Eloise

My panties are on fire. It’s a good thing Gabe brought my other panties back because I’m going to have to change into them when he leaves.

Gabe had his shirt off when I first saw him at the tattoo parlor, but I wasn’t standing this close to him. Intricate tattoos coat his body, and I could stand here for ages looking at them.

Except it’s difficult to know where to look, at the tattoos or the chiseled body they coat. I try my hardest not to stare at the piercings in his nipples.

Somehow, without him even touching me, my body buzzes the way he made it feel on Saturday. I am overcome with the urge to nestle against him.

Blinking, I gather some self-control and step back.

“Lay face down on the bed,” I say, pointing.

Without saying anything, Gabe lies on the bed and I break apart the thin paper over the face hole so he can rest comfortably.

I shift my eyes from his head, down his body. Tattoos cover his back. I’ve had patients with lots of tattoos before, but never anyone with near as many as this. His back is thick with muscles. At least there are no piercings.

Trying to ignore my sopping wet panties, I focus on his shoulder.

I ball my hands into fists a few times to get them to stop trembling so much.

Positioning my body near his right shoulder, I hover my fingers over him. I swallow hard, and drop my hands on to Gabe. A zap of electricity hits me, and I pull my hands away.

Gabe flinched too, I think.

“Everything okay?” he asks, his gravelly voice doing nothing to help my situation.

“Fine, yes. Just assessing you.”

“I hope you like what see.”

“You know, I don’t remember you having nearly as much confidence when we were in school.”

“I was a kid.”

“And now?”

“Now I’m a man.”

“All man,” I say before my brain can stop me.

Gabe chuckles, his muscles rippling as he laughs. I have to control myself. Why does he make me lose my mind?

“You like it, do you?”

“We’re being professional now, remember?”

“Right, I forgot. Because you’re the one not being professional.”

“Enough,” I say, planting my hands on his back without thinking.

His warmth radiates from my hands and throughout my body. Even my toes heat from the feel of him under my fingers.

Focus. This man is here for a stiff shoulder.

I massage my hand along the line of his shoulder blade. The muscle fibers are very tight.

“You’re really stiff,” I say.

“You have no idea,” Gabe says, and adjusts his hips.

“I meant your shoulder.”

“Of course you did.”

“I did,” I protest.

“Remember Mrs. Singleton’s sayings?”

I smile. “She used to have a saying for everything.”

“Right now she’d tell you your focus needs more focus.”

“Isn’t that what she always said to you?”

“I’m surprised you remember. You were always too busy looking at the blackboard to notice me.”

When we were kids, Gabe always tried to distract me from my work. He almost always sat behind me, because most of our teachers arrange the students alphabetically by last name.

“I remember you pulling my hair.”

His shoulder really needs loosening up, and I squirt some oil onto my hands. I resume working on his shoulder, fighting the urge to run my hands over the rest of his hard body.

“It was fun making you scream.”

“It was annoying is what it was.”

“Not for me it wasn’t.”

We fall into a silence while I knead my thumbs into his muscles. I try my hardest not to think of his offer of dinner, knowing how hard it would be to resist him if he asked again.

I’ve never had a one-night stand. I’ve never hooked up with a guy on a sex-only basis. I’ve never even had a friend with benefits.

Gabe is the furthest thing from boyfriend material I can imagine, but I can’t see myself having meaningless sex.

Even if he has already had his fingers down there. And made me feel better than any boyfriend I’ve had.

Why is he here, anyway? Sure, his shoulder is genuinely tight. But me? Now? He must expect more.

This seriously can’t happen. I need to put that at the front of my mind.

“Sit up,” I say.

Gabe sits, his legs hanging over the side of the bed. His jeans are tight and ripped, and show off his leg muscles. I make a point not to look.

I also make a resolution to wipe Saturday from my mind, even when I’m in bed at night with my vibrator.

“Hold your arm out, I’m going to loosen it more.”

He lifts his right arm, and I wrap it around my back. Moving my entire body, I rock back and forth to get into his tight muscles.

It’s definitely getting looser.

Just like my earlier resolution that is all of sixty seconds old.

Our bodies are close, and each inward rock brings our torsos an inch apart before the cruel outward rock separates us again.

Heat from his eyes burn into my cheeks, and I fix my eyes on the floor.

At least I try to.

It’s impossible not to notice the bulge in his jeans, and I struggle to keep my eyes from it.

“Is this a real physio thing?”

“What?”

“This, having my arm around you while you jiggle around.”

“Of course it is.”

“It seems very,” he pauses, “intimate.”

“I’m loosening your shoulder. It’s kind of hard to do that from across the room.”

“Now that I think about it, my hip’s been pretty stiff as well.”

Exhaling strongly, I let go of his arm and step away from him.

“Okay, I think that’s good for now. Let me give you some stretches to do at home.”

“I prefer massages to stretches.”

“You want your shoulder to get better?”

“It’s feeling better already. It seems you’re all it needs.”

“You can put your shirt back on now.” It kills me to say that.

“If you’re sure,” he says, smirking.

I shrug, trying to seem like I don’t care. Gabe slips his hands to the armholes and pulls the shirt over his head, shoulders and washboard abs. I watch, mesmerized. When the last speck of his chest is covered, I sigh.

He plays along as I show him a few stretches but it’s obvious he’s never going to do them.

“Same time next week?” he asks.

Good question, I think. I busy myself making notes in his file while I contemplate the question.

“Unless you want to have dinner before that,” he says, with a coy smile on his face.

Even though I’ve been bracing for it since his arrival, the question stops my heart.

“Not going to happen,” I say, shaking my head and chewing on the end of my pen.

“It’s going to happen, it’s just a question of when. How long do you want to torture yourself before you give in and let me blow your mind?”

I swallow hard, unable to say a thing and hating the fact that I’m so red I’m glowing.

Gabe steps close to me, puts his mouth to my ear and says, “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be waiting for you.”

My knees threaten to buckle, and I fight to keep from it being noticeable. Gabe pulls back from me and moves to the door.

As he crosses the threshold, I say, “You might be waiting a long time.”

Without breaking stride, he turns his head and says, “Worth it,” before vanishing from my view.