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He gives me a strange look, then tightens those muscles and lifts his leg.
I already knew he had strong glutes, but damn, feeling them work makes me want to—No, I will not finish that thought. No more sex with Callum. I keep my hand on his bottom only to make sure he keeps doing the exercise the right way. It's not because I love feeling those muscles move while I remember the way he had driven into me hard and deep while those glutes flexed with every thrust.
My grumpy client groans miserably and lets his forehead fall onto the mat along with his leg.
I remove my palm from his bottom and lean over to get a peek at his face. "What's wrong?"
"Donnae want to talk about it."
"We're done with the exercises, which means it's time for your psychotherapy session. You'll need to talk to me."
"Not about this…problem."
I stare at him while I try to figure out what his "problem" is. Then I suddenly realize what's going on here. I had my hands on his butt. We got it on two days ago, so having me touch him, even in a therapeutic setting, must have given him a hard-on.
"Tell you what," I say as I stand up. "I'll meet you in my office. Take as long as you need."
"Thank you, Kate."
"No problem."
Five minutes after I get to my office, Callum walks into the room. Even in sweats and a plain blue T-shirt, he looks hot and thoroughly lickable. Ihadlicked that body two days ago. I remember how his skin tasted and how his muscles flexed under my fingers when I felt him up. Yeah, I memorized every inch of his body, including that gorgeous cock. Though I had licked his skin, I hadn't tasted his dick. I wanted to take him in my mouth and make him come, but he wouldn't let me do it. Callum said it "wasnae necessary." I wanted to ask why, but he started kissing me again, and I forgot what I'd meant to say.
Callum sits in the chair across the desk from me with the cutest little smile dimpling his cheeks.
"You seem happier now," I say. "Ready to get back to work?"
"Aye."
"I will be asking questions that you won't like. That's my job. Are you going to growl at me today?"
He wriggles in his chair, that smile faltering. "I'll try not to, but I can't promise I won't."
"Fair enough." I lean back and rock my chair absently. "Tell me about the accident that injured your knee."
"Ask me something easier first."
"No. I've let you get away with not talking about it until now, but today you need to tell me."
He opens his mouth, then shuts it again. Starts to lift his bad knee as if to prop it on the other one, then drops his foot to the floor. Screws up his mouth. Then blows out a breath and slumps in his chair. "What do you want to know?"
"Tell me about the accident."
"It was a house fire. I was on the team that responded, but by the time we got there, the house was engulfed in flames. Four of us went inside because a neighbor told us the resident, an elderly woman, might still be inside." He shuts his eyes, rubbing his forehead. "We found the woman on the second floor, and my mate carried her downstairs while I followed him. Then a beam started to fall, and I pushed them out of the way. The only injury I had was to my knee. I came limping out of the house. The other firefighters had already left the building."
He told me what happened, but not how it affected him. I doubt he did that on purpose. Seems more like unconscious avoidance. I get the feeling he also left out pertinent facts.
"You were a hero," I say. "Your friend and the woman might've been seriously hurt or died if you hadn't stepped in."
He grunts. "Some hero I was. Limping out with—Doesnae matter."
Oh yeah, there's something he's holding back. I'll set that aside for the moment. "Let's talk about what you felt during that experience."
"I felt hot. It was a fire."
"Don't do that. I need you to talk to me."
He scrunches up his face. "Isn't that enough for today?"
