Page 12 of Penalty for Boarding

In the bathroom, I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. I've given countless massages to athletes just as ripped as Calvin before. This shouldn’t be any different. Except it is entirely different, because I've never been this attracted to a patient before. I've never wanted to run my hands over every inch of their body for reasons that have nothing to do with medicine and everything to do with wanting to be as close to him as possible.

I find some massage oil in the cabinet behind Calvin’s bathroom mirror. But before I can head back into the bedroom, I catch a glimpse of my overly flushed face. “What exactly are you doing here?” I ask my reflection as I splash some cold water on my cheeks. “Is this just a massage? Or are we about to do more?” I take another deep breath, trying to steady myself as nerves burst through my stomach like a swarm of giant butterflies desperate for flight. “Do I want to do more?” I tuck my lower lip between my teeth. “I think I do. Shit. Did I even wear that kind of underwear?”

I do a quick check down the front of my dress. My nude-colored bralette and matching high-waisted panties aren’t exactly sexy, but at least they aren’t frumpy. I take another deep breath and head back to the bedroom, trying to ignore the part of my brain that’s listing off all the reasons doing anything with Calvin Barrett in his bedroom is a bad idea. Because let’s face it, there is no part of me listening to my brain right now. All my nerve endings are solely focused on one thing—my needy clit.

“Found some,” I say as I exit the bathroom, holding up the bottle of massage oil.

Calvin is already lying face down on his king-size bed, the towel draped over his lower half, leaving his muscular back on full display. I pause for a moment, taking in the sight of him—the broad expanse of his shoulders, the dips and curves of his muscles, the tantalizing trail of his spine disappearing beneath the towel.

I swallow hard and remind myself that he’s in pain and this is supposed to be a therapeutic massage. But as I move closer to the bed, I know I’m lying to myself because this is sensual as fuck, and that kiss in the kitchen tells me Calvin is quite capable of ‘performing’ through the pain if he wants to. Hell, it even says ‘sensual massage oil’ on the label of this bottle I’m holding.

“I'm not even going to ask why you have this in your medicine cabinet,” I say, removing the plastic seal from around the cap. “But the fact it’s brand new is definitely helping here.”

“Would you believe I planned for this exact moment?” Calvin’s voice is slightly muffled by the mattress.

I chuckle as I pour some of the fragrant oil into my palm. “I'm sure you say that to every physiologist you make out with in your kitchen,” I tease, rubbing the oil together to warm it up.

“Only you, doc,” he says, lifting his eyes to meet mine. “Onlyyou.”

My heart stutters. Then, carefully, I place my hands on Calvin's shoulders, feeling the heat of his skin even through the slick barrier of the oil.

“OK, hotshot, let’s see what I can do about those knots of yours,” I say, trying to keep my voice light despite the butterflies in my stomach.

He lets out a soft groan as soon as I press my fingers into his taut muscles.

“Mmm, that's the spot,” he moans, and I have to bite my lip to hold back a moan of my own. I never knew before now that I had an erotic fantasy of the Nighthawk’s Calvin Barrett purring like a kitten under my touch.

I work my way down his spine, kneading and rubbing with practiced movements, but it's getting difficult to concentrate. Every inch of his body is 6-foot-2 inches of solid, hockey playing perfection, and I'm pretty sure my brain has melted into a puddle of goo.

“You have magic hands, doc,” he mumbles, his voice a low purr that sends a shiver down my spine.

“Years of practise,” I reply, my hands moving down his legs while trying to keep my thoughts PG-rated. But it's getting damn near impossible because the only thing I can focus on is that tight ass of his hidden below the towel.

Finally, I’m done with this side and step back, pouring more oil onto my hands as I instruct him to roll over.

“Uh…” Calvin hesitates for a moment before slowly rolling onto his back, the towel still draped over his lower half. As he settles, it becomes immediately apparent why he paused. Tenting the white terrycloth is the unmistakable outline of his large, fully erect cock.

I swallow hard, my eyes fixated on the impressive bulge for a moment before I force my gaze back to Calvin's face.

“Sorry, doc,” he says.

But I don't think he's sorry at all, not with the way he's looking at me, his eyes all dark and hungry. And if I'm being honest with myself, I don't want him to be sorry. The sight of his arousal, the knowledge that I'm the one who caused it, sends a wave of desire crashing through me, leaving me breathless and aching. I want him, badly. And from the look in his eyes, the feeling is very mutual.

“Don't apologize,” I say, my voice coming out huskier than I intend as I just drink in the size of him while I keep rubbing my hands together to heat the oil. My mouth goes dry.

“You’re staring, doc.”

“I know,” I whisper. But I can’t look away.

“Do you want me to…”

His hand moves to the towel and my eyes jump to his, a question in his gaze as he pulls the fabric to the side. My breath catches and all I can do is nod, my eyes returning to where he’s slowly revealing the full glory of his impressive erection. With the weight of the towel gone, it springs free, thick and heavy against his taut stomach, the tip glistening with a bead of moisture.

“Holy fuck, Calvin.” I lick my lips unconsciously, my clit pulsing at the sight of him. He's magnificent—long, thick and hard, jutting proudly from a nest of dark curls. I want to touch him, taste him, feel him inside me. The intensity of my desire shocks me, but I can't deny it any longer. This stopped being just a massage the moment we stepped into his bedroom.

“Olivia...” Calvin's voice is rough with need as he reaches for me, his large hand wrapping around my wrist and tugging me closer. “Please, touch me.”

I don't hesitate.

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