Physical Therapy (Red Hot Read Book 4)

by Max Henry

  “Come on, Doc.” He places a chaste kiss to my lips. “Play fair. Answer the question.”

  “You’re distracting me,” I complain.

  His smile is infectious. “Now you know how hard it is for me every time we’re in the same damn room.”

  Touché.

  He groans into my mouth, pulling me tighter against him as I hold his face in my hands and kiss him like I should have last time I was here. I’ve had a week to think it over. A week to play out the fantasy in my mind of how things could have gone, had I trusted my gut and just gone with it.

  I bolted, allowing fear to win when my doubts and worries overwhelmed me. Had I taken the advice I dish out to my patients day in and day out, then I would have tossed those fears aside and chosen to live in the moment.

  Aware of the present.

  Conscious of the unbelievably sexy man that was mine to have.

  Boe abides when I shove at the waist of his sweatpants, pulling his hands from my body long enough to guide the clothing over his hips. I complete the job, hooking my toes into the crotch of the pants and shoving them to his knees.

  No boxers—save me.

  The distance between us is unbearable when he steps away to shuck them properly, however, the relief when his body encases mine once more is worth the sacrifice. Arms around his shoulders and legs around his waist, I cling to Boe as he lifts me from the counter. I barely pay any mind to where he takes us, delirious in his kisses as he dots them against my nose and mouth. There’s such a soft and caring side to this arrogant and defensive man.

  A side I hope to bring to the surface for all to see.

  Light dims, the walls closing in. We pass what I’m sure was the bathroom and hook a left into a pitch-black space. Boe’s hand leaves my ass to slap against the wall twice before soft light illuminates what is clearly his bedroom. I turn in his hold, drinking in the detail as quickly as I can before he steals my focus once more.

  “Stop it.”

  “Stop what?” I ask.

  His brow furrows as he sets me on the bed, and then promptly knocks me backward with a firm hand to the shoulder. “Analyzing me.”

  “I wasn’t analyzing you,” I argue. “I was analyzing the room.”

  “Same thing.” He prowls over top of me. Our hips connect, his thick erection pressed against my barely covered mound.

  I run my hands over his muscular arms, tracing the swell of his biceps with my thumbs. He looks down at me, the heat of his stare leaving my cheeks flushed.

  “Tell me what you wanted from tonight,” Boe demands. “Why did you come here dressed like this?”

  “I thought it would be obvious.”

  “You don’t strike me as the kind of woman who simply wants a fuck.”

  My hands stall in their exploration. “Is that so bad?”

  His hips rock slowly into mine. “Depends on what the ulterior motive is, I guess.”

  I sigh. “You seemed as though you needed cheering up.”

  “The food would have worked fine for that,” he teases.

  “Yeah? Well, it wouldn’t have for me.”

  Boe grins. “So this wasn’t really about my mood then?”

  I trace his lips with my index finger. “Perhaps it was for both of us. So sue me.”

  He lowers his body over mine, pressing his mouth to my own. I relish his taste and savor the languid way he explores with his tongue. Each sweep sends bolts of arousal through my body. My panties dampen at his caress, my core swollen with need. I’m certain he should be able to feel the telltale sign, his thick length massaging my clit with each hungry sweep of his tongue.

  Boe’s hands move to my bralette, the straps guided effortlessly over my shoulders. I twist beneath him, allowing enough room for him to slide them down my arms one by one. He growls deep in his throat as he pushes first one lace cup, and then the other, beneath the mound of my breast.

  God—his mouth. Boe explores my body with slow, deliberate kisses. I writhe on the comforter beneath him, my hands massaging my breasts while I silently beg for him to kiss me there. I needn’t wait long. My breaths come short and shallow, my back arched and hips pressed hard into the mattress as Boe guides my panties aside and sucks my hood into his mouth. He releases the flesh with a pop, chuckling as he catches my eye over the length of my body.

  Fuck, that’s sexy.

  “You know,” he muses. “If you needed me to do this, all you had to do was ask during our first session.”

  “Is that so?” I scoff. “You seemed pretty intent on getting out of it if I remember right.”

  He rubs the heel of his hand hard over my pussy sending shockwaves coursing through me. “Didn’t mean I wouldn’t have fucked you if you’d asked.”

  “You make a habit of that?” I groan as his thick finger enters my slick channel. “Fucking strange women just because they ask you to?”

  “Not usually.” His tongue savors my juices. “But when a woman tastes as good as she looks.” I quiver as he dives in for more. “A man would be stupid to say no.”

  “Let me taste you,” I whine.

  “Yeah?” He rears back to stand on the floor, knees propped against the side of the mattress. “You want this?” The muscles in his forearm flex and cord as he strokes his thick length.

  I twist around onto my knees, ass in the air as I wriggle closer to him. Pre-cum wets the tip of his cock, the glistening drop teasing my taste buds. “I do.”

  “How bad?” Boe takes a step back.

  I stretch off the edge of the bed as far as I dare. “Really bad.”

  The asshole takes three more steps backward. “Then come and get it.”

  I fold one leg out.

  “On your knees,” he growls.

  Why the hell am I so damn wet? Something about this man taking charge. About the way he assumes he can.

  I crave the degradation. Jesus wept.

  I slide off the bed and onto all fours. He continues to palm his dick as I crawl my way to him, swaying my ass left and right as I do. A guttural groan escapes Boe’s throat when I reach him, laying a hand on his muscular thigh.

  “Don’t be gentle,” he mutters as I take the base of his shaft in my hand. “Punish me.”

  I answer with a tight squeeze and a wicked smile. His balls draw tight as he hisses between his teeth, eyes shut tight. His legs falter when I draw my fist to the tip, forcing a sweet droplet out for the taking. My eager tongue can’t wrap around the head fast enough. So sweet. So… him. I lap the sticky bead up, immediately fisting him to gain more.

  Five years in this profession, two at my own practice, and it’s at the hands of a patient, of all things, that I realize my own weakness.

  I crave submission.

  Boe’s finger’s dive into my hair, holding me to him as I bob the length of his rigid cock. I suck and tease, twisting my tongue around the head, tickling the very tip. One could be mistaken for thinking I have control right now, but with gentle pressure to the back of my scalp, Boe ensures I don’t forget who calls the shots.

  I spend all day in charge. People come to me with their problems, seeking the assurance I can give them that, given time, everything will be okay. It’s empowering, being that pillar of strength for others in their moment of vulnerability.

  But it’s also draining.

  Which is why fleeting moments such as these bleed the vein of pressure. For half an hour, fifteen minutes, however long… I can let go of that responsibility.

  In my own moment of vulnerability, I can relinquish control to someone else.

  Someone I trust.

  For Boe, it’s the ultimate show of respect that I can give him. I trust him to take care of me. To lift me up, alleviate the stress of the day.

  “Any longer, Doc, and you’ll be drinking your lunch.”

  He pulls free from my mouth with a pop, his hand sliding around to cup my chin. His arm flexes, light pressure applied beneath my jaw to coax me to stand. I oblige, rising to my feet, heels still
firmly in place.

  A precious second passes where we stand eye-to-eye, toe-to-toe, connected on a level that no psychotherapy lessons could have ever taught me to achieve.

  His brow twitches, almost imperceptible with the sweep of his hands to my shoulders and the ensuing manhandling I receive when Boe swiftly turns me about face. His firm hand moves to my stomach, jerking my body back into his. I inhale sharply as his commanding touch slides upward, tracing a path between my breasts to my throat. He wraps his fingers around the column of my neck, restricting my airflow as he guides my head back onto his shoulder.

  “You’re like putty in my hands, aren’t you Doc?” His whispered words send goose bumps racing across my exposed flesh. “What does your analysis make of that, huh?”

  He gave me a rhetorical question, clearly not interested in the answer when he busies himself removing first my bralette and then the next to useless panties. I step out of the lace, watching as they land haphazardly on the bed before me. His palm connects with my back, between my shoulders, his fingers splayed. Boe’s other hand finds my hip, anchoring me to him as he pushes on my back.

  I double over, awkwardly, my hamstrings on fire with the stretch I demand of them.

  “Grab your ankles.”

  Goddamn. I’m going to need to add stretches into my daily routine if I want to keep this up.

  “Don’t let go.”

  I steady my breathing, easing into the burn of my muscles when he slaps his palm across my ass. Fuck me! I’ve sure as hell got something else to focus on now.

  “You’re a fucking sight for sore eyes,” he appraises. “I’m definitely feeling a lot better now.”

  I don’t get a chance to respond before he runs the tip of his slick cock down my ass crack and then lines himself with my entrance. My hands flex around my ankles, breath caught in my throat as he slides himself home slow and most definitely deliberately.

  “Fuck, yes,” Boe groans. “You’re so goddamn tight like this.”

  So goddamn close to climax already, too. Being bent over, completely on display and at his mercy? Ugh. This is my therapy, right here.

  I relish the comfort his hands bring as he grips my hips, giving me balance while he thrusts. Blood rushes to my head, only heightening the experience. I close my eyes and bite my lip, staving off the dizzy spell that threatens to steal the show. I want to savor every second the orgasm that promises to rip through me at any moment.

  Boe slides one hand further around my ass cheek, his fingers massaging and kneading as he repositions his grip so that his thumb can find the rose of my ass. The barest pressure and I unravel.

  My legs sway, his guttural groan wrapping around me as he grips me to him with such force I’m sure to bruise. I milk him for all he has, my hands scrambling to stabilize me, palms flat to the floor. Boe’s legs buckle, the two of us crumpling to the floor in a tangle of sated limbs.

  I lie there, the short pile carpet itchy under my back, and stare up at the ceiling, Boe’s arm under my head.

  “Fuck,” he mumbles, tossing his free arm over his face.

  “Right?”

  The rush of our breaths as we both come down from our high is all that can be heard in the room. The whoosh of my heartbeat echoes in my ears.

  I didn’t just cross the damn line, I fashioned myself a pole and goddamn vaulted to the other side.

  I knew the risks involved with this man the moment I laid eyes on him.

  And despite all my reasoning screaming at me to push, run, and defend, I sat there and let the devil walk into my life.

  Until this moment, I honestly never understood how good it feels to be bad.

  FIFTEEN

  Boe

  She didn’t bring an overnight bag.

  I stare at the bathroom door while the splatter of water on the other side indicates Edith’s still in the shower. Clearly, she didn’t plan to stay. But then why would she agree to a shower if she could simply go home and do it there? Does she want to stay? I want her to stay.

  Fuck.

  My hands still smell like her as I drag them over my face and push upward again, smashing my lips and nose in the process. I’d punch myself if I thought that had a chance of breaking me out of this stupor.

  The water shuts off, the pad of her feet on the floor following. I take a step back, and another, before turning heel and heading toward the living area. She enters the room shortly after I’ve arranged myself on the sofa as though I was there the entire time, her coat once again hiding what lies beneath.

  “Thank you for the freshen up. I feel so much better.” She rolls her eyes as though to accentuate the point.

  I gesture for her to sit. “You’re welcome.”

  Edith settles on the armchair, hands clasped in her lap while she perches at the front of the seat. It feels as though she’s waiting for me to answer a question in one of our sessions. She’s clearly uncomfortable and the only way she knows how to deal with that is to revert into therapist mode.

  “Can we get something straight?” I slouch into the sofa, hand to my chin as I study her. “This has moved beyond house calls, right?”

  Her brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

  “Us,” I say. “Our relationship is personal now, isn’t it?”

  Her throat bobs, those slender fingers of hers tightening around each other. “I suppose so.”

  “I mean”—I throw my arms out wide over the back of the seat—“no therapist in their right mind would engage in a sexual act with a client during a session.”

  Edith turns her head, staring blankly at the floor.

  “Right?”

  “Yeah.” Her head whips around as she snaps out of her daze. “Of course not.”

  “So what’s the problem?” I lean forward, elbows to my knees. “You look like you’ve just realized you made a massive fucking mistake.”

  Her eyes harden, those bronze depths turning deep chocolate. “Perhaps I have.” Edith rises from the chair. “Now would be a good time to leave, I think.”

  I match her, blocking her exit. “I don’t.”

  “Boe. Please.”

  “You came here in your fucking lingerie,” I argue, “covered by a goddamn overcoat. You had plenty of time to think this through. It’s not as though you bent down to pick up your pencil and I hitched your skirt up while you were on your fucking knees, is it?”

  “Could you be any more repulsive?”

  “Baby.” I huff out my nose. “If you were repulsed by me, you wouldn’t have fucked me.”

  She lifts a hand to slap me. I catch her by the wrist.

  The argument is forgotten. For the briefest second it’s simply her and me, our gaze connected. Fuck her questions—all she had to do to take a peek inside my soul was look into my eyes.

  “Admit it,” I whisper. “We’re not discovering new things about me anymore are we?”

  She falters; her lips part but not a single word comes out.

  “We’re learning all about you, Edith. All about what you want.”

  “You think you know what I want?” She inches closer, eyes hard.

  “I do. And I think subconsciously you know that too.”

  My hold lightens on her wrist. She sets her hand against my chest and sighs, ducking her chin to hide her face. “I’m so conflicted, Boe.”

  “Why?” Isn’t it clear? We’re attracted to one another. Easy.

  “Because logically I can see why I’m so drawn to you. But if I do my job—” Edith lifts her chin once more to pin me with pained eyes “—then you change. And if you change…”

  “You think you won’t want me?”

  She nods, sagging against me. I do something I haven’t for a long time and wrap my arms around her to provide comfort. The position isn’t one I’m accustomed to anymore. I’m the last person people turn to for reassurance.

  “So I change therapist then.” I lean back to see her.

  She frowns up at me, lips downturned. “And what will they do? Huh
?”

  My face falls as I bind her tight again. “Change me.”

  “Exactly,” she whispers.

  We stand together for an impossible minute, seemingly lost in our heads as we each try to figure this out. We’re stuck between a rock and a hard place, literally.

  “What if I pretend?” I offer. “You teach me how to bullshit the court fuckers, and I’ll do it.”

  “It wouldn’t work.” She nestles closer, settling her arms around my waist.

  “Why not?”

  “Because you’ll re-offend and they’ll question everything I say in the report.”

  Damn my fucking temper. I’d love to say that I won’t, but my pattern of offending suggests otherwise, doesn’t it?

  I break from Edith and step away to get the rage that boils under the surface back in control. She hugs herself, hands rubbing her upper arms in reassuring strokes. She seems so… fragile. She shouldn’t be. The woman is my therapist. She’s supposed to be rock solid no matter what shit gets thrown her way. Yeah, but it’s always different when it applies directly to you, isn’t it?

  “I—I’ll go.” Her brow furrows as she drops her chin and appears to search for something. “Have you seen my purse?”

  “You didn’t bring anything else but the food,” I snap.

  Her back goes straight, her eyes wide as she freezes on the spot and stares at me. “Shit. The food!”

  Her coat slides open in her haste, the sight something comical as though from a movie. A stunning brunette who sprints through my apartment in her lingerie, coat streaming behind her like a fucking superhero cape.

  I smile. And then I laugh at the string of obscenities accompanying the clatter of dishes in the kitchen.

  Fuck me. Maybe the woman is a superhero? A mere second ago I was ready to let rip and lay into her for being so damn flimsy. And now… Now my anger wanes, the hilarity of the situation we find ourselves in enough of a balm to soothe my bruised ego.

  “Damn it, Boe,” she cries as I approach. “The food is dry as hell. It’s ruined.” Her arms flail at her sides, the coat slipped from one shoulder.