The First Intermission

by Samantha Lind

  “Want some company?” I ask, walking into the bathroom, pulling my t-shirt off over my head.

  “If you want,” she says, leaning against the wall. I drop my shorts and boxer briefs and step in with her.

  “Come here.” I slide my hands along her hips, then turn her so she’s facing me, and she rests her head on my chest. I rub my hands along the sides of her belly, and bring them around to her back. I find her tight muscles and use the heat of the water to aid in my massage. I carefully work on the knots and can feel her relax against me as I release the tension from her body.

  “Mhmmm…” She moans. “That feels amazing. I didn’t realize just how tight my muscles were until now,” she says as I continue to press deeply into her muscles.

  “You need to relax, babe. Maybe an orgasm or two will help you do just that.” I drop a hand to her ass and squeeze it. She just sighs against my chest and I take that as her agreement. I hike her leg up as best as I can against my hip and slip my hand down between her thighs. I slide my fingers through her wet folds and circle her clit. As soon as I make contact, she inhales a sharp breath and moves her hips, attempting to find more contact, more pressure where she needs it.

  “Austin!” she cries against my chest as I pull back slightly. She beats her fists against my pecs. “Don’t you dare tease me.”

  “Just relax, let me take care of you.” I bring my lips to hers, capturing them in a demanding kiss. As my tongue slips past her lips, I plunge two fingers into her tight pussy. She gives in to me as I fuck her mouth with my tongue and her pussy with my fingers.

  It doesn’t take long for her body to start fluttering around my fingers as I work her over. My thumb rolls circles around her clit as my fingers slide in and out of her pussy. I suck hard on her tongue as I plunge past the tightening of her core, finding that one spot inside that sends her over the edge. Her muscles go rigid as she falls against my body and I easily hold her up as she basks in the orgasm that’s overtaken her body. With all the extra blood flow pregnancy causes, her orgasms have been more intense these past few months, and it can sometimes take her a little longer to recover from them. Not that I’m complaining one bit. I love fucking my wife, and sometimes we’ve had to get a little creative with positioning, the larger her belly has gotten over time, but that’s never been an issue for either one of us. As long as she’s enjoying it, I damn well do, too.

  A couple of minutes later, she’s finally regained her strength and straightens up. “That was…” she says, biting her lip.

  “Amazing,” I finish for her.

  “Amazing.”

  “Good. Now let’s get you washed up so we can do it all over again in the bed. Only this time, you’ll be coming on my cock,” I tell her as I press my erection against her hip.

  “Okay,” she agrees all too eagerly as she looks down between us. The sexy, love drunk smile that’s on her lips tells me all I need to know in this moment, and that is how much my wife loves my cock.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Julia

  “Mr. Morgan,” I call out to the waiting room filled with patients. I watch as an elderly man stands and slowly makes his way over to the doorway where I’m standing. “Good morning, sir. I’m your therapist, Julia. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Good morning to you, as well.”

  “Right this way.” I point down the hallway to the treatment rooms. Once inside a consult room, I motion to the exam table as I pull up my rolling stool. “If you’ll take a seat on the table, we can get started with your evaluation and discuss what brings you in today.”

  “Sure, sure,” he says as he shuffles in and takes a seat on the table.

  “My records here show that you were referred to our clinic by Dr. Zee for therapy after a knee replacement. Does that sound correct?” I ask him, looking up from my tablet.

  “That’s correct.”

  “Your surgery was about ten days ago, I see. How has it been feeling since then?” I ask as I roll over next to the exam table, ready to start my assessment. I was impressed he walked in using only a cane and not a walker. Most elderly patients use a walker for the first few weeks, in my experience.

  “The first few days were painful, but once the swelling started to go away, the pain subsided,” he tells me.

  “Do you mind if I touch your knee?” I ask him before doing so.

  “Go right ahead.”

  I check over his scars, making sure I don’t see any signs of infection, before I start running him through my initial assessment. I take notes of his range of motion, so I can keep track of his progress throughout his treatment.

  “Well, Mr. Morgan, that’s all for today. You might be a little sore tonight and or tomorrow from the exercises we did today. If you are, you can take an anti-inflammatory that’s approved by your doctors, and ice the area for ten to twenty minutes at a time, as needed. I’ll see you back in two days for our next appointment,” I tell him as I lead him back out to the checkout desk.

  “Thank you, I’ll see you then.”

  I duck into my shared office and bring up his information on my tablet to finish my charting. My phone vibrates in my pocket, so I pull it out to see who’s calling me during the day.

  “Hi, Dad,” I say, sticking my cell between my cheek and shoulder.

  “Hey!” he greets. “How’s your day going? I didn’t think I’d catch you.”

  “It’s all good. I just finished with a patient and have a little bit before my next one gets here,” I tell him as I finish up the last note on Mr. Morgan’s chart.

  “That’s great, are they keeping you busy?”

  “Yes! My schedule has filled up almost completely, now that I’ve been here for a few weeks. They had quite the waitlist, and having another therapist on staff has helped clear that up some.”

  “That’s great, I’m so proud of you. I know I’ve told you that many times, but it’s true.”

  “Thanks, Dad. So, what’s up? What has you calling me during the day?”

  “I have to have a reason to call my daughter?” he scoffs.

  “No, but I know you. You don’t just call me out of the blue, when I know you’re working today and you know I’m working, so spill it, Dad. What’s up?”

  His laughter fills my phone before he finally starts talking. “You are too much like your mother some days,” he says, still laughing. “I can’t get anything by either of you, can I?”

  “Nope,” I tell him, popping the P.

  “All right, well, I was hoping you’d be able to do me a huge favor. My new goalie, Beckett, who I’ve been working with the last month, tweaked his knee today while we were practicing. Josh is out of town on vacation, so he isn’t here to assess him, to see if he just needs some rest or if he needs to be seen by one of the docs. I was hoping you could do a favor for your old man and check him out for me?”

  “I can probably do that for you. I’m actually done today at two, since I’m working the morning on Saturday. I could be over to the rink by two thirty, if that will work for the two of you.”

  “I’ll make that work,” he tells me. “Thanks for helping me out.”

  “No problem, Dad. I’ll see you in a few hours.” I disconnect the call and see my tablet is flashing at me, letting me know my next patient has just checked in for her appointment. I slip my phone back into my pocket before I stand and grab my tablet, heading out to the waiting room to start my routine all over again.

  A few hours later, I finish with my last patient, making sure to chart everything from the appointment before I clock out for the day.

  “See you tomorrow, Brenden,” I say to one of the other therapists in our shared office.

  “Bye, Julia, have a good day,” he calls over his shoulder.

  I swing through a drive-thru on my way over to the rink. With getting off at two today, I didn’t take a lunch break, and I’m pretty sure my growling stomach thinks I’ve gone on strike. I make it over to the rink and head inside, straight to my dad’s
office with my bag of food in hand.

  “Knock knock,” I say, rapping my knuckles against the doorjamb.

  “Julia!” he calls out as I walk in. “Thanks for coming over.”

  “No problem.” I take a seat in one of the chairs across the desk from him. “I just need to eat quick. I didn’t get a lunch break today and I’m starving,” I tell him, pulling my sandwich out of the bag and groaning as I take a huge bite.

  “Not a problem. Beckett left earlier and will be back around two thirty, so you’re good.”

  “How did he tweak his knee?” I ask between bites.

  “He dropped into a butterfly save and felt it pop. He was able to skate off the initial pain, so it might not be anything, but I don’t need my new goalie hurt before the preseason even starts.”

  “That would suck. Hopefully, it’s nothing then, or something that, with a few days’ rest, will be better.”

  “From your lips to God’s ears,” my dad says. “How’s the new apartment working out? Have you gotten everything unpacked and set up?”

  “It’s great. I really like the location. Close to work, so my commute isn’t very long. I even bike sometimes.”

  “Oh, nice,” Dad comments. “I think your mother misses having you at the house. She was getting used to having you back under her roof.”

  “I know. She tells me that every day.” I laugh. “But I needed my own place. I haven’t really lived at home since I left for college, and I’ve grown to like my independence,” I tell my dad honestly.

  “I know you do, sweetheart. Your mother is just sentimental, and with all of you kids out of the house now, I think she’s going through withdrawals. She asked me the other day what I thought of becoming a billet family.”

  “That’s not a bad idea. You guys have the room, and I’m sure some young players would go crazy over getting to live with you. Think of the players you could essentially mentor, especially if they gave you the goalies.”

  “I didn’t think of it like that.”

  “You’d be good at it, Dad. And it would give Mom something to focus on.”

  “How’d you get so smart?” he teases me.

  “I have some pretty kickass parents.”

  “I won’t argue with you on that one,” he says, just as someone knocks on the door.

  “Hey, Coach, I’m here,” a sexy-as-sin voice says from behind me. I’ve never reacted to the sound of a voice before, but I just did. It sent a chill down my spine and directly to my clit. I suck in a slow breath, willing my body to calm the fuck down before I turn around to see who’s behind me. I already know this has to be Beckett. Who else would call my dad “Coach” and be here at the rink in the middle of the summer at two thirty in the afternoon, other than the one player who I am evaluating for my dad.

  With my hormones in check, I finally turn in my seat and take in the man standing behind me. Fuck me. My gaze drifts over his tall frame, broad shoulders, and dirty-blond, shaggy hair. He’s dressed in a tank top and basketball shorts that hang low on his hips. I can see the large muscular legs, even with the baggy shorts that are typical of a hockey player, especially a goalie.

  “Beckett, I’d like to introduce you to one of the best physical therapists in Indy. I might be slightly biased, seeing that she’s my daughter, but nevertheless, she’s damn good at what she does. Beckett, Julia. Julia, this is my newest goalie prospect, Beckett Karlson.”

  “Nice to meet you, ma’am,” he says politely.

  “Nice to meet you, but please, I’m not old enough to be called ma’am,” I tell him as I accept his outstretched hand. That, and if he’s calling me ma’am, I have no chance of getting between the sheets with him. Where the hell did that thought come from? Oh, that’s right. My abandoned girly parts are crying out that they’re ready for my self-imposed break from boys to be over now. “Julia is just fine,” I add, after a beat of silence.

  “Julia.” He says my name and my insides melt once again as I listen to it roll off his tongue. How in the hell am I going to put my hands all over this man’s knee and not get lost in the feel of his skin against my own? I realize then that I’m still holding on to his hand, so I drop it abruptly. My skin tingles where we touched and the electrical current running through my body from the simplest touch is something I’ve never felt before. Not even with my long-time boyfriend, Zane, who I thought I’d be getting married to this summer. Never once did his touch send tingles down my body. Never did his voice make me want to melt against him, lick his vocal cords, and drop to my knees. Yet, this man standing just a few feet away, who I’ve known for all of three minutes, has done all of those things.

  “It’s nice to meet you. Where do you want me?” he asks, his slight Swedish accent coming out if I listen close enough.

  I bite my tongue to keep from blurting out, “In my bed.” Something tells me my dad wouldn’t be kosher with that idea. I’ve never been one to date any hockey players. I’ve lived with enough of them to know their schedules suck and they can be quite the stinky bunch. Not to mention, the number of girls that flock to them after games and such.

  “One of the treatment rooms would probably be best,” I finally answer him.

  “I’ve got one ready for you,” my dad interjects.

  “Perfect.” I turn to wrap up the rest of my sandwich, then follow my dad and Beckett out of the office and down the hall to the treatment rooms. Dad opens one of the doors and the lights pop on, thanks to the motion sensor.

  “This room should have everything you need in it. If you can’t find anything, Josh said to just call him and he should be able to tell you where it is,” Dad tells us. “His number is right here if you need it. I’ll be in my office working on some paperwork, so holler if you need anything.”

  As soon as my dad leaves, I turn in a circle, taking in the room. It has everything I could ever want in a PT room. Maybe I need to come work for the Eagles organization. Then I think twice about that idea. I don’t know that I could be around all these guys, day in and day out. I’d go crazy having to be near Beckett all the time, and not slip up and lust after him, then risk being busted on it.

  “Go ahead and take a seat on the exam table,” I finally tell him. He’s stayed standing just inside the room and I notice he’s been watching me. “What’s your pain level? On a scale of one to ten?” I ask, once I clear my head a moment later.

  “Currently, about a two. When it happened, a ten.”

  “Have you iced it since then? And or have you taken anything to help with the pain?”

  “I took a couple ibuprofen and iced it for twenty minutes each hour since it happened.”

  “Okay, good. Let me take a look at it, and I’ll run you through some range of motion tests. See what you can and can’t do. Sound good?”

  “You’re the boss,” he says, winking at me.

  He fucking winks at me! How in the hell am I supposed to touch him and keep my fingers from roaming where they don’t belong?

  “Can you straighten your leg, please?” I instruct, as I grab my goniometer, the tool used to check range of motion. “I apologize in advance if my hands are cold.”

  “It’s no problem,” he tells me as I feel around his knee, making sure I’m placing the goniometer in the proper position to measure him correctly.

  “Any pain when I press here?” I ask, watching for any slight wincing he may do.

  “Nothing more than the pressure it creates.”

  “Okay, that’s a good sign. Now, can you bend your knee?” He does, and I move the goniometer to measure his knee in this position. “Your range of motion is good, nothing with it concerns me,” I tell him as I put down the tool. “Any pain when you bend the knee?”

  “No, it’s feeling pretty good now. I think it was just a weird tweak, and some ice and resting it for the last few hours is all it needed.”

  “Coach said you were able to skate it out some after it happened. Did you feel steady on your skates?”

  “It was painf
ul, but I was able to skate through the pain. I never felt weak on my skates, but it was definitely painful, so we called it a day and I got off the ice. We didn’t want to risk a serious injury.”

  “I get that. Can you walk for me? I just want to check your gait and stride,” I tell him. He stands and looks around the small exam room.

  “We can move out into the hall.” I motion to the door. “Just walk at your normal stride, unless you feel any pain with it,” I tell him as he takes off down the hall a short distance.

  Focus on his stride…not the way his ass looks in those shorts, I chant to myself as I stay focused.

  “That’s far enough. Now, turn around and come back this way.” He does as I say. “Still no pain?” I ask, once he stops in front of me.

  “Nope, feels just fine.”

  “Good, I think you’re good to go. I didn’t see or feel anything that has me worried. If you do feel any pain, get some rest, take the ibuprofen, and ice it as you did today would be my recommendation for the next few days. All of that, obviously, if the pain isn’t excruciating. If that was to happen, then you’d need to get in with one of the team docs and probably have an MRI done to rule out any major damage. But in my professional opinion, nothing major is wrong, or else the pain wouldn’t have gone away so quickly.”

  “Thanks for checking me over,” he says, looking down at me. I have to crane my neck to look all the way up at him. He’s only a few inches away from me, so I can smell his manly smell. I can’t put my finger on exactly what he smells like, other than man, but whatever it is has my blood pumping once again as I breathe it in.

  “Anytime,” I finally croak out, my throat having gone dry.

  “How’s he looking?” my dad asks as he steps out of his office. I take a step back from Beckett and turn to face my dad.

  “Everything checks out. I’m thinking it was just a weird tweak that has already gone away. No issues with range of motion or his gait.”