Page 69 of Cajuns. Love. Curves.

His left abductor is still spasming under my palm but I know my finger work and pressure point feels good to him. Even with the spasm.

Even with the dim lighting, I can see things shifting in his pants. It’s not an unusual reaction. In fact, it's perfectly normal for men to get aroused during massages. We're taught that in school.

I mean, I don't think I could ever be a massage therapist for that very reason. But it happens with the types of muscle manipulations physical therapists provide as well.

But this feels different. Probably because I'm so attracted to him.

Then the muscle spasm stops as his muscles loosen, but I pretend not to notice and just keep going. Because I'm not ready to take my hands off of him.

He exhales slowly and then he groans.

The lusty sound of that groan is enough to dampen my panties and harden my nipples. I should walk away. I swallow and keep working on his thighs, especially those inner thigh abductor muscles, because those are the ones that were bothering him.

I'm probably crossing eighteen different lines right now but I don't care. I want to make him feel good. I want to relax him.

He's been through so much.

I haven't helped when I could have.

When I should have.

So I do this instead. Which technically is wrong. I mean, I'm not giving him a handy; I’m not touching him inappropriately.

Except he’s groaning again and his pelvis tilts ever so slightly.

Then he whispers my name. Once. Twice.

“Fuck,” comes out on a longer hoarse whisper. “Oh, fuck.” He grabs my hands and stills them.

And I brazenly watch the wet spot darken the front of his shorts as he comes with a shudder.

Our eyes meet.

Those blue green eyes of his with his ridiculously thick lashes latch onto mine. He shakes his head a little, then pink blossoms in his cheeks.

“I'm so fucking sorry.”

He pulls himself off the table, straightens his shorts and leaves.

chapterthirty-two

Wade

I got the message from Kelli’s clinic about an hour ago that my appointments needed to be moved to Monday and Wednesday afternoons with another therapist. According to the message, my new therapist’s name is Derek, and he will provide me with excellent care.

Kelli didn’t even leave me the message herself.

Goddammit. I shouldn’t have run out like I did. I should have stayed and explained. Explained what, precisely, I don’t know. I mean how the fuck was I supposed to excuse myself from busting a nut while she was massaging my thighs? Like I was some teenage virgin.

I might as well be a virgin. I haven’t had sex with anything but my fist in years. Didn’t have time while I was on mission and when my team was in Coronado, I don’t know, things seemed too close to home and I just wasn’t interested in chasing tail.

Still, before I move on to working with a different therapist, I need to talk to Kelli. I don't have anything against working with guys, but I know why she did this. I called the clinic and she wasn't there; she had left for the day.

Without my SEAL team to back me up, I turn to the next best thing to find out where Kelli lives. I call my mother. My mother knows everything. And if, for some strange reason she doesn’t know, she knows who to call to find out.

Which is how I find myself driving up to Kelli’s house and parking in her driveway a half an hour later. She lives a little bit out of town, in one of the newer developments of custom homes by the lake. Most of the homes are fancy weekend homes, more about showing off the owners’ wealth than about creating a home. Hers is at the end of the street, on an oversized lot. Nestled against the oak trees, it’s obviously new construction but built to look like a Texas farmhouse.

I park in front and work my way up on to the porch. I knock.

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