“Fine by me.”
Another one? I want to say.
Instead, I ask, “What’d you do today?”
“Just hung out with Nate and some other guys,” he says. “Shot some pool.”
So basically he was in a bar all day while I worked, and now he’s drinking more beer while I cook.
“Do you want to make a salad?” I ask him. “The veggies are in the fridge.”
“No, I’m going to relax and play a game of Madden ‘til dinner’s ready,” he says, heading over to the living room, beer in hand.
I can’t take it anymore. I just explode.
“Tony, I don’t think I can do this.”
“This? What?”
He plops down on the couch, not even seeming very upset.
“Us. I just feel so disconnected from you, and you don’t even seem to make an effort anymore. It’s not just a matter of finances, although that’s an important issue. It’s just that emotionally, I feel lonely, as if I’m not even in a relationship at all…”
“Geez, Whitney. We’ve both had long days. Can’t this just wait until later? I don’t have the energy for a long-winded relationship assessment conversation right now.”
I know in my heart that I’ve reached an impasse, but Tony’s right that at least I had a long day. I guess I don’t have in it me to take action about our relationship and my internship right now.
I spoon myself out a small bowl of soup and eat it while Tony obliviously plays his video game. I have lost my appetite.
“Dinner’s ready, serve yourself,” I tell him, on my way to the bathroom. “I’m going to take a bubble bath.”
I sink down deep into the water and try to clear my head. I can’t run away from two challenges at once.
As I hear the sounds of Tony’s video game continue in the living room, I decide to break up with him, and to work with Harlow. It’s time I stopped taking the easy way out for once.
Chapter 19 – Whitney
“Thank you all for coming today,” Dr. Davis says, as he passes out sheets of printed paper to those of us seated around the conference table.
Harlow’s physical therapy training officially begins today, with this meeting of his training team, for the purpose of going over his treatment plan. I find it rather odd that Dr. Davis is not only present for this meeting, which is usually only held among the physical therapists, but also that he’s in charge of said meeting.
Once again, the question burns a hole in my mind: What does a facial reconstructive surgeon know about physical therapy? But then again, Dr. Davis is clearly the type who likes to think he’s in charge of everything. And I suppose our department lets him get away with a lot, since he will tout our services during his award-winning presentations and since he promises to send a lot of new patients our way.
“The list I’m handing out includes an overview of the type of services I think that Harlow needs, and the specific tasks he must be able to complete before he can be certified as fit for active duty. This is, of course, our overriding goal.”
I sneak a glance at Harlow and can’t help but notice the hopeful yet proud look on his face. He turns to me and the look changes to one of interest yet reservation, as if to say, “back off unless you’re in line with this goal.”
Lance taps his leg against mine under the table and I realize the exchange of looks between Harlow and I might be more noticeable than I realized. Lance writes a note on the back of his piece of paper:
Meow! Are you and Military Hunk going to have a cat fight for the whole room to see?
I shake my head at him and turn back to Dr. Davis, who is still talking.
“I expect Harlow’s team to report to me frequently so that we can take an integrative approach and more quickly work together to assess and refine any areas that still need improvement.”
I glance down at the list of tasks that Dr. Davis expects Harlow to do and some of them seem difficult, if not impossible, for anyone to perform, let alone someone recovering from a traumatic injury.
Do 100 squats with kettlebells.
Run 2 miles in under 10 minutes.
“Dr. Davis?” I ask, clearing my throat, nervously.
“Yes?” he asks, his eyes narrowing in on me. “Oh yes, of course. I remember you from the awards ceremony. The one who likes to challenge everything and ask a lot of questions. Ms. Reid, am I correct?”
I’m momentarily taken aback, surprised that if he remembers me and views me as a challenge that he would dare allow me to work with his prized patient. And the fact that he knows my name is off-putting, although I suppose not all that strange.
Of course he knows the people who will be working with Harlow. I’m just rather shocked that he would allow me to be one of them.
“Yes. I’m the intern who will be…”
“…primarily working with Harlow.” Dr. Davis fills in the rest of my sentence for me, as if to point out that he’s not an idiot. “I know. Go ahead and ask one of your many questions.”
Nearly everyone in the room snickers, except for Lance, who bumps my leg again as if to tell me to cool it. But he does it in a gentle way, as if to also reassure me he’s on my side. That’s good, because I think he’s the only one who is.
“I was just wondering what criteria you used in creating this list of tasks?” I ask, suddenly wishing I had never spoken up. “And whether you consulted a physical therapist in doing so, because…”
“Of course I did,” Dr. Davis answers, with a smile that contradicts his rather angry tone. “Dr. Warren and I work very closely on Harlow’s case, as we will be doing with all the patients who I send here for treatment.”
This seems like a subtle threat, designed to point out the obvious: Dr. Davis is in charge here, and intends to be for the foreseeable future.
“These tasks are designed for a member of an elite Special Forces group, to which Harlow belongs,” Dr. Davis continues, as if speaking to a kindergartner. “Harlow is a SEAL, as you know. These men are not just any ordinary patients. They were able to do extraordinary things, and need to be back at those levels before they can be cleared for service. At least, that’s what the military informs me.”
It makes sense, but I still think the tasks are extremely challenging for anyone, even a SEAL. But I clearly need to learn my place. Lance is right— I’ve made enough waves around here. I say nothing further.
Dr. Warren goes over some practical logistics, such as the dates and times of sessions, and meetings amongst staff members afterwards to go over the training plan. We are certainly paying a lot more attention to Harlow than our other patients, but I suppose that makes sense.
Once the meeting wraps up, Dr. Warren informs us that Harlow’s training will start today, with a session to immediately follow the meeting. I look at Harlow and he is already looking back at me. We lock eyes and my entire body tingles as I realize that for the next hour, it will just be him and me.
“Guess that means that Whitney and Harlow get some alone time,” Dr. Davis says, as if echoing my thoughts. His voice is childish and taunting. “You kids play nice in the therapy room.”
It’s beginning to seem that Dr. Davis heard my challenge, and accepted it. He has something to prove to me, and I wonder if he chose me for a reason. I can’t help but wonder what that reason is.
But as Harlow and I get up to start heading to our session, I have bigger things on my mind. The fact that he and I will be up close and personal is at the forefront.
Chapter 20 – Harlow
I’m finally up close and personal with Mystery Woman, who is no longer such a stranger. I’m close enough I can smell her breath— an intoxicating mixture of toothpaste and coffee. I’m close enough that I could reach out and kiss her, pull her hair and draw her towards me while I fuck her…
“I know that Dr. Warren already went through your medical history and patient questionnaire,” Whitney says, looking studiously through my file. “I have reviewed them, and I’m going to start by
running you through some basic agility tests.”
Once we’re in the therapy room, she’s all business. So professional.
It’s sexy. But I’m wondering what happened to the electricity I know I felt between us. She’s obviously doing her best to hide it.
“Sure thing,” I tell her, with a wink.
“I’m going to need to assess your posture and balance,” she says, maintaining her official demeanor. “First, I’ll need you to lay down, in a prone position.”
I obey, slinking down to the hard floor with my stomach and head down and my arms stretched out to the side.
“Perfect,” she says. “Now lift up your left leg, please.”
I do so, and she appears to pause, as if studying me. She puts a hand on my left calf, which I can’t say I don’t enjoy.
“How far forward can you stretch this leg?” she asks me, and I immediately oblige her request, bringing my heel down to where it almost touches my shoulder.
“And the other leg?”
She keeps a hand on both legs as I stretch my right leg in the same way that I stretched my left.
“You have regained much of your flexibility,” she announces, as if surprised, and I know without looking up that she is checking off a box of some sort, on her chart. “Now, please stand up from that position.”
I do, and she puts a hand on my back as if expecting me to wobble. She anticipates having to steady me, but I’m just fine. She traces my spine with her fingers, and it’s all I can do to breathe normally.
“Now please bend over and touch your toes.”
I do so, without issue.
“Are you sure you’re not looking at some physical fitness test for elementary schoolers?” I tease her, in an effort to break the tension.
It works, sort of. She lets out half a laugh.
“All right, a challenge, then,” she says, and I’m definitely up for it.
“Stretch your arms forward and hold onto the barre with one hand,” she tells me.
“Like this?” I grab the barre awkwardly while walking my arms out only slightly.
“I want you to stretch your entire body,” she says, demonstrating for me herself on the barre, which was my goal all along.
She flattens her back in front of me and holds onto the barre with one hand while reaching downwards to the floor. In this position, I can stare at her curvy ass to my heart’s delight.
“Got it?” she asks, and turns around to check.
I quickly align myself in the correct position, and she nods.
“Very good,” she says, coming around alongside me to place her hands on the small of my back.
“Do you feel any pain here?”
“Nope.”
Her hand feels dainty and small on my back. I wish it could linger there just a bit longer.
“Okay, slowly pull yourself up until you’re standing,” she says, keeping a hand on my back while I do so.
She traces her fingers slowly down my vertebrae.
“There’s no pain here?”
“Nope. Feels fine.”
“Your report says that you suffered significant spinal injury when the helicopter crashed,” she says, nearly massaging my back now. “And yet now you feel nothing?”
“Right. I mean, it just feels normal.”
See? I want to say. I’m fine. Return me to service. I need to get back to doing what I’m supposed to be doing. With the SEALs.
But I’m distracted, because she’s facing me now, with one hand still wrapped around my back, and if I’m not mistaken she’s breathing more heavily. How I wish I could take her in my arms and kiss her.
I let my fantasies go wild, imagining all the things I’d do with Whitney right now, if only we could. I decide to envision all of it, just as I know it would play out.
I stretch her over the barre as I prepare to take her from behind. My cock is pressed up against her ass and I bend forward and over her so that my tatted pecs and abs are touching every inch of her naked spine, back, and hips.
I kiss her neck while I shove my cock deep into her pussy. I play with her nipples and then her clit while I thrust in and out of her wet hole, slippery and dripping onto my cock. Then I hold onto her hips and pull her hair so I can get my whole twelve inches further, deeper, all the way inside her, filling her up completely with my cock.
We have to be careful not to get caught. So, once she starts to moan and whisper my name, holding her head back to meet my lips, close to the verge of climax, I have to cover her pretty mouth so she can scream into my hand while I make her come for her very first time.
I take my cock out of her pussy and stick my fingers deep within it, stretching her and playing with her, while her juices drip all over me. Then I shove my fingers into the mouth I was just covering and make her suck her own wetness off of them.
She moves her lips back and forth, up and down on my fingers, her mouth working it like it’s my cock. She smiles up at me while I take the fingers of my other hand and push them up into her ass hole.
I play with her ass, my fingers jutting in and out of her, making her entire hole vibrate against me. She bounces up and down on me while she sucks her juices off my fingers.
Finally, I make her get down on her knees, naked in the physical therapy room where anyone could walk in and see her serving her SEAL master. I twist her tits and shove my cock deep into her mouth.
“Play with yourself,” I command. “Make yourself come like I just made you come.”
She obeys my every command, spreading her knees wider and reaching her dainty hand down to her pussy. I look down at her, rubbing her clit while looking up at me with my cock in her mouth, swallowing my whole head and shaft, playing with my balls with one hand and her own clit with the other.
“Oh, my God, Harlow,” she says, furiously rubbing her clit while whispering my name, making herself come again.
I reach down and join her, and together we both make her come while I shove my cock even further into her throat. With her other hand she reaches up and jerks me off, moving up and down my shaft while she sucks on the head of my cock.
“I’m coming too,” I tell her, as her eyes are wide with pleasure and my cum gushes into her mouth.
I squeeze her tits while I finish coming and then I take my cock out and spread my cum all around her face. If anyone sees her after this, they’ll know I marked her as my own. I’ve given her her first orgasm and I’ve claimed her; I’m her SEAL now and she’s my dirty little girl who will do anything I want, whenever I want.
Woah, I think, snapping back to reality.
It’s not unusual for me to get lost in fantasies, but this one ended on a strange note. Usually once I have sex with a girl I never want to see her again. I can’t let myself get attached; that’s far too dangerous.
This is the first time I’ve had a fantasy that involves fucking the same woman again, and again and again and again. Just like I want to make her come so many times that her swollen little clit and her dripping wet pussy will be quivering and begging me for more.
I can’t believe I’m having these thoughts about my new physical therapist. I wish I could say something to her, to find out if the feeling is mutual, although I already know there’s an attraction between us.
I don’t want to ruin what is finally looking as if it could turn out to be a good thing in more ways than one. So I keep my mouth shut, and tuck that little fantasy into my head to be carried out in the future, as soon as I can make her mine.
Chapter 21 – Whitney
Time seems to stand still as I’m nearly pressed up against Harlow’s chest. I’ve never felt so conflicted on the job before.
On the one hand, I can’t believe he seems to be doing so well— as healthy as a patient who doesn’t even need physical therapy. On the other hand, I want to find something wrong with him, not just to appease Dr. Davis but to have my own personal reasons to keep him in physical therapy. To keep him this close to me.
Stop it,
I tell myself, but I can’t seem to break away from what would normally be a very unnatural physical therapist-client position. It doesn’t seem like he wants me to break away either. So we just stand there, staring at each other and locked in time and space, until…
“Whitney!”
I jump at the voice, immediately thinking it belongs to Lance, or— worse— Dr. Warren, and that I’m in big trouble. But before I even turn around I realize it’s Tony. Even though that makes no sense. It’s definitely Tony’s voice, though.
“Tony?” I spin around to face the door, hoping that the look on my face isn’t too guilty.
“So this is why you want to break up,” he says, peering at Harlow as if he’s a bug. “This is why you’ve not been coming home until late, and claiming that you feel disconnected from me. It all makes perfect sense now.”
He walks up until he’s dangerously close to me, pressing me up against the barre with his hips.
“When were you going to tell me the truth, Whitney? So convenient to have me think it was your boss, when obviously it was this— this….”
In taking a second look at Harlow, Tony shirks back a bit. Harlow has a good six inches on him, and a lot of muscle.
“This is my client, Tony,” I explain, as if he’s five years old, which is about the age level at which he appears to be operating right now. “I’m working, as you know. How did you even get here?”
“You don’t think they’d let your boyfriend in to see you?” Tony smirks, throwing a challenging glare at Harlow. “I’m her boyfriend. Did she tell you that?”
“Tony, this really isn’t the time or place to get into relationship issues…”
I begin to explain, feeling rather embarrassed at the whole incident. But this just makes Tony even more angry.
“I supported you,” he says, towering over me once again.
“What?” I can’t believe his audacity. “You haven’t even tried to find a job…”
“There’s more to supporting someone than just financially” he whines. “I meant emotionally.”
I just stare at him, blinking, as if he’s from a different planet. He used to be pretty emotionally supportive, which was the whole reason we were together, but that hasn’t been true for quite some time. He can’t even bother to listen to what I say to him. But I know it’s useless to try to explain, since he’s still not in the mood to hear me.
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