Gabe

“For fuck’s sake, Kaylee, I am not paying you today,” I growl into the phone.

“But it’s only one day early. Please, I need the money,” Kaylee says, pleading.

“No way in hell. You’ve already caused me enough problems.”

“Bullshit, you just wanted me out of the way.”

I don’t feel the need to respond to her comment.

“You’ll get your money tomorrow, end of story,” I say.

“Hope you had fun piercing that chick you were so interested in.”

I ignore her again.

“Anything else?” I ask.

“You know, now that I think about it, the timing of when you fired me sure is interesting.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“What I mean is, would I still have a job if someone named Eloise Hutchinson hadn’t decided she wanted a piercing?”

“Tomorrow,” I say, and hit end call.

Kaylee was always a pain in the ass. I only kept her around as long as I did because some people prefer having a female work on them. And she’s a damn good artist. But I’d never tell her that.

I glance at the time on my phone. Two o’clock, almost time for me to go. Wednesdays and Thursdays are my days off. Ryan is in control of the parlor today.

Yesterday, Wednesday, I spent the day fucking around doing nothing. I was supposed to see a redhead I met a couple weeks ago, but I canceled. I’ve lost interest in her.

But I did finally get around to doing something I’ve needed done for ages. Make an appointment to get my stiff shoulder looked at.

My right shoulder tenses when I’m working on a tattoo, and now it’s always stiff and sore.

From the pile in my bedroom, I grab a pair of black jeans and pull them on, followed by a white T-shirt from the light colored pile of clothes.

It’s a beautiful day, and I take my Harley.

The medical center is the same as I remember it, and my gut wrenches.

I snarl as I enter the building but push my feelings aside with the memory of Eloise’s pussy. She was crazy responsive to my fingers, and I want more. I want to give her more, and see just how incredible I can make her feel.

The inside is different. It looks brand new. The floors are oak and the walls are hung with what looks like original artwork. I stop in front of a few of the pictures, the ones that catch my eye.

One is of a street scene, in what looks like New York City. I like the way there are trees in an otherwise urban setting. Another painting that catches my eye is of a woman. She’s at a lake, and sitting with her feet dangling off a dock. It’s the look on her face that’s most intriguing. She looks haunted despite being in a beautiful place, and I wonder what’s on her mind.

I arrive at the imposing oak reception desk. A woman sits behind it, working on a computer. She’s wearing a name tag. Marcy. She doesn’t look like a Marcy. I don’t expect a Marcy to wear glasses and have curly hair.

I don’t say anything, instead I look around at the waiting room, trying to suppress my memories.

“Oh!” Marcy exclaims, putting her hand to her chest. “I didn’t realize you were standing there.”

“I have an appointment at three o’clock for physiotherapy.”

Marcy doesn’t reply. Her eyes are stuck on my arms. Her hand is still on her chest, and it’s visibly moving up and down with her heavy breath.

I’m used to this reaction and wait patiently for her to say something.

She squeezes her eyes shut and opens them again, shaking her head.

“And your name is?”

“Gabe Irwin.”

“Have a seat. I’ll let her know you’re here.”

“Sure. Do me a favor, don’t tell her my name.” I smile and wink.

Marcy’s hand stops moving altogether. At some point she’ll remember to breathe. I turn away from her, and find a seat.

I glance over the magazines on the table. One catches my eye. It’s half hidden under three other magazines but it’s impossible to miss the word orgasm.

Moving the other magazines off it, I pick it up, revealing the full sentence.

Trouble having orgasms? You need to read this!

A smirk plastered on my face, I flip open the magazine to find the article. But I already know what it’s going to say. Now I know where good, sweet Eloise learned about genital piercings.

“I’m ready…” Eloise’s voice trails off.

I look up from the magazine. She looks even better than the way I’ve been picturing her all week with my cock in my hand. She’s in black pants that are tight and a black blouse that shows off the swell of her tits. My dick twitches at the sight of her.

Standing, I toss the magazine on the table, and walk over to her.

“Ready for me?”

“What are you doing here?” Her eyes are wide. She looks at Marcy, who is staring at us, and quickly says, “Come with me.”

In a flash, Eloise turns on her heels and rushes off. I follow her, thinking how much I would like to come with her.

We enter a small room with the massage table in the center of it. Eloise closes the door behind us.

“Why are you here?” she asks, her eyes wild.

“My shoulder’s fucked up. Plus I had to bring you back your panties.” I pull her panties out of my pocket and dangle them from my index finger.

Eloise lunges and snatches them from my hand. She turns beet red, just like I knew she would.

“You should’ve thrown them away,” she says as she crams them in the nearby drawer. “Why did you come here?”

“I told you, my shoulder’s fucked up.”

“I can’t believe you came to my work. Saturday was something I want to forget ever happened.” Eloise squares her body in front of me, her eyes fierce.

Resisting the urge to lift my hand and brush my fingers down her cheek, I say, “You’re the only one talking about Saturday.”

“You’re here for physiotherapy? You can’t be serious.”

“I keep telling you, my shoulder’s fucked up. I don’t know how many more times I can say it.”

She screws up her mouth, her eyes searching mine. Without blinking, I hold her gaze, daring her. She’s going to treat my shoulder, run her hands over my muscles, massaging me. I can’t fucking wait.

“Lift your arms over your head,” she commands. I follow her order. “Now hold them out at your side. And to the front. Now circle them.”

Eloise watches intently as I do everything she says. She falls silent, and I cross my arms in front of me.

“Well?” I ask.

“You definitely have less range on your right side. Is there pain?”

“It gets sore, yeah.”

“What is that on a scale of one to ten?”

“I don’t fucking know.”

She rolls her eyes and says, “Like, does it hurt a little bit? A lot? When you use it? In bed at night?”

“I know one way to make the pain stop at night.”

“Are you here for treatment, or to pick me up?”

“Maybe a little of both.”

“If you really want treatment, you’re going to have to behave.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Take your shirt off.”

My dick twitches from her order. I clear my throat and tug my shirt off over my head. Even while my shirt is still covering my face, I can feel the heat of her eyes burning into me.

She closes the distance between us, and asks, “Is it okay if I touch you?”

There’s no way of answering that without pissing her off, so I just nod.