Page 23 of Major Penalty

“Can you handle harder?” I shoot back, watching her brows furrow before her eyes widen a little, the pink tint returning to her cheeks. I can’t help it. I chuckle before applying a bit more pressure on her fist, still careful not to squeeze her too much. The pressure in my hip turns into an ache.

“Okay, you can bring your legs down,” she says with a nod, and my knees release her fist. I let my legs fall flat against the table, my arm propping my head up. Her fist is too small to do anything. I need something bigger, and she knows it. I can tell by how she’s looking at me and how her eyes dart to the ball on her desk that she should’ve used instead of her fist. She knows my hip’s fucked; she’s just doing this all for show.

She shifts, and then her hand presses against my right hip, right where I forced her hand a few days ago.

Pain shoots through me as she presses harder. A pained growl claws its way up my throat and spills past my gritted teeth. My fingers curl into fists, and her hand stills.

And that’s when I see it. Her eyes. The way they flash.

“I told you you’re injured,” she murmurs, her voice soft. Her fingertips press against the exact spot that’s fucked. “Right here.”

My stomach tightens from pain and…what her touch is doing to me.

“I need to take a better look.” She wets her lips, glancing back down at my hip. “Take off your shorts.”

Silence. Her breath stalls before she sucks in another one. She just realized what the she asked me to do.

“I…I just need to see the…” she tries to cover it up and swallows.

I sit up and slide off the examination table, towering over her again. She doesn’t take a step back; she just tilts her head up to look at me.

“You need to see the what?” I ask, tilting my head to the side

“The area better,” she replies, her voice breathy and weak. “I mean…the injury.” She’s not even trying to hide it anymore. Her eyes are locked onto me, watching every movement, unaware of how fucking badly I’m starting to lose control.

I step back and lean against the table, not saying a word. I reach down and tuck my fingers into the waistband of my black shorts. The fabric stretches as I pull it down, giving her a clear view of the V-line that leads straight down—the hard cut of muscle at my waist, every line of my body.

I’m fully aware of what I’m doing. Iwanther to watch.

Her eyes dart between me and the angry bruise on my hip, her fingers twitching like she wants to touch it, but she doesn’t move.

“Go ahead,” I murmur darkly, voice low and teasing. “Take a better look.”

She hesitates, just for a moment, her eyes still flicking between my eyes and my abdomen. She knows what’s happening. I can see it in the way her chest rises and falls, the way her throat works as she swallows.

She steps forward, her hand trembling as she moves closer to my side, her fingers pressing gently against the bruise.

“Fuck,” I let out another groan at the pressure, my body tensing from the pain, but it’smorethan that now.

“I need to do a scan,” she says, her voice flustered, her cheeks a pretty shade of pink. “It could be a strain. A pull. Could be minor…or it could be serious.”

I don’t even hear her words. My body’s already reacting, that involuntary shift of heat, the way my cock twitches at her touch.

Her hand lingers, gently moving around the area.

“I need you to take your wallet out of your pocket. So, I can feel the area better.”

Wallet?

The words barely register before she taps my dick through my shorts.

Just the lightest touch. Just a fucking tap, but it might as well be an electric shock that runs straight through me.

“That’s not my wallet,” I say, my voice low.

She looks down at her hand for a split second, then back up at my face. Her eyes go wide, and I see the flicker of realization.

Her lips part and her breaths go shallow, but she doesn’t pull her hand away. No, instead, she lets her fingers glide over the bruise in a feather-light touch, sliding lower.

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