Chapter
11
One Month Later
~Hammer~
Des swears by a schedule, so we need to keep one. It is all for control. I get it, though. If she follows this rigid plan, she can’t get lost in her head. I may not know everything about her past yet, but what I do know is not something she needs to think about all the time. I know what it’s like to lose a loved one—fucking brutal. And from what I can tell, she was just as close to her sister as I was to my dad. This is why I don’t give her shit about the schedule she keeps us on, even if there are days I have to fight the urge to tell her to take a damn chill pill.
In her defense, all of the workouts are paying off. Day by day, I feel stronger from the waist down. She even has me taking steps, sometimes even unassisted. I just can’t go far. I get around with a walker when I can, trying to build my hips and legs back up.
Tank named her appropriately. I swear she gets her rocks off from seeing if she can break me. It’s okay, though. The little pretty has gotten sweaty with me as much as I have gotten hard for her.
I have to admit this has to be my favorite exercise: the supine hamstring stretch. Desirae has me lying on the living room floor while she pushes my legs straight up in the air one at a time and then backward a bit toward my chest to stretch out my hamstrings. The maneuver puts her between my legs, her chest pressed into the raised leg and her core pressing near my swollen cock. Now, if only I could get her to take off that baggy T-shirt and shorts, get naked, and climb up onto my lap instead of trying to press my leg into it…
“What’s wrong, Hammer? Can’t take the burn?” she taunts me.
My willpower is crumbling away. I’m starting to think it’s only a matter of time before I give in to my darker urges regarding the tempting, little morsel who is trying to torture me at the moment.
“I never knew one of the requirements to be a physical therapist is to be a sadist.”
She snorts, and one side of her lips tips up in a smug smirk. “You didn’t realize the P and T in physical therapy also stands for pain and torture?”
I laugh at her sassy comeback. No wonder Tank dubbed her Drill Sergeant Bust My Balls. The urge to bust something inside of her is becoming nearly unbearable.
She slowly brings my left leg down then raises my right leg for the same stretch.
Looking down, I see my basketball shorts are emphasizing my hard-on more than hiding it. There is no way in hell she could miss it. I should probably feel bad about that, but I don’t.
Glancing up at her face, I see she has averted her own gaze away from me and has the prettiest blush spreading from her cheeks down her neck. I would love to see her flush like that because I made her come three times and not because she thinks I’m embarrassed that she has seen my dick through my shorts.
Unable to stop myself from needling her about it, I taunt, “What’s wrong, Drill Sergeant? Does seeing my dick hard make you uncomfortable?”
Desirae shrugs her shoulders. “Not really. It’s not the first one I’ve seen, and I’m sure it won’t be the last. I just wasn’t sure if you were comfortable about me seeing it.”
A slow grin spreads across my face, the one my brother has told me is my panty-dropping smile. “Sugar, you can see as much of my dick as you want. Just let me know.”
Letting my right leg down slowly, she gives me a smack on the thigh. “You shut your pie hole, Hammer. I know damn well from walking in on you and that barfly that you don’t have a problem getting a woman to see your dick, so don’t start that bullshit with me!”
Using my stomach muscles to do a half crunch, I roll my upper body enough to grab her by her biceps and drag her on top of me. “I’m not bullshitting you, Drill Sergeant. Don’t you believe me?”
Seeming a little shocked at our position, she slowly and silently shakes her head yet stays quiet. It only makes my smile widen. I know by now that it takes a lot to shut this woman up.
Feeling harder than ever and more than a little devious, I shut my doubts down and give in to what I want.
“Let me prove it to you, then.” I slide my hand up her back to the back of her neck then gently grasp it and drag her face closer to mine. I make sure the move is deliberately gradual, giving her the opportunity to tell me no if this isn’t what she wants. But she doesn’t stop me.
Brushing my lips gingerly across hers, I give her the lightest kiss I have ever given, allowing her a second chance to back out. When she doesn’t stop me then, either, I finally take what I want.
Pressing my lips firmly against hers, I trace the seam with my tongue, tasting the sweetness lingering from the extra sweet tea she drank before we started our workout. She moans at the feeling of my tongue, parting her lips to give me more access to her own silky tongue. I surge inside, plundering the mouth I have dreamed of.
We tangle tongues until I start to think I will never get enough of her taste. It is intoxicating, my own personal drug. This is just a small hit, and I want to get high as hell on everything that is her.
I move my hands down her body, petting her curves, savoring them, until they land on the globes of her ass. I can’t help giving in to the temptation to squeeze them in my hands.
Apparently, though, that was the wrong thing to do.
While I was savoring the high of a lust I have never felt with another woman, the rough squeeze I gave those glorious ass cheeks snaps her back into reality.
Desirae puts her hand on my chest then pushes herself up and away from me. Then she quickly moves to her feet and stands there, panting with wild eyes and almost fuck me hair.
Part of me wants to crow in victory because her lips are beautifully swollen, red, and trembling from my rough kisses. The other part of me wants to yell at her denial because I can see what is coming. She is running scared, dammit.
“We shouldn’t have done that, Hammer. You’re my patient.” Her voice is shaky. It’s obvious she is on emotional shaky ground. I want to pull her back into my arms and reassure her it doesn’t mean a damn thing that I’m her patient. What does matter is that she sets me on fire in a way I have never felt.
I never get the chance to get the words out, though. She brings a jittery hand to touch her lips then bolts to her bathroom faster than my motorcycle can peal out of a parking lot.
Fuck. I never knew rejection could sting so damn badly.
~Desirae~
I can’t help reaching up to touch my bottom lip. Then, freaking out, I run to the bathroom and shut the door.
He kissed me. Hammer kissed me. I wanted him to. I also want him to do so much more.
My lips tingle still, and I can’t get my heart rate to slow down. What is it about the asshole that has me feeling alive again?
It’s not his looks. Yeah, he looks downright lickable on a daily basis, but I can find a good-looking man anywhere. No, there is something about Hammer that makes me want to punch him, kiss him, laugh with him, and just be with him.
Unlike my other patients, he doesn’t back down when I try to lay down the law. Instead, he fights me every step of the way. When I’m with him, even when we are arguing, I feel in the moment. It’s almost like, when I’m with Hammer, I’m trying to soak up all of our moments, afraid they will disappear before I’m ready for them to.
When my sister died, a piece of me died with her. The truth is, I haven’t slept more than two hours since that day in the woods. I close my eyes and see the pain in her face. Nevertheless, I need to focus on my job, not on my losses.
Can I do this? Can I go back out there and face him? He kissed me, and dammit, I wanted it.
Opening the app on my phone, I don’t think as I log in to my bank account. It has been so long since I have had to worry over money that I haven’t checked.
There is enough there to cash in and get myself set up again. The Hellions pay me well. Hammer pays me well and in cash. I could leave. I could save us both the risk of getting in too deep and being stuck together.
Reality crashes in with the cruel reminder that not everything has blown over with Suzie’s murder. Staying in so long, I have this sense of security, but I don’t know if it is real.
The overwhelming need to be free assaults me. Surely, her murderers have figured out by now they got away with it.
The Hellions haven’t been able to sort the exact persons who killed her. The trail went cold. I haven’t been seen, and I most certainly haven’t talked to the cops since I learned who Suzie used to associate with, who her ex was.
The killers, the drama, the whole situation—they have to know by now that I’m not worth the trouble.
I have seen enough criminal movies. I could find someone to give me a new identity. I could get a job waiting tables that mainly pays cash.
To work at a gym or at a medical facility, I would have to show my certifications, which would trail back to me. If I leave here, I leave the last thing in life I love: my job. I can’t do that. I won’t do it. I have given up enough. I lost my sister, my friends, my home. I am not giving up my career, too.
Hammer may be tough as nails, but I’m stronger. This attraction and flirtation we have ends today. He is my patient, and my job is to get him mobile again.
Steeling my nerves, I step out into the living room, but Hammer is gone. I go around the common areas of the apartment, but he is not here. Either he has holed up in his room or he left. Whichever he decided is fine by me.
We need space. We need time. We both crossed a line.
I feel like a woman in a romance novel. I gave into my attraction. He was there, I was there, and we just came together effortlessly. The moment was rich, the timing right. When his lips pressed to mine, fireworks exploded behind my eyelids. Our magical moment, our tongues entwined. My pulse picked up as my heart began to beat in rhythm with his. I knew, from this moment on, we were meant to be.
I am stronger than this. I am stronger than my attraction to the seriously sexy, badass biker. I am stronger than allowing myself to get sucked into the way he challenges me.
Is this what it is like for men? The thrill of the chase and all that shit? Is that my draw to Hammer?
He challenges my mind and my body in a way no one has ever before, but it doesn’t matter. None of it matters. I’m here to do a job.
As my mind runs crazy with thoughts of leaving here, even if I don’t know when that can happen, I start to clean. It’s what I do when I’m nervous, angry, or feel like life is out of control.
I start in what has become my bathroom then move to what is my clothing room but does happen to have a bed I’m supposed to sleep in. I should probably do that and stop sleeping on the couch.
He’s moving around more on his own. Having one-on-one therapy has made his progress go a lot more smoothly than a patient in-group therapy or rehab. He’s stable enough that I don’t have to sleep on the couch anymore. Plus, it would give us both some space if I can go in the bedroom and put a closed door between us. I also worry my continued nightmares might wake him. So far, I have managed to wake myself up before I start screaming, but there is no telling when my luck will end. With my decision made, I move to the kitchen and continue my cleaning.
Hours pass with no noise from Hammer’s room, so I decide to clean in there. This may be a bad idea since he has a lady who comes once a week. I feel like I’m invading his privacy, but I can’t turn my brain off, and I can’t slow down.
Ice and his ol’ lady Morgan have come by as well as other Regulator members. Hammer doesn’t allow anyone to stay long, but Morgan gave me her number and said she was here if I need her. I should probably call her instead of going into his personal space.
I can’t help being drawn to him. Whatever it is, where Ethan “Hammer” McCoy is concerned, he turns me on, up, down, left, and right about everything.
Entering his room fully for the first time since I have been here, I inhale, smelling him in the space. My body comes alive with the knowledge I have entered the cave of the bear—well, that’s how it feels.
It doesn’t take me long to realize his poor maid must work overtime to get this mess cleaned on a weekly basis. Either she does a shit job, or he is a slob between cleanings. Clothes are thrown against walls on all sides, piling up in heaps, which is ridiculous since he has a large, empty laundry hamper next to his bathroom door. At least he left the pathways clear for his wheelchair.
Looking around, I shake my head. Now I don’t care if I piss him off or not. Doesn’t he realize he is a freak accident away from hurting himself again or getting his chair stuck with a room like this?
Moving forward, I start to pick up all of his clothes first. You wouldn’t think a man has more clothes than a woman, but there is enough piled on the floor to support more than a week’s worth. That is crazy since I know the maid cleaned this room just four days ago!
After the laundry is where it should be—in the blasted hamper—I start picking up the empty beer bottles and other trash. This shit is just ridiculous didn’t someone tell me Hammer served in the military? I thought they taught their soldiers to be clean and neat.
An hour later, I’m on my hands and knees, cleaning the grout on the tile floor in his bathroom, when I hear the laugh of a woman and the deep growl of Hammer’s voice.
Looking at the window, I see it’s pitch black outside. I light my watch to check the time and see it’s a little after midnight.
“You know better than to take a man’s bottle away,” he states gruffly at his companion.
Great, he is drunk. That’s so healthy for him … not.
Tomorrow—well, I should say today—he is going to be even harder to handle while I push him to the limits with a hangover.
Not sure how drunk he is or how he will feel about me being in his space, I lean against the bathroom wall and pray he doesn’t come in here.
I can hear the sounds of them kissing, sloppy lips slapping together. At first, I want to run out there, scream, and maybe throw some shit. Then I stop myself and think I want space. I want this to be professional, even if every part of me wants to give life a chance.
Since Suzie died, I haven’t lived. I have merely existed. Hammer challenges me, makes me wonder if we could have something, and it gives me the possibility of a future.
Then again, the asshole has some stranger in his bedroom right now, so what future could he see with me?
God, can I get any more twisted internally? I mean, with one hand, I push Hammer away, trying to keep a professional distance between us. On the other, I’m disappointed as hell that he has brought another woman to his bedroom. It’s irrational, but I can’t stop myself from wishing it was me making him feel good right now.
Vaguely, I make out the noise of someone flopping onto his king-sized bed. It’s been too long since I have been with a man. It’s been too long since I have had time to take care of my own needs.
As I listen to Hammer with a woman in the other room, my mind wanders. I picture myself sprawled out, naked in front of him, spread eagle on those soft-looking, black sheets. The sensation of the fabric against my ass as I run my fingers down to my pussy. While Hammer sits back, I give him a show, making him growl in desire.
I hear her laugh, and it takes me back to the moment.
“I’ll stroke you,” she says seductively.
“No,” Hammer barks out. “I’ll get myself there.”
I fight back my laugh. Alcohol can cause erectile dysfunction.
I can hear movement, and when I listen closely, I make out the sound of sucking and slurping. Hammer groans his satisfaction, and it disturbs me that his groan hits me straight in my aching core.
I close my eyes and imagine taking in his length. I would cup his balls as I took him all the way.
“Desirae, harder, baby.”
Hammer calling my name takes me out of my fantasy.
“You talk about bustin’ my balls. Well, baby, tug ’em … shit.”
She releases him with a popping sound. “I’m not Desirae.”
“What?” Hammer asks, his voice in a daze.
“I said, I’m not Desirae.” She huffs before laughing. “My name’s Tina, remember? Hell, Hammer, you’ve got it bad. You think of some broad tugging your balls and call out her name, hard as hell. Then you come to, and you get limp dick problems.”
I hear the sounds of her moving over him.
“Fuck you!” he roars.
“Don’t get so worked up. I’m glad to see someone finally tamed the bear inside you.”
“Get. The. Fuck. Out. Now!”
She whimpers, but I guess she finally takes him at his word since I start to hear the shuffle of her feet on his floor.
“No problem. Seriously, you should tell this chick how she’s got you all twisted up. She’ll be better company than that bottle you’re drowning in.” With that, I hear her move out of the room.
I’m frozen in place. Part of me is mad as hell, and the other part of me is happy he’s as fucked up over me as I am over him. I don’t know what to do next. I’m just glad to know I’m not alone in my feelings. Now the question is, how do I get out of the bathroom? Do I reveal myself? What if he wheels in here, anyway? What am I going to do?
Dread spreads through me as I think of the hundred different ways that him rolling in his bathroom to find me could go badly for us. There are just some things a woman doesn’t want to explain to a man. Listening to him make out with another woman is one … and why you are cleaning his bathroom past midnight to burn off some steam is another.