Viktor
I felt like the biggest asshole for how I acted toward Belle a week ago. Jesus, the expression on her face will be burned into my mind until the day I die. When I finally snapped out of it and spotted that she left without her jacket and boots, I felt even worse.
This Monday, I took my first real breath since I last saw her. I had been so overwhelmed with seeing her again that I nearly kissed her. I wanted to drink from her, taste those cherry-colored lips, memorize her flavor, drown in her touch. Beg for her forgiveness. That was until she shut it all down with the reminder that I’m her patient.
It’s now Friday again, and needing to get stronger, I have pushed myself every day for the two weeks since Belle banged on my door. It has been hard but now I’m like a damn peacock, strutting my feathers, hoping this beauty in front of me notices.
Balancing on my unharmed leg, I grin at Belle. “Soon I can compete in a one-legged race!”
“Stop it!” she laughs, and my chest puffs. “You’re awful.”
“What?” I chuckle. “All those wrestlers on TV can suck it. I’m ready to participate in the One-Legged Man Ass-Kicking Contest.”
Belle snorts and covers her mouth. It’s the best sound ever. She shakes her head, but her eyes are bright with amusement. I love that I can make her laugh that hard.
Unable to resist the pull between us, I grab the side of her neck. My thumb presses against her jaw, and I tilt her beautiful face to mine. Her pulse beats erratically under my palm, giving away her reaction to my touch.
“Viktor,” she says on a sigh. I fucking love how needy it comes out.
Watching her carefully, I bring my lips a breath away from hers. Soft puffs of air hit mine as I cup her cheek with my free hand. I run my nose against hers and breathe her in before rubbing my lips against hers. It’s a whisper of a kiss, the opposite of the fingers of desire crawling across my body that demand I consume her.
“Belle…what you do to me,” I murmur against her lips.
Her small hands come to my waist, and my muscles tense at the touch. She sighs against my lips. “We shouldn’t.” Her words contradict her as she kisses me back. Only this time the tendrils of desire are igniting like gasoline. Belle nips at my lower lip, and I groan. My dick twitches when she does it again, and my nostrils flare as I struggle to keep myself in check.
I run my tongue along the seam of her mouth, and she lets me in. With a tilt of my head, I deepen our kiss. Our tongues tease and explore every corner they can reach. I drink her in as my heart pounds against my chest.
This woman is intoxicating, and now that I’ve finally had a taste, I don’t think it will ever be enough. She steps into me, closing the distance between us, and whimpers when she feels my hard-on against her belly.
“God, what you do to me,” I tell her again and kiss my way across her jaw to the outer shell of her ear. I feel myself thickening against her with the press of her breasts against my chest.
“I think you just got disqualified for the one-legged race,” the little minx tells me.
I chuckle and she moans as my breath fans along the sensitive skin of her ear. “You haven’t seen anything yet.” I kiss and lick my way down her neck, all the while memorizing her taste and the way her body responds to mine.
My bastard of a good leg shakes under me, but I’ll be damned if it ruins this moment. I pepper kisses up the column of her neck before crushing my mouth to hers. This kiss is frantic, bruising even—showing each other how badly we want to go up in the flames of our desire.
I can’t pull myself back. I’ve fantasized about kissing Belle for too long. She’s kissing me as desperately as I’m kissing her, but I know it’s only a matter of time that she realizes she’s kissing me. I know this kiss isn’t fixing anything.
She sucks on my lower lip, and the pull goes straight to my erection. “Fuck, I feel that…” I swallow my words as her pretty lips kiss down to my Adam’s apple. Little licks of electricity shoot across my body and I groan. The sound comes from deep within me, and the need to touch more of her takes hold.
Releasing her face and neck too fast, my body sways for a moment. Long enough for her to notice and break away. Her lids flutter, heavy with arousal, and concern is etched around her eyes.
“I’m fine,” I say and rub my lips against hers.
“Viktor.” This time my name is coated with regret, and I want to lash out.
Belle deserves so much more than a broken man. Shit, after the way I treated her a week ago, I don’t even deserve to share the same air as her. If I saw a man treat her like I did, I would have killed him. Luckily you don’t need two legs to commit murder.
“This can’t…”
“No, this can’t.” Needing to calm the storm of emotions, I release her and carefully grab my crutches. “You deserve more than this.” I wave my hand back and forth between us to make it clear what I’m trying to say. Swallowing hard, I force any semblance of fluid down to moisten my throat that’s now dry.
Belle’s face flashes with annoyance. “Seriously? What you must think of me?”
Seeing she’s twisted the meaning of my words, I start to argue. “Belle—”
“No. Look, let’s get this done. I need to go home and pack anyways.”
My thoughts stutter, and fear grips me. “Pack?”
“I’ll be back for our Monday session. Don’t worry, I’ll be around to witness some more of your self-loathing.” Looking over her shoulder at me, she mutters, “Yay,” and rolls her eyes.
A small dose of relief hits me to know she’ll be back. The problem is I want to know where she’s going, who’s she going with, and why. All the questions I have no right in asking. Biting my tongue, I push them to the far recesses of my mind.
“You can’t get rid of me yet. I need to get you ready for your CPO first. I’m sure the prosthetic is almost ready.”
“Promise you’re not running away from me?” I ask and give her my most charming smile that I honestly can’t even back up right now.
“Why would I run away? You’re my best patient yet. I want to see this to the end.”
And there’s that fucking word again—patient. Unable to reply to her, I grunt and make my way to the mat.
We go through the motions of finishing my session as if we hadn’t shared that intimate moment. I dig deep but can’t help puffing up when she praises me. The session finishes faster than I would like, especially knowing I’ll spend the next two days without her to look forward to. I feel like a sappy-ass bastard. All these emotions inside me are fucking with my head.
After slipping on the shrinker I hop up on my foot, moving easier than I could have hoped for. Belle’s phone rings as she finishes packing the last of her things. I lean against the counter in my kitchen with my crutches resting lightly under my arms and eavesdrop on her conversation.
“Hey! …What? …No. I need to go home and pack. …I told you Friday night I was going out of town this weekend. …Well, I can’t tonight. …Okay, I will. …Yeah I’ll be back on Sunday. …No everything is ahead of schedule. …I’ll check in on Monday. …Yeah, bye.
I process the fact that the caller was her date last Friday night. Jealousy hits me stronger than ever. Questions race through my mind. Is he her casual date? Her boyfriend? If he’s her boyfriend, will she tell him about our kiss? Who was she thinking about when we kissed? Him or me? Where does the fucker live so I can go kick his ass?
“Viktor?” she asks, breaking into my dangerous line of thinking.
“Is he your boyfriend?” What the fuck is wrong with me?
“What?” she squeaks.
Since I’ve already started on this road, I can’t seem to pull over to the safety of the soft shoulder. “The guy on the phone. Is he your boyfriend? Why isn’t he going away with you? He’s a dipshit for not remembering.” Fuck me. Where the hell did she hide my Jack Daniels?
“Wow. None of that is your business,” she snaps.
“He’s a dipshit then.”
“Viktor! God! No, he’s not my boyfriend. There, are you happy now?”
A lightness comes over me at this news. “Actually, yes.”
She laughs. “You’re something else. I gotta go. I’ll be out of town, but if you have any issues just give me a call. You have my number, and I’ll be back on Monday.”
“Promise?” I ask like the pussy-whipped asshole I’ve become. She’s not even my woman.
“Promise you what?” Her brows crease, and her head tilts to the side. Her lips purse in thought, and I’m tempted to kiss the confusion away.
“Promise me you’ll be back on Monday?”
“Well, considering I came back this last Monday even after you acted like the beast you claim to be, I don’t see why you would even worry.”
“I was an asshole,” I admit because there is no reason to avoid the truth. “I’m so sorry about that.”
Her eyebrow raises and she gives me a “no shit” look before grabbing her things and walking to the door. I can’t enjoy the view from behind, as she’s dressed like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. But this doesn’t stop me from imagining myself peeling back every layer—eventually reaching those curves that have been driving me crazy and fueling my daily fantasies.
“Here let me get that,” I say and work my way around her to open the door for her.
“I can’t believe how well you’re doing after two weeks of therapy.” She smiles and looks me up and down.
I reach up and touch the silky strand of hair that escapes her ponytail. Her lips part with a small gasp at my innocent touch. “I’ve had therapy before…in the hospital. The truth is that I couldn’t have done it without my beast master.”
She laughs like I hoped, leaving me with another memory of the sweet sound. “Stop calling me a beast master!”
I shrug.
“Okay, I need to go. I’ll see you on Monday, I promise.” She blinds me with a brilliant smile, and I’m hit with the urge to rub an ache in my chest—just over my heart.
“Monday. Bye, Belle. Stay safe, baby.” I freeze, unable to believe I called her baby. The light in her eyes dims a fraction, but she doesn’t say anything before walking out.
I lean against the doorjamb and watch her settle into the car and finally drive away. It feels like I scared her off. Boundaries have been crossed, and I worry it’s too much for her. The next couple of days are going to fucking drag without her here.
“Viktor Prinz? I’m Toby Gaston. I’ll be filling in for Ms. Marchant.”
All the air is sucker-punched out of me with those words. “Excuse me?” I say to the man with thin eyebrows.
“I’ll be your physical therapist today. My understanding is your prosthetic should be ready by tomorrow and then you’ll work with the CPO.”
His words bounce around my brain, and I feel like an idiot. I can’t seem to comprehend this. It makes no sense to me. She said she’d be back. When the truth hits me, I feel like I’ve been sucker-punched again, this time to the stomach.
She lied…
I give him a curt nod and move away from the door, granting him access. He removes his jacket, and I can’t help but note what a “pretty boy” he is. I’m suddenly struck with the urge to knock him around. Maybe give him a scar to roughen up that face.
Pulling my muscles tight, I stand to my tallest, and I can’t help but smirk at the fact that I’m a full head taller. “You’ll have to excuse me, as I’m confused with my change in therapists.”
“I understand, Mr. Prinz,” Mr. Pretty Boy tells me.
I grind my teeth. “Viktor.”
“Well, Viktor, this was last-minute, and I’m not at liberty to share my therapists’ personal matters. Now, let’s get started?” Mr. Pretty Boy tells me, and I squeeze the handles to my crutches. It’s either that or beat the smug bastard.
I push myself to the max in my session, refusing to show this man any weakness. There’s something about him and the way he mentions Belle. I don’t like it at all.
She’s not mine, I remind myself. I have no claim to her even though that’s exactly what I want to do. I want to mark her with my touch, my mouth, my body. The need within me is primal and, this asshole is testing my limits.
Mr. Pretty Boy massages the tissue around my scars. The feeling is so different than Belle’s soft and healing hands. Both are conducted in a sterile and medical way. Only, Belle infuses her touch with something different, her concern for my healing isn’t superficial.
Lost in my thoughts, I’m not sure what I did exactly, but Mr. Pretty Boy meets my eyes. I find pity reflecting back at me in his blue eyes. The slow simmer of anger I’ve been holding back for the last hour finally boils over. I jerk my leg from his hands and sit up.
“Hey!”
“Thanks for coming by. You can grab your shit and see yourself out.”
“Mr. Prinz, you really need to ice your leg after this session,” he says and rises as I do.
“I’m perfectly aware of what I need to do next. With all due respect, you can take your pity and get the fuck out of my house.” I bite back the growl itching to be released. The beast within me claws to the surface, struggling to be unleashed.
“Hey! You can’t talk to me like this!”
I step into the man’s face so he has to tilt his head all the way up. “Get. Out.”
“Asshole.” The word comes out as a mumble, and I’m seething.
“Yeah, at least you have that right. Now leave before this one-legged asshole kicks your ass.” Proving to the man how serious I am, I drop the crutches to my right, against the couch. Mr. Pretty Boy’s eyes round as I crack my knuckles.
“You’re fucking mental,” he tells me and gathers his things.
Balancing on my leg, I cross my arms and track him as he packs quickly. No way in hell can I say another word to him. I don’t need their help anymore. They already told me I’ve advanced better than they expected. I’ll keep the exercises, stretching, and icing up without him. I’ll be receiving my prosthetic tomorrow, and then I’ll be seeing a different therapist anyhow.
I know I’m broken. I don’t need him to remind me of this fact.
One reason I’ve become such a hermit, is I can’t stand the pitying looks people send my direction when they think I’m not looking. Only Belle and Aunt Mabel have ever spared me of that pity. Their belief in me has pushed me to dig deep, past all of the pain.
Mr. Pretty Boy casts me a side glance and hightails it to my door before I hear it open and shut behind him. I grab my crutches and go to the door on a tired leg and lock it up. I return to the kitchen and grab an ice pack, determined to finish this marathon on my own.
I’m pissed at her and pissed at myself for letting her hurt me. “She fucking lied to me…” I hear the hurt in my words moments before I succumb to my exhaustion from my comfortable spot on the couch.