Raw

by Simone Sowood

  “Bullshit, you just wanted me out of the way.”

  I don’t feel the need to respond to her comment.

  “You’ll get your money tomorrow, end of story,” I say.

  “Hope you had fun piercing that chick you were so interested in.”

  I ignore her again.

  “Anything else?” I ask.

  “You know, now that I think about it, the timing of when you fired me sure is interesting.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “What I mean is, would I still have a job if someone named Eloise Hutchinson hadn’t decided she wanted a piercing?”

  “Tomorrow,” I say, and hit end call.

  Kaylee was always a pain in the ass. I only kept her around as long as I did because some people prefer having a female work on them. And she’s a damn good artist. But I’d never tell her that.

  I glance at the time on my phone. Two o’clock, almost time for me to go. Wednesdays and Thursdays are my days off. Ryan is in control of the parlor today.

  Yesterday, Wednesday, I spent the day fucking around doing nothing. I was supposed to see a redhead I met a couple weeks ago, but I canceled. I’ve lost interest in her.

  But I did finally get around to doing something I’ve needed done for ages. Make an appointment to get my stiff shoulder looked at.

  My right shoulder tenses when I’m working on a tattoo, and now it’s always stiff and sore.

  From the pile in my bedroom, I grab a pair of black jeans and pull them on, followed by a white T-shirt from the light colored pile of clothes.

  It’s a beautiful day, and I take my Harley.

  The medical center is the same as I remember it, and my gut wrenches.

  I snarl as I enter the building but push my feelings aside with the memory of Eloise’s pussy. She was crazy responsive to my fingers, and I want more. I want to give her more, and see just how incredible I can make her feel.

  The inside is different. It looks brand new. The floors are oak and the walls are hung with what looks like original artwork. I stop in front of a few of the pictures, the ones that catch my eye.

  One is of a street scene, in what looks like New York City. I like the way there are trees in an otherwise urban setting. Another painting that catches my eye is of a woman. She’s at a lake, and sitting with her feet dangling off a dock. It’s the look on her face that’s most intriguing. She looks haunted despite being in a beautiful place, and I wonder what’s on her mind.

  I arrive at the imposing oak reception desk. A woman sits behind it, working on a computer. She’s wearing a name tag. Marcy. She doesn’t look like a Marcy. I don’t expect a Marcy to wear glasses and have curly hair.

  I don’t say anything, instead I look around at the waiting room, trying to suppress my memories.

  “Oh!” Marcy exclaims, putting her hand to her chest. “I didn’t realize you were standing there.”

  “I have an appointment at three o’clock for physiotherapy.”

  Marcy doesn’t reply. Her eyes are stuck on my arms. Her hand is still on her chest, and it’s visibly moving up and down with her heavy breath.

  I’m used to this reaction and wait patiently for her to say something.

  She squeezes her eyes shut and opens them again, shaking her head.

  “And your name is?”

  “Gabe Irwin.”

  “Have a seat. I’ll let her know you’re here.”

  “Sure. Do me a favor, don’t tell her my name.” I smile and wink.

  Marcy’s hand stops moving altogether. At some point she’ll remember to breathe. I turn away from her, and find a seat.

  I glance over the magazines on the table. One catches my eye. It’s half hidden under three other magazines but it’s impossible to miss the word orgasm.

  Moving the other magazines off it, I pick it up, revealing the full sentence.

  Trouble having orgasms? You need to read this!

  A smirk plastered on my face, I flip open the magazine to find the article. But I already know what it’s going to say. Now I know where good, sweet Eloise learned about genital piercings.

  “I’m ready…” Eloise’s voice trails off.

  I look up from the magazine. She looks even better than the way I’ve been picturing her all week with my cock in my hand. She’s in black pants that are tight and a black blouse that shows off the swell of her tits. My dick twitches at the sight of her.

  Standing, I toss the magazine on the table, and walk over to her.

  “Ready for me?”

  “What are you doing here?” Her eyes are wide. She looks at Marcy, who is staring at us, and quickly says, “Come with me.”

  In a flash, Eloise turns on her heels and rushes off. I follow her, thinking how much I would like to come with her.

  We enter a small room with the massage table in the center of it. Eloise closes the door behind us.

  “Why are you here?” she asks, her eyes wild.

  “My shoulder’s fucked up. Plus I had to bring you back your panties.” I pull her panties out of my pocket and dangle them from my index finger.

  Eloise lunges and snatches them from my hand. She turns beet red, just like I knew she would.

  “You should’ve thrown them away,” she says as she crams them in the nearby drawer. “Why did you come here?”

  “I told you, my shoulder’s fucked up.”

  “I can’t believe you came to my work. Saturday was something I want to forget ever happened.” Eloise squares her body in front of me, her eyes fierce.

  Resisting the urge to lift my hand and brush my fingers down her cheek, I say, “You’re the only one talking about Saturday.”

  “You’re here for physiotherapy? You can’t be serious.”

  “I keep telling you, my shoulder’s fucked up. I don’t know how many more times I can say it.”

  She screws up her mouth, her eyes searching mine. Without blinking, I hold her gaze, daring her. She’s going to treat my shoulder, run her hands over my muscles, massaging me. I can’t fucking wait.

  “Lift your arms over your head,” she commands. I follow her order. “Now hold them out at your side. And to the front. Now circle them.”

  Eloise watches intently as I do everything she says. She falls silent, and I cross my arms in front of me.

  “Well?” I ask.

  “You definitely have less range on your right side. Is there pain?”

  “It gets sore, yeah.”

  “What is that on a scale of one to ten?”

  “I don’t fucking know.”

  She rolls her eyes and says, “Like, does it hurt a little bit? A lot? When you use it? In bed at night?”

  “I know one way to make the pain stop at night.”

  “Are you here for treatment, or to pick me up?”

  “Maybe a little of both.”

  “If you really want treatment, you’re going to have to behave.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Take your shirt off.”

  My dick twitches from her order. I clear my throat and tug my shirt off over my head. Even while my shirt is still covering my face, I can feel the heat of her eyes burning into me.

  She closes the distance between us, and asks, “Is it okay if I touch you?”

  There’s no way of answering that without pissing her off, so I just nod.

  9.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 nest
le 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.

  10.Eloise

  “Two more margaritas coming up,” the waitress says, tapping the table with her fingers.

  Good. Maybe after another drink I’ll be able to tell Sophie everything I need to get off my chest. I thought two would be enough, but evidently I need a third.

  It’s Saturday, and I haven’t been able to get Gabe out of my head since the physio session. Neither has Marcy. All day yesterday I had to listen to her talk about him.

  Today was even worse. Being home alone in my apartment meant my brain spent every single second of the day thinking about him.

  I broke down and called Sophie just after lunch. I told her I needed to talk about the panties I’d left in the tattoo parlor, but that there was no way I could do it sober.

  Thankfully she came up with the plan of sending our parents to dinner and a movie. Sophie made a big d
eal about it, saying they deserved a date night because they never go out, and that it would be our treat.

  At first, Mom protested, saying she’d miss us and that we all should go but Sophie put her foot down and demanded they go and promised we’d both be there for lunch tomorrow.

  “Start spilling,” Sophie says, licking the rim of her empty margarita glass.

  I try to work out where to begin. My eyes search the bottom of my glass for answers. I lift the glass up and toss my head back, coaxing the last drop out of it.

  Plunking the glass back on the table, I say, “The tattoo guy showed up for a physio session, and brought back my panties.”

  “No fucking way,” Sophie says, her mouth hanging open. Alcohol turns her into a potty-mouthed sailor.

  Our waitress arrives at the table carrying two fresh drinks. She sets them on the table in front of us, and says, “Here you go, enjoy.”

  I lift mine and take a massive gulp, trying to find the courage I need.

  “Turns out he’s got a stiff shoulder,” I say.

  Sophie’s eyes pop open, and she says, “You actually treated him?”

  “I did. I had my hands all over his muscles.”

  “So he’s hot?”

  “Marcy hasn’t stopped talking about him. It’s annoying the hell out of me.”

  “What does he look like? Tell me what he looks like!”

  “He’s got brown hair and brown eyes,” I say, smirking.

  “And is muscular.”

  “Yep.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Fuck off. Give me the details. Maybe I can call Marcy, invite her here now. She never goes out. I’m sure she’d love to come tell me all about him.”

  I take another gulp of my drink. And this is the easy part, I haven’t gotten to the juicy bits yet. The waitress walks past our table and I flick my hand out.

  “Two more, please,” I tell her.

  She laughs, and says, “No problem. Here’s to a good night.”

  “You need to be that drunk to tell me what he looks like?”

  “He’s tall and built like a Greek god with the intense stare to match. His chest, arms, hands and back are covered in tattoos. And both his nipples are pierced.”

  “Oh my God, Marcy must’ve shit herself.”

  “Yeah, she told Mom and Dad that we have a scary new patient. She even said he might be a criminal.”