Page 10 of Filthy Ruck

I let my hip jut out and looked at him questioningly.

He still looked doubtful, but sat on the treatment table and let me wipe the blood from his jaw.

“Old wound?” I peered closely at it.

He shrugged. “One of many. I'm not doing my job if I'm not bruised and bleeding from somewhere. Or making someone else bruise or bleed.”

“Of course not.” I dabbed at the wound again as it went on bleeding. “That's half the fun of rugby. It's brutal and raw.”

Rugby Australia was trying to find a way to minimise head injuries without taking away from the game, but a few knocks here and there didn't do the players too much harm.

“Is that why you wanted to work here?” He sat still without moving anything except his eyes. Those followed my every movement. “You like to watch men smash the shit out of each other?”

I smiled. “I like smashing in all definitions of the word. The harder, the better. Now, hold this in place and I'll get a needle and some thread. A stitch or two will do it. If you can avoid falling on your face for a few days.”

He snorted. “I didn't fall on my fucking face.”

“No, you probably fell on someone's fist.” I pulled off my gloves, washed my hands and put on a fresh pair before starting to thread the needle with the kind of thread that would dissolve by itself in a few days. “Who did you piss of?”

“It's a Wednesday, the question is who didn't I piss off?” He sat still while I started on the first stitch.

“I'm shocked you're the kind of guy who annoys people,” I said sarcastically.

He hadn't seemed that way the other night. Storm Keller wasn't the first guy to behave differently outside his native habitat. Men went to Flirts to relax as well as to enjoy the show.

“I live to please,” he said with the same level of sarcasm.

“Funny, me too,” I said lightly.

I snipped off the first stitch and started on the other.

He grabbed my wrist, stopping me mid-stitch. “Are you still going to…work there? If you work here full-time?” His voice was low, demanding an honest answer from me.

Apparently he hadn't believed me when I said I never fake.

I stayed perfectly still, not wanting to pull the thread through his skin and cause more damage. I didn't want to give him any excuse to complain about me. One word from a popular player like him and I'd be out on my ass before I could blink. I'd never work in the field again.

While I wouldn't object to going into general practice, I would object to losing my dream and goal. Especially to a guy.

“I couldn't work there and travel with the team, could I now?” I said lightly.

Not to mention that the team would probably not look favourably upon a team doctor who was a stripper on the side. Working full time here, I wouldn't need a side hustle. Even if I had the energy for one.

I'd miss working at the club, and I'd miss my friends there, but it was a means to an end. When I didn't need the money from Flirts, I'd quit. Hang up my stilettos and G-string, unless I met someone I wanted to give a private show to. If a guy existed who could deal with my crazy work hours, and my confidence in bed. I knew what I liked, and I wasn't afraid to ask for it. That put some guys off, but I knew those guys weren't for me.

Who they were for, I didn't know, but it wasn't me.

“That's not a no.” Storm’s grip tightened on my wrist.

I looked him right in the eyes. “No. Are you happy now, or were you hoping I'd take my clothes off for you again?” If he thought he could intimidate me, he'd have to rethink.

Doctor Chelsea Miller wasn't intimidated so easily. My parents raised my older brother and me to stand up for ourselves and what we believed in. We'd fully embraced that upbringing. Neither Isaac nor I were shy, or timid. We both went after what we wanted and didn't let anything or anyone stand in our way.

I didn't miss the way Storm’s eyes went darker at my words. His breath came faster. He was definitely thinking of me stripping for him. Remembering the way I touched myself and came in front of him. Remembering the way he came while I watched his hand stroking his thick, hard cock.

“You’ll do that anyway,” he whispered. “But next time, I'm not paying for it.” He let go of my wrist and sat still again to let me finish the second stitch.

Chapter Five

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