say, reaching for the answer in her head. “Don't you?”
Her sweet scent hits my nose and I become a madman, needing it all over me. I watch as her eyes trail from my nose to my lips, to my neck, and then to my chest. I can almost feel her touching me with her gaze. I’m aching for her touch.
“Let me ask you this,” I say, tipping my head back, looking at the curve of her mouth and back into her eyes. “If you knew you could have me all to yourself for one night, no strings attached, would you take it?”
