Page 7 of Beauty Unmasked
“I’m fine,” I snap. Grief spurs my anger, and the words sound like a whip across flesh. The sound mirrors the look of hurt that crosses Belle’s delicate face. Sitting back on my knees, I mentally kick myself in the balls. “I’m—”
“Done?” She grabs the roll. “Lay on your back. Let’s work on those short arches again to strengthen your quads.”
Her tone is polite and curt. I hate it. I especially hate myself for putting that rigid posture in her body. I want it to go away, but there is nothing I can do but do as she’s asked.
The rest of my session goes in the same manner. She instructs me to do one exercise or another. I grunt in acknowledgment at her words and continue trying to figure out how to fix what I broke. Add the fact that I’m still unsure as to why I would consider Belle and my mother at the same time.
Belle grabs the oil after she removes my shrinker, and I prop my body on my elbows. “Hey?” I wince at the weak sound. I’m exhausted from today’s session, ready for an anti-inflammatory to ease some of the pain in my body.
“Mmhmmm,” she mumbles, eyes downcast to pouring oil in her palm.
My body shakes as I lean all my weight on one elbow and grab her wrist with my free hand. “I’msorry.” Her gaze meets mine and I continue. “I thought of my mom and it made me grumpy, but it’s no excuse for snapping at you like that.” Air fills my lungs when I see her eyes soften a fraction.
Belle nods. “It’s fine.”
“No. No it’s not. I was an asshole, and you didn’t deserve that.”
She laughs and I can’t help but smile at the sound. “That you were. Now lie back down so I can finish up. I can’t stay past the hour today, so after I set you up with ice I need to clean up.”
Lying down like she asked, I close my eyes and force myself to relax in anticipation of her fingers on my skin. I breathe her in past the smell of my sweaty, overworked body. She’s becoming my drug, but I can’t even consider the ramifications of that fact.
Her hands still and I meet her gaze. My brows raise in question, waiting for whatever has made her look suddenly unsure.
“Umm…is there any way I can change in your bathroom? Feel free to tell me no. I know this isn’t part of patient-therapist benefits.”
Her words bring two things to my mind. First, benefits. My mind shoots straight to the gutter with that singular word. Sexy, dirty possibilities and my body heats immediately. Before my dick can give away the directions my thoughts have gone I’m slammed in the chest with the second reminder, patient-therapist.
Now she’s looking at me with worry. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
“No. That’s fine. It’s Friday night, I’m sure you have a hot date tonight,” I tease, and see the truth in her eyes. Forcing my eyes shut, I rely on my years of training to steady myself. There’s no reason she needs to see how her upcoming activities affect me.
Of course she’s going on a date. Any man would be stupid to not see what a catch Isabel Marchant is. The woman is gorgeous, intelligent, and stronger than you’d think. I smile at the latter because she’s proven to me on more than one occasion how strong she is.
“Thanks. It’s just a working dinner,” she whispers, and we return to our silent exchange.
A working dinner. Something about it still bothers me, but I’ll admit it sounds better than her meeting with some douchebag who wants her out of her panties. I force the thought aside and focus on her hands.
I melt into her touch. My tired and overworked leg relaxes under her ministrations. This is most definitely her calling. The woman pushes me to the max and then turns around to tend to my body after she puts it through the ringer.
The familiar rustle of her instant ice sounds. “So I won’t see you until Monday. I want you to do some of those exercises I mentioned. You also need to make sure you stretch a few times a day. The better range of motion you get in this leg, the better you’ll walk in your prosthetic.”
Damn. I hadn’t even considered that with the weekend upon us we wouldn’t see each other. Every day this week she was my reason for getting out of bed. Belle is slipping under my skin, and it doesn’t make me too happy. I need this weekend to separate myself from her—to gain perspective that this woman is far too good for me.
In my past life, the one before my leg was removed from my body and my mother still lived, I could have had Belle. I probably would have had her six ways from Sunday by now.
“Okay. Twenty minutes like normal. I’m going to go clean up and get ready. Let me know if you need me.”
“Got it…” My lips twitch before I whisper, “Beast master.”
“Hey!” Belle chuckles and swats my hip.
All I can focus on is her fingertips as they graze my skin above my shorts. She didn’t mean to be sexual in any way, but when our eyes meet, I see the touch affected her as well. Belle gasps and pulls her hand back as if she touched a hot skillet. Her top teeth nip at her lower lip, and the urge to kiss her hits me hard.
“Sorry—Uh—I’m gonna go put my stuff away and get ready,” she spouts nervously.
My heart thunders in my chest as I watch her stand. Closing my eyes, I give her the space to flit around without stumbling with more nerves.
I never used to have trouble with the ladies. They flocked to me. I love women and everything about them. Their soft and firm parts. Their expressive tendencies. Their desire for more of me.
That was my life then. My life now doesn’t even involve a bout of porn or lube. It wasn’t until Belle that I learned my dick still worked. A hard-on gone to waste. I can never have her, and it was my goal this weekend to drill that fact into my sex-deprived body.
