Page 42 of The Player

“I think this is a mental block.” I rub his leg and his hair. Licking his ear, I whisper, “I want to straddle you and ride your cock while everyone in this room watches us get each other off.”

It’s filthy, and I would never talk like this, but Aaron makes me feel bold. As I’m kissing his ear and talking dirty to him, I push his knees to the right and down to the table. His leg moves perfectly as we make a flag with his legs. The left leg never left the table and is straight out. His right leg is now bent at an angle, and there’s not an ounce of pain.

As I’m looking at his legs, I’m caught off guard as Aaron grabs my hair, forcing my gaze to look at him. “I’d kill everyone in here if they ever saw you naked. You are mine and only mine, Sugar Plum.”

“So violent,” I whimper. My nipples are hard, and the wetness in my panties is getting worse. I’m shaking with need, but it’s not about me. This is about Aaron and getting him prepared to think differently. “Look at your knee, A-bear.”

“Holy fuck. How did you…it…what?” He’s so shell-shocked he can’t speak. I almost laugh, but I reel it in. Aaron releases my hair, and I sit down on the bedside stool.

“Distraction. There was a hint that this may be a mental block instead of an actual knee problem.”

“The fuck you say. The surg—” Placing a hand over his mouth, I wink at him.

“A-bear, I’m not saying your knee isn’t messed up.” I pause for a moment as he licks my palm. Taking my hand off his mouth, I continue. “You were injured and had surgery. Then, you had another surgery to correct the first one. Yes, you needed time to heal, but this knee is no longer injured.”

I take his hand and place it under his knee. “Feel the tendons. They aren’t tight. There’s no gigantic mass of scar tissue. The muscles are tight, but that’s because we need to do stretches and massage them.”

Aaron is looking at me like I’m crazy. “You will not be running down the field anytime soon, but one day, you could if you let yourself. I have faith that you don’t even need over two to three months of physical therapy.”

I thought Aaron would be happy to hear my words of encouragement. Instead, he looks angry, and he pushes my hand away from his knee. “You are so full of shit and always so damn optimistic.”

He gets up from the table and hops down. “Hey, where are you going?” The man can move. He doesn’t even realize he’s not limping.

“I’m done for the day.” Aaron’s lips turn down, and he sulks toward the front door.

“Don’t act like a child. You can get better.” He keeps on walking and I laugh. It bubbles out of me as he turns around.

“What’s so funny?”

“You are. There’s no limp at all. Look at you, a big, tough football player, acting like a two-year-old. Yet, you are walking out of here with speed and no limp.”

My smirk makes him walk back toward me. We don’t make contact, though. A woman with a camera runs and snaps a photo.

“Is it true? You’ve moved back to Summerfield because you had to get away from your late wife’s memory?”

Wait…What? Bryson makes a yelling noise, and the reporter keeps grilling him.

“Enough!” I yell, and everyone freezes. “Absolutely no reporters, cameras, recording devices, or phones are allowed here. You need to leave.”

The clinic’s security team comes in, winded, and escorts the woman out. “I’m sorry Bryson. That will not happen again.”

“Not your fault, and as usual, they have the story all wrong.”

Turning away to get my bearings, I notice Aaron isn’t where he was last standing. “Darn it. I still needed to talk to him.” I feel like stomping my foot. Instead, I go toward the door.

Making my way out of the building, I spot him. “Aaron.” I stop beside him and see he’s talking to five reporters. They quickly snap pictures of me and I recoil. But I see his flinching motion, and high school hits me all over again.

“Aaron, is this your doctor or your newest girlfriend?”

“Aaron, did you move back to Summerfield to help cover up the scandal with your brother?”

Alright, I’ve heard enough. “Aaron, come back inside. You people need to leave. This is a medical facility.”

Aaron looks down at me and nods. He knows he doesn’t have to answer these vulture’s questions.

“Aaron…”

We walk back into the clinic, and security blocks the doors. “Call the police if need be,” I tell the head of security.

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