twice tonight.”
“How about this, if you win the next game I’ll introduce you to Janelle.” Dave’s not a bad guy. A knucklehead but he treats women well. I’d rather she go home with him than some random asshole at the bar.
“No shit. Really?”
“Yes, but you treat her like a gentleman. Not like a piece of meat.”
He offers his hand and we shake on it.
Chapter 12
(Audrey)
“Mmmhmmm.”
“That feels good?”
I nod my head lazily. Two weeks have passed and I’ve advanced to lying on my back. Graham’s straddling the end of the bench with my legs on either side of him. “I went running yesterday and my calves are really sore.”
“Here?” he asks, pressing into the skin.
“Yes. Ouch. Yes. Exactly.”
His fingers inch upward, gently cares sing the skin on my upper thigh, occasionally dipping to the soft inside flesh. Again, I fight a mixed reaction of part arousal, part fear. Nevertheless, the rules are specific; he’s not allowed to touch any part of my body covered by the fabric of my tank or shorts.
“How often do you run?” he asks. We’ve both realized my blood pressure lowers when I’m distracted. Conversation helps.
“A couple times a week. I’m terrible at it, though.”
His hand trails gently up and down.
“Why do you say that?”
He switches to using his fingertips, gently scraping his short nails down to my knee.
“I’m slow as molasses. Seriously , a turtle could out run me.”
He laughs and grabs my heel to extend my leg. My foot swipes against his crotch. His very hard, very protruding crotch.
Um. Wow. I guess that answers any questions I had about his sexual orientation.
He doesn’t stop his movements, focusing now on my other leg . If he can ignore it, so can I. “What kind of workout do you do?” I ask, because it’s become increasingly obvious that he works out. A lot. Two sessions ago, as he promised, he cut back on his own clothing. Each day he meets me at the door in a tight t-shirt and workout shorts. His arms are corded with lean muscles and his broad back and shoulders dip and curve. I’ve noticed his flat stomach and his chest… God, I have to look away from his chest.
“I run a little, too , and do some weights. Lately, I’ve gotten into parkour.”
“What’s that?”
“Climbing and jumping,” he explains, his voice coming from near my feet. I can’t see his face from my position. “Like where you run, climb a wall, and jump down without killing yourself.”
“I’ve seen that on commercials and stuff. Very cool.”
“It’s not too hard. You just have to have a lot of strength and balance.”
I snort. “Yeah , two things I’m not blessed with.”
The music stops and Graham reaches for my hands pulling me to a sitting position. We’re close to one another, face to face, and my hair flows down my shoulders. He takes a handful and says, “You’ve got the prettiest hair.”
“Life as a ginger , pretty hair, pale skin, I burn like a lobster in the sun.” My eyes dart downward to see if he’s still…interested. Yes. Apparently so.
I assume his comp liments are an effort to stall a bit. I avert my eyes and mumble, “Thanks.” Then I stand and head for the bathroom.
I change quickly and swipe a brush through my hair. Graham meets me at the door with an envelope. “Dr. Markson wanted me to give this to you. See you next week.”
“Oh, orders from the doctor. I’m never sure if I should be excited or nervous.”
If he knows what the note says, he doesn’t reveal anything. “Maybe a little of both, have a good weekend.”
“Bye,” I say , and stuff the letter into my bag. It’s not until later that I’m thankful I opened it in the privacy of my home. Because, holy shit, I think I would have died if Graham had been there.
Why?
Going to a sex shop is not a big deal.
It’s not.
I keep telling myself that after reading for the third time the note Dr. Markson left me. She’s asked me to take a field
“How about this, if you win the next game I’ll introduce you to Janelle.” Dave’s not a bad guy. A knucklehead but he treats women well. I’d rather she go home with him than some random asshole at the bar.
“No shit. Really?”
“Yes, but you treat her like a gentleman. Not like a piece of meat.”
He offers his hand and we shake on it.
Chapter 12
(Audrey)
“Mmmhmmm.”
“That feels good?”
I nod my head lazily. Two weeks have passed and I’ve advanced to lying on my back. Graham’s straddling the end of the bench with my legs on either side of him. “I went running yesterday and my calves are really sore.”
“Here?” he asks, pressing into the skin.
“Yes. Ouch. Yes. Exactly.”
His fingers inch upward, gently cares sing the skin on my upper thigh, occasionally dipping to the soft inside flesh. Again, I fight a mixed reaction of part arousal, part fear. Nevertheless, the rules are specific; he’s not allowed to touch any part of my body covered by the fabric of my tank or shorts.
“How often do you run?” he asks. We’ve both realized my blood pressure lowers when I’m distracted. Conversation helps.
“A couple times a week. I’m terrible at it, though.”
His hand trails gently up and down.
“Why do you say that?”
He switches to using his fingertips, gently scraping his short nails down to my knee.
“I’m slow as molasses. Seriously , a turtle could out run me.”
He laughs and grabs my heel to extend my leg. My foot swipes against his crotch. His very hard, very protruding crotch.
Um. Wow. I guess that answers any questions I had about his sexual orientation.
He doesn’t stop his movements, focusing now on my other leg . If he can ignore it, so can I. “What kind of workout do you do?” I ask, because it’s become increasingly obvious that he works out. A lot. Two sessions ago, as he promised, he cut back on his own clothing. Each day he meets me at the door in a tight t-shirt and workout shorts. His arms are corded with lean muscles and his broad back and shoulders dip and curve. I’ve noticed his flat stomach and his chest… God, I have to look away from his chest.
“I run a little, too , and do some weights. Lately, I’ve gotten into parkour.”
“What’s that?”
“Climbing and jumping,” he explains, his voice coming from near my feet. I can’t see his face from my position. “Like where you run, climb a wall, and jump down without killing yourself.”
“I’ve seen that on commercials and stuff. Very cool.”
“It’s not too hard. You just have to have a lot of strength and balance.”
I snort. “Yeah , two things I’m not blessed with.”
The music stops and Graham reaches for my hands pulling me to a sitting position. We’re close to one another, face to face, and my hair flows down my shoulders. He takes a handful and says, “You’ve got the prettiest hair.”
“Life as a ginger , pretty hair, pale skin, I burn like a lobster in the sun.” My eyes dart downward to see if he’s still…interested. Yes. Apparently so.
I assume his comp liments are an effort to stall a bit. I avert my eyes and mumble, “Thanks.” Then I stand and head for the bathroom.
I change quickly and swipe a brush through my hair. Graham meets me at the door with an envelope. “Dr. Markson wanted me to give this to you. See you next week.”
“Oh, orders from the doctor. I’m never sure if I should be excited or nervous.”
If he knows what the note says, he doesn’t reveal anything. “Maybe a little of both, have a good weekend.”
“Bye,” I say , and stuff the letter into my bag. It’s not until later that I’m thankful I opened it in the privacy of my home. Because, holy shit, I think I would have died if Graham had been there.
Why?
Going to a sex shop is not a big deal.
It’s not.
I keep telling myself that after reading for the third time the note Dr. Markson left me. She’s asked me to take a field