Page 31 of Trapped By the Bratva
“Ready to get started?” she asked, full smile still on.
I grunted. “With what?”
That’s how this is gonna go? We’re plowing right past the fact that I made you come the last time you were in my room? Sweeping it under the rug?
That felt too easy.
“Start with your therapy.” She cranked up the wattage of her smile without making it look like she was only forcing it.
“I already started it.” I raised my brows. “Five therapists ago.”
She exhaled, almost seeming to crack on her dedication to remaining happy and unbothered. “Wow. Five.” She shrugged. “I guess they weren’t as determined as me.”
Huh.That was a bold statement. She had some grit, after all.
“Are you going to pretend you didn’t soak my face yesterday?”
Her cheeks turned a pretty pink. I wanted to make her flush even more as she stared at me.
“Huh?” I prompted, goading her to answer me.
She seemed completely incapable of speech, flustered like this. Fuck, she was sexy all riled up.
“I’m not surehowI could pretend it didn’t happen.” She cleared her throat. “And I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen.”
Ooh.I knew she enjoyed it. She came so hard. But understanding that she didn’t regret it turned me on.
She was aware that she'd behaved improperly, but she wouldn’t take it back. A naïve, good girl who wanted to be bad with me. It was the ultimate temptation.
No. No more temptations. Not with her.
“But that was yesterday,” she said with that infusion of peppiness. “Today is the start of therapy with me.”
Aha.She thought she could dismiss this attraction and call it a clean start. It was admirable, but I wondered if she’d stick with it.
This tension wasn’t a fickle thing.
“Is that right?”
She nodded.
“You’re not going to lecture me about what I need?”
She shook her head, seeming to resist rolling her eyes. “I don’t need to lecture you. I can show you.”
I let her approach, amused with her no-nonsense yet airy attitude. Like nothing could go wrong because she willed it so.
“You’re going toshowme what I need?”
She stopped short in reaching for me. “Um. Well, not like you showed me… uh…” Blushing again, she held up the tablet she’d entered with. “But on here.” She tapped the screen and pulled up multiple windows with information from my medical chart. “It seems that your shoulder, hand, and ankle are the areas that will need the most maintenance and attention, so we’ll start with that.”
And so we did.
Her assessment was clinical, devoid of random groping or sensual caresses. Some of the ways she pushed and probed at me hurt, but not in an altogether bad way. She didn’t shy away from the areas where I’d had the most reconstructive work done, and as she looked me over and got a better understanding of where I was in my rehab, she furrowed her brow and remained entirely studious.
No flirting. No wayward looks of longing.
Definitely no kissing.
