Page 18 of Take Me Big Boy
“Only my favorite patients get premium service.”
“Is that so?” She giggles when I wrap my arm around her and yank her against me. “Then I must be top of the list.”
“The very top,” she says, laying her head on my shoulder. “In fact, you’re the only one on the list, but the massage can’t last long today. I need to leave early. I promised my grandma I would take her grocery shopping.”
“Short massage it is,” I hum, burying my face in her hair and breathing her in. Losing myself in her sweet, flowery scent. “God, you smell so good.”
“You smell good too,” she hums, locking her hands around my waist. “All sweaty and male.”
I pull back and press my nose to her throat and kiss her chin before pushing up to brush my lips against hers. She sighs as she opens up for me, her eyes fluttering closed as I push deeper into the kiss. Her arms move to my shoulders, and for a second, I think about lifting her—the way I used to lift things without thinking, the way a man twice her size should be able to lift a woman who weighs nothing. My shoulder twinges in warning before I’ve even finished the thought, and the knee chimes in right behind it. Not after the workout we just finished. Not up a flight of stairs.
“Walk with me,” I murmur against her mouth instead, and she laughs softly when she realizes what I almost did.
“Smart man.”
“Trying to be.” I take her hand, tug her up off the bench, and lead her out of the workout room down the hall to mybedroom. I playfully nip at her lips, drawing a laugh out of her. I guide her into the en suite, set my hands on her hips, and lift her—just up onto the edge of the sink, a controlled motion my shoulder can handle for one second of effort—and her thighs part to make room for me to step between them. We strip each other, trading unhurried kisses until we’re both naked.
“Don’t carry me in.” She bats my hand away when I try to lift her again. “I can’t risk you slipping and falling in the shower. Then we’ll both have to hire a physical therapist.”
“You could treat us both.”
“Not taking the chance.” She laughs, hopping off the sink.
“Killjoy,” I mutter, to which I am rewarded by a playful punch to my stomach. I take her hand and bring it to my lips, kissing her knuckles as I back her into the shower. I wait until she’s wet to speak. “Now about that massage—”
She slams her lips on mine in a deep, hungry kiss, her hands scaling my shoulders, pecs, then moving down my stomach until she’s gripping my cock. “You want a massage?”
“Fuck me,” I moan.
“We can do that too.” She laughs, the sound light and airy. So full of joy that it chases away the darkness that often seems to cling to the corners of my psyche. “Make love with me, Matt. Make me yours again.”
I spin her, press her palms flat to the tile, and step in behind her. It’s hard and fast and wet. Her pussy wraps tightly around my cock when I thrust into her. Those emerald eyes meet mine in the steam-fogged glass as I take her, gripping her hips and jerking her back onto me. Claiming her.
Mine.
Steam curls around us, and I lose more than just my breath. Ashley takes everything and claims what’s left of my heart. Her thrilled cries echo alongside my pleasured groans as we come together. And when we stand under the spray, wrapped in each other’s arms, I realize whatever walls I erected are all but crushed to dust at my feet.
I love her.
Fuck me. I am in love with my physical therapist.
***
Hours after she’s gone, the thought sits with me. I don’t know how to feel yet, as I’ve never before believed myself capable of settling down let alone falling for a woman, but it’s obvious as day.
I am in love with her.
I sit down to eat but realize I don’t have much of an appetite, and it doesn’t all have to do with this new development. Lately, Ashley has been staying long after our sessions, where we make love and then share dinner. She talks more than I do. Tells me about her grandparents, about the cousins she grew up with, about the elderly patients on her schedule who give her zucchini from their gardens. I let her talk because I like the sound of her voice in my house, and because the more she fills the silence, the less room there is for the things I haven’t told her.
She hasn’t spent the night since that first time, but she lingers long enough that I’ve come to miss her company. It’s quieter and lonelier without her around.
Hell, now I’m turning into a lovesick fool.
Cursing softly, I pack the leftovers and put them away then grab two cans of beer and a bowl of nuts. I bring them with meto the living room and turn on a sports channel, settling back to watch a game. I down one beer then kick back to relax, trying and failing not to think of the woman on the other side of town. It’s tempting, so fucking tempting to call her and ask her to come and spend the night, but the clingy thought makes me flinch. Jesus Christ, since when am I so lovesick and pathetic? Knowing that I wouldn’t even be asking her over for sex but for her company makes me wince even more, but fuck, who can blame me?
It was only a matter of time before I fell for her. It makes sense that I would become possessive over her.
She’s mine, damn it. My beautiful little rabbit. So fucking gorgeous.
