by K J Ellis
God, I miss meat and carbs like you wouldn't believe.
I'm only just starting to feel somewhat like myself. I'm a tad more mobile, and I have more strength now, but the shooting pains are all still there. I may have to be cautious of any sudden movements I make and take things easy, but it's much better than just lying flat on my back for hours on end, unless there's a pair of tits bouncing up and down whilst riding my dick. I won't be lying down for too long ever again, other than to sleep or when I’m dead.
Dragging my sorry arse out of bed, grabbing my pills, I head over to the en-suite and flick the switch on for the shower that takes up the full wall on the far side of the room. Whilst I let the water warm up, I run the cold water before filling one of the crystal-clear glasses from the unit so I can take my tablets.
Pulling off my boxers, I fling them in the corner of the room and slide myself into the best shower money can buy.
I place my hands out in front of me, laying my palms flat against the chilled, grey stone tiles and drop my head down letting the water cascade down my neck and back. The warm water soaks my body, easing out all of the aches and pains in my muscles. It's like a thousand tiny raindrops gently coating over my skin. It feels like fucking heaven.
My dick starts to harden, like it’s got a mind of its own, reminding me that I’ve not been able to sink into a hot wet pussy for weeks—pre-fight rules and all that: no sex in the run up to a fight. It sucks, but it works, and it is what it is.
I could just call up Shantel and she could suck me off, that would work, or at least pacify me for now. Now the fight has gone, I can have all the sex I want. I’m a man; we can’t go more than a couple of days without either getting ourselves off or having a hot female helping us out.
Do I really want Shantel all up on me like a rash? No, not a fucking chance. So, I decide I’ll have to do it myself.
Leaving one hand resting on the tiles in front of me, I use my right hand and grab my dick. It’s already rock hard and waiting to explode. I might not want to fuck Shantel, but that doesn't mean I can’t use memories of her from the spank bank.
I slowly start to slide my hand up and down my shaft at a leisurely pace, imagining it’s Shantel’s hot lips gliding their way up and down, her tongue swirling round the head of my dick. Getting closer and closer to the point of no return, I increase the pace, picking up speed and fisting myself harder. A couple more pumps and I’ll be clean sailing.
Just when I'm about to imagine myself coming so hard down the back of her throat, the bloody phone attached to the wall inside the shower starts to ring.
Lifting my head up slightly, I can see it's Kenny. So much for releasing all the built-up sexual tension I have.
Pressing the answer button, I wait for it to connect.
“Yeah?” I speak when the call starts.
“Hey, it's Ken. You in the shower?”
“Yeah, why?” I ask slightly out of breath. What does it matter where I am? It's not like I can just pop into the gym or anything.
“You alone?” He prolongs the question.
“If I had company, do you really think I'd have answered the fucking phone?” I know the second he asks what it is he is insinuating. I fucking wish: this shower hasn't been christened yet, and I have a feeling when it is, it will be fucking epic.
“True, listen. I'm just calling you to let you know that you need to be at Proflex for ten o'clock sharp.”
“What, today?” I look at the time on the screen of the phone and see it's nine am now.
“Yes, today. I thought you would be impressed that I got you in so soon. That place has a fucking waiting list as long as my arm. It's not like you had anything else planned,” he jokes. “I have meetings all day to try and sort this rematch, so unfortunately I won't be there, but Miss Rivers has everything she needs. Let me know how you get on.”
“Right, okay,” I confirm before hanging up.
I'm acting like a spoiled prick about all this. Yeah, okay, I've never been in this predicament before—which is the main reason I'm pissed off—I just want to get this all over and done with so I can get back in the ring. Unrushed but done properly.
Then, like an epiphany, I get my act together, pull up my imaginary big boy pants and look at my situation from a whole new perspective.
I'm going to walk in that building and do what needs to be done.
Why? Because it's what I need to do, and when I do something, I do it properly and to the absolute best of my abilities. Having the drive and determination to excel in every aspect of my life pushes me forward and gets me moving my arse.
Fighters do not quit.
I'm a fighter; I certain don't quit.
Never have and never will.
Believe…
Achieve…
Succeed…
Chapter Four
Remme
I’d thought coming into work early this morning would have made my day easier, more chilled out and relaxed.
How bloody wrong was I?
I may only have a couple of clients booked in with me this afternoon for gym sessions, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t got other things to do, and when Rachel skips in through my door with a smile as wide as Japan, I know my work load just increased.
“Morning, Remme. I’m actually glad you're in early. I had a very interesting phone call at stupid o’clock this morning,” she deadpans before taking a seat in the chair opposite my desk.
Sounds compelling. “Oh, okay…”
“So, can you remember the call I transferred down to you on Monday, Dr Fletcher?” she asks, so I nod for her to carry on.
“Well, the patient's manager was blowing up my phone at six this morning. Apparently, he’s been trying to get in touch with us since Monday. He was asking, no scratch that, more like demanding that he gets seen today.” Her voice gets louder and louder the more she speaks. It’s too early for this shit. I need caffeine.
“What did you tell him? I hope you told him it was near impossible and that we have other clients to see, too,” I tell her, straight to the point. I load up my computer as I wait for her to answer. When she doesn’t, I look up and over to her again. “What did you tell him Rachel?” It’s my voice reaching new heights now. She still hasn’t answered me. “Please, for the love of God, tell me you didn’t?”
She suddenly starts to become more interested in the decor of my office as she avoids looking back at me.
“Well…”
“I’m sorry. I told him you’d have everything ready by ten today,” she admits dropping her head into her hands. “Having this client on our books will be extremely beneficial for this company, Remme. If anyone can help me do that, it’s you. It’s why I transferred the doctor’s call straight to you in the first place,” she tells me as she picks her head back up.
“Don’t try and butter me up, missy. I know your game,” I tease.
Rachel opens her mouth, no doubt to protest her innocence.
“I’m just pulling your leg,” I add, making her ease up and release the tension she is clearly holding on to.
“Remme, if I didn’t think you were ready, I wouldn’t have agreed. I even checked my diary to see what your work pattern for the day was. So, I knew before I committed that you were free most of the morning.”
I lean back in my seat, taking in everything she’s telling me. She is my boss after all, so even if I don’t agree I’ll have to do it anyway. It’s just a bloody good job I started working on this Monday, instead of leaving it until today.
“It’s fine, Rachel. I already made a decent start on Mr Brookes plan after the doctor sent the file over, so I should be able to work with what I’ve got for now,” I say with a shrug of my shoulder.
“Seriously, after all that and you already have most of it done? You couldn’t have started with that?” She tries not to crack a smile, but I can see her mouth twitching.
“Well, I wanted to make you s
weat a bit longer.” I giggle, before looking at her head on.
“You’re evil,” she laughs, causing my smile to widen. She jumps up and walks towards the door. “I’ll let you get on with things, and Remme,”—she turns as she reaches the door— “thank you.” Then she disappears from view.
I have an hour to get Mr Brookes work plan and gym sessions in order. From what I’ve heard of his manager from Rachel, I don’t suppose the client will be any different. I don't know what to expect from him today, but my motive is to go through his planned workout sessions that he will be expected to do whilst he's here and some small but still substantial workouts for him to carry out at home.
I gather all my paperwork and booklets together so they're ready and on my desk for his arrival.
I look up at the clock on the wall for the sixth time already. It's almost ten am, he should be here by now. I hope this isn’t what it’s going to be like with his sessions. If he’s late I will not be running over my time set for other patients. He’ll need to learn some ‘how to be punctual’ skills.
A thunderous knock bangs on my door.
“Yeah...” I clear my throat and try again “Yes.” I look over to the door as it begins to open.
“Hi, Rachel showed me to your office,” the man looming in the doorway speaks.
Jesus, the roughness in his voice sends shockwaves straight to my lady bits. My heartbeat catapults from out of my chest and causes my insides to flutter. He’s droolworthy and he knows it. I can’t deny the fact that he’s really good looking, but guys that look the way he does are always arrogant and big-headed. It’s a massive red flag for women.
“Oh...Mr. Droo... I mean Brookes, Mr Brookes. Please, come in and take a seat.” I gesture to the chair directly in front of my desk, hoping my blunder of his name goes unnoticed.
Fucking hell, I need to try and keep my thoughts to myself.
I feel my cheeks starting to blush, and the smirk that’s currently on his face isn’t helping matters. Clearly, he heard my mistake. Whether or not he knew what I was going to say is a whole other matter in itself.
When he's fully inside my office, he shuts the door and sits, looking for somewhere to put his crutches. I take them from him and prop them in the corner behind my desk for him, retaking my seat across from him once again.
Wow, what I had thought was a decent sized office, now seems to have shrunk in size. He's bloody massive, and not an ounce of fat obscures him. Now, I just feel smaller than my five foot four inches.
He is the most striking yet dangerous-looking man I have ever met.
Don't even get me started on his muscles. He's built like a bloody machine, defined muscles in all the right places. My eyes land on his face, his chiselled cheekbones, strong jawline, and eyes the colour of the ocean on a clear day. I find myself drowning in them, like I’ve dived right into the depths of them and now I’m trapped.
I could stare into them all day and never get bored.
Catching a roguish smirk plastered on his over edible and kissable face has me weak at the knees. Thank God I’m sitting down.
Oh God, he has dimples when he smiles.
Great now my knickers are wet.
Hold on...
Where the bloody hell did that come from?
The way he’s sitting there absorbing all the confidence out of this room has my very wet knickers in a twist.
He looks like trouble with a capital T, and, oh God, am I in trouble.
I’m screwed.
Totally and utterly fucking screwed.
Chapter Five
Isaak
I walk, or you could say hobble, into the ‘Proflex Physio Programme’ building, spotting a blonde woman sitting behind the only desk occupying the ground floor.
“Hi, I have an appointment at ten,” I tell her as she finishes typing something away on her keyboard.
“Okay. Can I ask who it’s with please?” She looks up at me. “Fuck me.”
I smirk at the way her cheeks turn a shade darker. I’m used to having this effect on women, so her outburst is nothing new.
“Miss Rivers I think it was.” I ask, not giving her time to apologise for her slip of the tongue.
“Hmmm, yeah sure. Lifts over there, second floor.” She flutters her lashes at me.
“Cheers.” I head for the lift and a few seconds later I’m stepping out of it. I hadn’t been expecting the place to be anything like this. Yeah, I know it is one of the best physios in London, but I still hadn’t thought it would look this sleek, fresh, or welcoming. It’s so bright and uplifting. Walking down the hallways, my eyes scan the pictures mounted upon the walls in a stylish design—photos of people: some in uniform and others not. I assume they’re past patients and their physiotherapists.
Something pulls me back, making me stop in my tracks and causing me to take a second look. One particular photo has me staring for too long. It's of a young woman with the most captivating smile I've ever seen. Her hair is wrapped up in a bun that sits on the top of her head. She's not wearing the uniform so my guess is that she must have been a client here. She’s absolutely stunning and I find myself wondering if she’s still in treatment here or not. I look around like she’s going to appear from around the corner.
“Hi, I’m Rachel. You must be Mr Brookes.” A voice breaks the spell I’m under, and I turn my head back in the direction I was walking. A woman in a grey skirt and blouse is holding her hand out.
I take it awkwardly with the crutches still under my armpit, giving her very soft hand a shake.
“What gave me away?” I tease putting my full weight back on to both crutches, causing her to blush.
“Erm, the tattoos and the sheer size of you, kind of gave me an inkling,” she says, seemingly embarrassed.
“Good observation skills,” I state.
“I’ll erm… I’ll guide you in the right direction for Remme’s office. How’s that?”
“That would be great. Lead the way.”
She turns on her heels and begins to walk off, so I follow. I can’t help but get a glimpse of her arse in the tight skirt she’s wearing, and if the sway of her hips is any indication, she definitely wants me to check her out.
“Here you go.”
“Thank you.”
With a swift head nod, she turns on her heels and walks the way she came from. When she disappears around the corner and is out of sight, I knock on the door in front of me.
“Yeah.”
I hear someone cough behind the wooden door.
“Yes.”
Not one for wasting time, I pull the handle down and open it. “Hi. Rachel showed me to your office.” I walk further in, glancing over to the petite woman. There's something familiar about her, and after staring for what some may deem far too long, I realise where I've seen her face before: she’s the woman from the pictures on the wall. I’m ninety nine percent sure it's her—the one I assumed had been a patient.
Please, for the love of God, don’t let her be my physiotherapist.
I can see the pros and cons to this as they start flashing at a hundred miles an hour in my head, and I find myself scoping her out, starting with her face and working my way down. I pause for a split second as I take her in. Her ‘more than a handful’ tits are on show as the top two buttons of her blouse are undone, giving me a little peek. Fuck. Now I’m wondering how she’ll look completely naked and lying underneath me or pushed up against the wall. Shit, I don’t really care where.
I fucking wished I hadn’t answered the phone call in the shower now and I had finished what I started because just looking at her is causing me painful issues.
I catch movement in my vision, and watch as she wipes her hand across her mouth before she speaks again.
“Oh...Mr. Droo... I mean Brookes, Mr Brookes. Yes, of course. Please, come in and take a seat.” She gestures to the seat directly in front of her desk.
What was that she almost
called me?
I find her blushing a crimson red at her obvious blunder, and it has me smirking. I take the offered seat and plonk my arse onto it, looking around for somewhere to put the stupid fucking crutches. She must notice because she jumps up to take them from me, propping them up in the corner of the room.
What is it with all the women in this building blushing when they see me?
That would be your lovely charm and devilishly good looks.
I might come across as vain, but I have every right to be when I’m voted sexiest male three years in a row and have women practically throwing themselves at me wherever and whenever they can. It’s now clear that she’s just affected by me as every other woman that’s come into contact or close proximity to me.
“Can you call me Isaak. I’m twenty-six not sixty-six,” I state.
“Oh, erm. Yes of course. Isaak. Well I’m…I’m...” She seems a tad nervous, and I find it rather sexy.
“Miss Rivers, yes,” I finish for her, as she can’t seem to fathom any words.
“Oh, God. No, call me Remme,” she declares.
“Okay, Remme. Nice name.” I am being genuine because it is and it suits her, but I’m aware I’m coming across as arrogant and cocky, which I hadn’t intended. I doubt that side of my personality would be appreciated here.
“Thanks.” She starts to shift papers around on her desk before she speaks again. “Okay, so as you and your manager requested for you to be seen so soon. I haven't managed to fully complete my plan for you, but I have a good amount to start and for us to get the ball rolling. Is that okay?” She seems to have found her confidence.
“I’m excited to see just what your plans are for me.” I tease her a little more, wondering just how far I can push her before she bites.