Lady and the Champ (13 page)

He’s right about one thing—I want him. My heartbeat pounds between my legs. I’m so wet it’s starting to be uncomfortable.

No strings attached.

Nobody needs to know.

Settling the towel into place doesn’t help much; I can see the bulging outlines under the terry cloth. I turn to face his head and lift his arm, working on his biceps. When I work my way down to his fingers, they thread between mine and I look down to see him smiling up at me, his face loose and relaxed, like he’s almost asleep. I fight an intense urge to bend and kiss him, to taste that mouth again.

When I switch to his legs, things get worse, because now I’m facing that terry-cloth-covered bulge again. And it’s bigger than it was. I catch glimpses of what’s under the towel from time to time as I move and bend his legs, working on his quads and hamstrings. When I rub down his thighs, my fingers get far too close to forbidden territory—so close I can feel the heat. My fingers want to move farther under the towel. Cup him. Test the hardness of his length. I’m almost shaking from the effort to keep from touching him.

Finally I’m nearly done, heading for his feet. His toes crack between my fingers and he moans a little. I massage the soles of his feet and then step back.

“There you go. We’re—”

He sits up abruptly, and I stop. His eyes are hooded. “You need a massage, too.”

“What?”

“How often do you just relax and let somebody else take care of you?”

Mason’s idea of taking care of me was going down on me. Once a year. “I…I don’t have anyone.”

“Bullshit. You have me right now.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you should get naked and let
me
work out those knots.”

It’s been a while since I’ve taken time out to get a massage myself. Every spare hour since Mason fucked me over was spent on my career. God, I spent countless hours volunteering just so I could get a letter of recommendation so that someone would hire me. It didn’t matter how tired I was. I’m used to being in crisis mode, to working my fingers to the bone.

“C’mon. I can tell you’re tense. Did something happen before you came over?”

“Kind of..”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not right now.”

Right now I just want his hands on my skin.

He slides off the table and moves toward me. The towel falls to the floor. He’s completely, gloriously, buck-ass naked. My gaze flicks down for a split second before I drag it back to his face. He doesn’t call me on it. Instead he closes the distance between us and reaches out, easing my jacket over my shoulders.

“Let me rub you down,” he says with a smirk.

Suddenly I can feel every knotted muscle, every island of tension in my entire body. My back feels like it’s made of concrete. As my jacket falls to the floor, he moves behind me, laying his hands on my shoulders. Just that touch has some of the tension easing away.

He reaches around and unbuttons my blouse, which flutters with my heartbeat.

Am I really doing this?

“This isn’t—”

“I never want to hear the words ‘appropriate’ or ‘inappropriate’ from your lips again. If everyone followed the rules, life would be fucking boring.”

I snap my mouth shut as Austin’s heated voice reverberates through my body. His fingers run up the sides of my arms, and then they hook over the edges of the fabric. Cold air stings my skin as he eases the blouse off my shoulders and over my bra. His heat moves down my neck and chest. Allowing a patient to massage me is about as inappropriate as it gets, but I’m past giving a fuck.

I start toward the table, but his gritty voice stops me. “
Wait
. You’re not done.”

“What do you mean?” I know exactly what he means.

He reaches forward and traces the white lace trim of my panties. The brief touch sends a shock through my pussy.

“
Take them off
.”

Oh my God. Just the thought of having Austin’s eyes burning my tits, my ass, is almost too much. Heat spirals around my chest, centering on each nipple. It’s hard to focus on anything but the throbbing ache between my legs and the warmth of Austin’s hand. His thumb touches my face, fingers grazing my neck.

“I don’t make
you
strip down.”

“You wanted me naked the other day, remember? If I’d known you wanted to see my dick, I could have sent you a picture.”

There he goes again. “I’ve never gotten a dick pic, and I wouldn’t want one anyway.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

“Believe it or not, the world doesn’t revolve around your cock!”

“Yes, it does. Stop talking and lie down.”

He gives me a gentle push, and I lie down on the table on my stomach. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him approaching the massage table. His hands settle again on my shoulders, big fingers moving over the trapezius muscles. He might not be a professional, but so far he seems to know what he’s doing.

“Well, that’s a shame,” he says, his voice low, then he adds, “You wouldn’t mind it if you were naked with me.”

God. I close my eyes, which doesn’t do anything at all to banish the images swimming through my head. Of us naked together. Of his hands on my tits, his mouth on me…

This is so wrong. I shouldn’t be doing this. I’m putting myself in a terrible position—walking a very thin line between professional and personal. If he knew, Dr. Richards wouldn’t approve. Roger would rake me over the coals.

I grit my teeth at the thought of Roger. He thinks I can’t handle myself, that I’m somehow not going to provide Austin with the right treatment. He’s wrong. I know exactly what I’m doing with Austin’s treatment. And I’m a grownup—I can decide what I want to do with Austin aside from being his physical therapist. He makes me feel good about myself—makes me feel wanted. Desired. I need that in my life.

Besides, it’s just a massage. It doesn’t have to be anything more than that unless I want it to be. He’ll stop if I ask him to—I know him well enough by now to know that.

His hands are wicked sexy, moving gently over my body, rubbing the softly scented oils into my skin. He strokes his thumbs deep into the muscles on either side of my spine, and when he finds a set of knots riding the edges of my shoulder blades, he stops to work them out in small, slow circles.

I’m melting under him, all too aware of the expanse of my own naked skin and the proximity of his own. Occasionally, as he bends toward me, I can feel the rough hair of his stomach and groin, and sometimes his cock. He’s focused on me, though, and he doesn’t try to make anything sexual out of what we’re doing.

Not yet, anyway.

After a few minutes of working on my shoulders, he pulls at the clasp of my bra. I feel it loosen. He gives it a soft tug, like a question, and I move just enough to let him pull it out from under me. His fingers slip softly down my arms as he slides the straps off. My weight eases me back down onto the table, my breasts mounding under me. My nipples are hard, pressing into the padding. I’m turning into a puddle of hot need.

He strokes down my back with both palms, finishing just under the edge of my panties, then moving back up my now-bare spine. On the way back down, his fingers glide along the outside curves of my breasts. I shiver under the touch.

“You like that, Doc? Does that feel good?”

“Don’t call me Doc,” I mumble, but I’m getting so blissed out there’s not much force behind the words.

He chuckles as he rubs back down to my ass. This time his hands go a little farther under the waistband of my panties. A few more strokes, and he’s worked them down past my ass. I think about making him stop, about covering myself back up, but I can’t bring myself to, for the simple reason that I like what he’s doing to me. My brain has gone blank; all the thoughts in my head have disappeared. There’s just me, wet and hot and melting, and him, all warm skin and deft fingers.

He strokes the backs of my thighs, working the muscles with his thumbs as he eases my panties farther down. I can barely breathe, and when the elastic band hits my knees, I roll onto my side, facing him. He’s smiling at me, but it’s not that shit-eating grin he usually has on his face. It’s satisfied, yes, but not smug.

“Austin…”

Bringing his hands forward, he slides his fingers along my stomach. “I’ll stop if you want me to.”

“No. Don’t stop.”

“Good.” He’s silent for a while again. I watch his hands taking in every inch of my skin. They slide up to my breasts, cupping them. His thumbs toy with my nipples, sending shards of desire into my pussy.

Why are you letting him do this
?

He strokes my thighs, the movements half therapeutic, half deliberately arousing. When his fingers reach the insides of my thighs, he reverses direction, leaving me aching. I want more. I want him inside me.

Moving a little closer, he drops to his knees and latches onto one nipple. I gasp at the sharp nip of his teeth. He turns the bite into a suck, pulling my nipple into his mouth. I can’t help it; a moan comes out of me, small and needy.

He reaches around me, hands sliding down my back, and then he cups my ass and pulls me closer. His mouth opens wider, taking in almost my whole breast. He’s tucked between my open legs, the rough hair on my belly brushing against my inner thighs. I grab at his hair, pulling his head closer to me as he continues to suckle.

His hands are still wandering, though, and one creeps around my thigh. I can still feel the oil on his fingertips, though he’s left most of it lying in trails across my body. Gently, he touches between my legs, opens me up, and drags his fingers through my slick, wet folds.

“God…” I murmur, fingers tightening in his hair. I want this so much. Never want him to stop. With his hands on me, I can almost forget about everything that’s weighing on me, every reason this isn’t a good idea, every doubt I’ve ever had about myself or my life—just everything.

Almost.

The doubts come back into my head, and I reach for his wrist to push it away, but then he kisses me. His hand moves closer instead of farther away, and a finger moves inside me, then two, sliding deep. His mouth comes away from mine and fastens again on my nipple. With his tongue swirling hot, damp circles around the point of my breast, he thrusts his fingers, withdraws them, slides my own moisture over my pussy, around my clit, then pushes back inside again. White-hot heat stabs my chest as I concentrate on the probing fingers arching into my pussy.

While one hand has fingers inside me, his other hand is reaching around to support me on the table while he nips and sucks at my breast. The sensation is almost more pain than pleasure, but not quite. It’s building fast and hot inside me, and I feel like I could explode at any second. All he has to do is touch me just like—

He stops. Not only does he stop, he pulls his fingers out of me. For a moment, he stares into my eyes, a smirk tugging one corner of his mouth, then he reaches down again and gently strokes one finger over my clit.

“You were close, weren’t you?”

“Yes.” My voice is tight.

He chuckles. “Well, you can wait a few more minutes, right?”

“Don’t fucking count on it.”

I reach up and grab the back of his head, dragging him down by his hair, and I kiss him hard. He catches my tongue between his teeth and utters a moan that I feel all the way between my legs. His hips start to pulse, his cock pushing into my thigh with each thrust. I’m wet there, and between my juices and his pre cum, the head of his cock slides readily, tracing lines of wetness over my skin.

“Stop teasing me.”

He pulls back, smiling through swollen lips. “I forgot. It’s been a while for you, hasn’t it?”

His thickness presses into my thigh like a hot brand, robbing my brain of the ability to think clearly. Or speak.

“Don’t worry, babe. Long after I’m done with you, you’ll feel the outline of my cock throbbing inside you.”

The fingers torturing my pussy suddenly arch, hitting a bed of nerves that send pleasure to every sensitive part of my body.

“You won’t be able to look at me without clenching your pussy. Maybe I should fuck you in my gear so that every time you see the word
football
, you think of my cock.”

I picture Austin saddled up in his football regalia, his number twenty-two jersey, Austin smirking through the bars of his white helmet, the tight Lycra shorts pushed down his powerful thighs, just far enough to free his massive cock. My mouth waters just thinking of it.

“Shut up and fuck me.”

Reaching down, I wrap my fingers around his shaft and shift my position, looping a leg over his hip. He goes deep—he’s bigger than anyone I’ve ever been with before—and he’s so hard it almost hurts as he shoves inside. A moment later, he’s shifted our positions on the massage table, and I’m pinned under him as he cups my ass, scooting me neatly under him so he can thrust that much deeper, fuck me that much harder. The sheet under me smells of massage oils and the musky undertones of his skin. As he takes me, I slide back and forth a little on the oil and the cloth.

Stars explode in front of my eyes with every hard thrust. It’s like having sex for the first time. My walls ache as they adjust to his girth. Austin’s fingers dig into my hips, yanking me back with surprising strength. Grinning, he moves his hands to my bouncing tits, squeezing each before fisting my hair. He pounds into me, hands tight in my hair, mouth bruising on mine.

He pauses mid-thrust, his expression fixed into one of wild lust. Breathing deeply, his eyes scorch my body.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m committing your tits to memory.” He grabs one of them, lowers his mouth, and I gasp as the wet sting of his tongue hits my nipple.

Then the table shakes with the force of his thrusts. I dig my fingers into his muscled back, unable to do anything but scream, pounded and pounded again.

Suddenly there’s a sharp crack, and he stops. “What was that?”

I’m desperately panting for breath. “I think it was the table.”

“Shit.” He scoops me off the table, and before I can ask him what we’re doing, he’s latched his mouth to mine and he’s carrying me down the hall.

Blank walls pass my vision before he tosses me onto the bed. I barely have time to bounce on the mattress before he’s on me again, inside me.