Hours passed before we decided to break from the trance-like state of binge-watching Netflix.
"This is kind of shameful, the amount of television we have just consumed," I confessed.
"Hey, I have a legitimate excuse. You're the one who should be ashamed."
"So, dinner?"
"Not really hungry, this lack of movement has kept my appetite down."
"Okay. Maybe I could put you in the wheelchair and walk you around the property?"
"Only if you want."
"Sure. I've been sitting all day. This will get me some exercise."
So I went through the tedious process of helping him up from the couch and into his wheelchair (maybe I should have taken the extra pay). It was then I started to feel something. Now that he backed off, that he wasn't trying so hard to loosen me up, or get in my pants, it made me want to be with him more. Maybe I missed being told how desirable I was, or I enjoyed playing hard to get, but now that he had completely pulled back, all I wanted was for him to tell me how much he wanted me.
I pushed him along the driveway. It was early evening; the chirps of crickets and the sound of wheels on gravel filled the otherwise quiet summer air.
"Confession. I lied." Heath's words broke the stillness.
"What do you mean? What about?"
"There is something I need to do."
"What's that?"
"Well, the nurse never got around to helping me wash."
"Oh...Oh! Of course." So nursing doesn't mean watching Netflix all day. "I am so sorry. I am pretty new to this."
"No need to apologize. I'm just afraid you won't want to hang around me if I start to smell like ass."
"Okay, well let's head back in then. I might need you to walk me through what she did."
We went through the tedious process of getting him back upstairs and into his bed. He told me the nurse had these wipes and where they were.
"These seem cold. I bet you miss a warm shower."
"Woman, you have no idea."
"I'm going to warm these up for you."
"You are a saint."
I took as long as I could before returning upstairs. He would be naked, and I would be rubbing his body with warm, soapy cloths. Every crevice, every muscle, would be a fraction of a millimeter away from my hand. And it was becoming harder and harder for me to see him as a repulsive man-whore. Now that the sycophants had nearly vanished, it was just the two of us, and we had found ourselves on a deserted island of lonely abandoned souls (since it's his home, we could just call it Manwhore Island).
My hands shook nervously as I carried the cleansing cloths up the stairs, I turned to the threshold and there he was, sitting up, shirtless, his boyish smile and thick dirty-blond hair every-which way. I felt that jump your heart feels when you know you want someone and you know that inevitably you will end up having that person, no matter what the rational side of your brain does to protect you.
But I had pushed him away so hard and so strong, that I finally got what I wanted: respect. And now because of it, I wanted him more. I wanted him badly. And I wanted him to want me back again, but I feared it was too late.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I placed the warm cloth on the nightstand and dimmed the lights. I figured that would be easier on him, though I am sure male supermodels aren't shy about exposing their bodies.
"So, what do I do?" I asked.
"Well, to start, you can get my torso."
I grabbed a cloth and rubbed it along his torso. My breathing tightened as I felt a surge of nervous energy. I rubbed it along his neck, the curves of his jawline, the ridges of his abdomen. His flawless skin almost glowed in the soft lighting of the room.
"Can you sit up?" I asked.
He smirked, the first hint of flirtatious Heath I had seen in a while. I am sure he was enjoying this spectacle and was not the least bit embarrassed himself. I placed one hand on his shoulder and rubbed the cloth along his back with the other. It was my first contact on his bare skin, and the nerves on the ends of my fingertips sparked. I reached over to get the far side of his torso, and I was close enough to smell him. Not his cologne, or shampoo, but the scent of his skin, which cut through his usually soapy scent since he had not washed up in almost two days. I found myself biting my lip, his smell released something primal in me, I honestly wanted to bite his shoulder right there.
Sadie, this is not a porn. Nurses don't actually fuck their patients in real life.
I stood up before my thoughts could wander any further.
"You can sit back now," I said softly.
I knew what was next, and my stomach clenched in anticipation.
"Okay...your boxers?" I wondered if he could clean his own dick, but part of me wanted to see the goods.
"I'll need your help. I wound up my shoulder throwing the plate yesterday." Serves him right.
"Of course." I involuntarily sighed deeply. The sigh betrayed me by showing how hot and bothered this experience was making me.
I slowly grabbed the waistband of his boxers and slid them down. To my surprise, he was semi-erect.
"Sorry Sadie, I'm trying to be professional here, but you're too beautiful."
I nodded. There was nothing of his usual cheeky manner in his tone; he sounded genuine. But when I saw it, how it responded to my touch, I too responded down below, with a flood of arousal.
"It's okay."
My chest was thudding with excitement. I had to touch him down there, but he was aroused and I was aroused and how could I just pretend that what was happening, wasn't really happening?
"If you don't want to, I can do it. My shoulder hurts, but I can manage."
"No...I've got this." I looked up into his blues, and my fucking sweet baby Jesus did he look hot as hell. I told him I had it covered but I didn't move, I just stared at him, and he recognized the look in my eyes. This is a man who gets paid to induce feelings of lust, because everyone wants to fuck him or be him. He spotted the look in my eyes like an owl spotting its prey on a moonless night.
"If I could move my arm. I would run it through your hair. You are doing a great job. I just want you to feel comfortable."
"Thank you. I am. Comfortable."
"Can I?"
"Can you?"
"Touch you."
"But your shoulder."
"It would be worth it."
"I don't know..." The remaining physical distance was the only thing keeping me from throwing the cloth in the air and shoving him in my mouth. But, he was already pulling his arm out of the sling, grimacing all the way. He very slowly ran his fingers through the hair on the base of my scalp, and like a kitten, I closed my eyes and titled my head down, rubbing my cheek along his hand. I nearly purred.
"This is bad, Heath."
"Why?"
"Because I'm me and you're you." I clenched the washcloth in my hands with nervous anticipation.
When I opened my eyes I saw that he was now fully erect.
"Okay." Dammit, he said okay. If he had begged, if he had asked, if he had given me something to resist, I would have had something to push away from. Instead, he stepped aside, and I just caved.
I wrapped my fingers around him, and his eyes went wide. I don't think he thought it would be that easy.
I gripped his erection and massaged him, it was so firm, it would have been perfect for me to mount, but I wanted to do this for him. I wanted to make him feel good and forget about his broken body. I assumed it had been a while since he came, as even his "good" arm was very injured and I knew he wasn't getting any visitors.
He moaned throatily and threw his head back. His abs flexed and relaxed with his deep inhalations. I was so turned on, watching this man submit to such a small gesture.
Sure, it occurred to me that I was jerking off a guy who was in nearly a full body cast. It's not the kind of thing one fantasizes about, but I don't think I would have done it any other way. It was his weakness, his total vulnerability that had become such a tur
n-on. His breathing sped up and his cast nub made a thud as it pressed against the night stand. He was coming close to climax. I took my available hand and pulled down one of the straps of my tank, revealing a breast.
He moaned a little bit louder when he saw it. I leaned down, rubbing my nipple on his tip, and then he came, letting out a lingering groan, making a thudding sound as his leg casts hit each other.
I felt dirty yet powerful. For all the teasing sexual advances I endured, it was me who took control. I popped his cherry. I was the person who moved the chess piece into the spot her opponent never saw coming: Checkmate muhtafucka.
Only because at that moment, I enjoyed the mindfuck (and honestly didn't know what else to do), I didn't say another word. I simply resumed cleaning him off as if nothing had transpired while he watched, his mouth agape. Oh yeah, I liked him, I liked him a lot, but I couldn't let him see all that yet.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
That night, I laid up in my bed with a irremovable smirk on my face. After I finished wiping him down, I pulled up his boxers, said goodnight, and walked out.
For once, he said not a damned thing. It was glorious.
The truth was I had no plans. I didn't know what to make of it just as much I assume Heath did. That's why I said nothing and walked out--on the exterior it seemed like some sort of long term calculation, but really I was buying time.
I cannot tell you the thrill it gave me at that moment, holding the cock of the man whose face adorns billboards 50 feet tall. He's the guy you dream of when you masturbate, not the guy you actually masturbate! Watching him succumb to my hand and his subsequent flustered reaction was such a turn-on. Heath liked to make me nervous, he liked to see me squirm under the weight of his sexual energy, but now I was the one making him shift in his seat anxiously and I understood why he liked it: it was a lot of fucking fun (pun intended). So yeah, that night I played with myself, reliving the moment in my head, remembering how his lips curved when he tilted his head back as he came. Yum.
That next morning, I had to put the mask on again. I had no idea what would transpire when I saw him, but I realized I would have to wing it. Heath's total and utter confusion was my best offense. I upped the ante further with some visual cues that would send some implicit signals: instead of my t-shirt or tank and jeans, I put on a pair of spandex bootie shorts with a lower than usual cut tank top (and no bra of course!). I know, I know. I'm such a tease!
Oh god did my heart pound so fast before I opened the door to his bedroom. He sat there, wide awake as if he had been doing that all night, waiting for me to come back through that door.
"Good morning! Ready for breakfast?" Yup, let's totally ignore the fact my nipple was on your dickhole last night.
"Yeah...?" He wanted me to acknowledge what happened, but he would have to move his piece first.
"Alright then, let's get you in your chair!" Now I was just being obnoxious. I am never this cheerful. I am simply rubbing it in his face.
"Why don't you save yourself the trouble? Bring it up here. Let's do the balcony again."
"Well okay then!" I said, like Mrs. Cleaver.
So there we were, a half an hour later or so, on his balcony, just like the night I slept in his bed with him.
"It's gorgeous today. We should get you outside again. Maybe another walk?"
Heath shifted as best he could in his wheelchair and sighed. "Alright, maybe I am imagining all this. Maybe it was a dream from the painkillers. The way you're acting is making me think I hallucinated. But I could have sworn my penis was in your hand last night."
I strategically shoved a spoon of yogurt in my mouth.
"I should clarify, not like 'oh here let me clean that for you.' It was more along the lines of: you jerked me off, pulled out your tits, made me come. That happened right?"
"Yes," I said in monotone. I am a regular fucking wordsmith.
"Well, thank you?"
"You're welcome?"
"Sadie, throw me a bone here."
"What?"
"Okay you are officially there weirdest woman I have ever met. First you hate me, then you kiss me, then you want to be just friends or my nurse, then you sleep in my bed with me but don't do anything, and then you jerk me off while bathing me and then pretend like nothing happened. What in the actual fuck?"
I honestly didn't know how to reply. Then I blurted out. "Well when you say it like that..."
"There's no like that. I am telling you exactly what transpired."
"Well, like I said, to answer your question, you didn't dream it."
"Thanks for the confirmation...So...is this a thing?"
"A thing?"
"Was it a full moon last night or will there be more where that came from?"
"Do I look like Illy to you?"
"What the hell is that supposed to mean? Why are you being so defensive?"
"I am not being defensive. Can we just enjoy breakfast and not have to talk about everything? Can we just let things be?"
"Okay, okay," he said pensively. Then he started to laugh to himself.
"What's so funny?"
"Oh, it's just that I deal with this all the time. Girls who I hook up with who want answers, who want to talk about it when I'm already done with it. And here I am. I never thought I would be that person. You are turning me into a groupie because seriously I cannot fucking figure you out."
"Well, maybe you've met your match."
He snickered. "I enjoyed it very much. Just putting that out there, into the ether."
"I'm glad you did," I said, offering him a bite of his breakfast.
"Okay, so for the record, the ball is in your court. I'm not gonna nag you, I'm not gonna ask questions. I am just going to be here whenever you need me." He winked and smirked. Now that's the Heath I know. "Wait, I lied. There is one more thing I have to say. I appreciate the gesture yesterday, but it's not my style to receive without giving back. So if you truly are selfless, you'll give me a chance to reciprocate in some way. Otherwise, I'll feel terrible, and you wouldn't want that. Would you? Okay. Now I'm done."
"I'll keep that in mind."
As I was cleaning up lunch, I noticed Heath's phone buzzing. He was still out on the balcony, oblivious of the call. To my chagrin, it was Illy. I wanted to smack that bitch so badly. As far as I knew, this was the first time she was reaching out to Heath. How fucking convenient for her to check in, weeks after the accident. There was something else, of course. Over the past few weeks, Heath and I created our own special bubble. We were connecting in a way that I could only assume would not be possible with his normal crew of friends. I saw Illy's call as a massive intrusion. If I let her back in, I would lose the Heath I was beginning to connect with. Part of it was for Heath's wellbeing too (I swear it!), finally he found someone in me who forced him to be a better version of himself. Illy would just bring him down with her stupid, vapid ways.
So confession: I deleted it aaaaand I blocked her phone number. It's something Heath wouldn't notice unless he dug into his contacts list and it gave me an instant sense of relief. I didn't know what my plans were with him, but I did know I wanted to find out without Gross coming back into the picture.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The next couple of days, after the happy-ending bath, were filled with doctor appointments and more Heath-and-Sadie time. He wanted to get out more and showed a greater interest in his recovery so we took long walks around the property. He was coming out of his funk and we settled nicely into our new relationship, not just as caretaker and "patient," but as something else: Friends? Roommates? I wasn't sure what to call it.
The one thing that was annoying (and I know what you are going to say: that I am an annoying bitch who doesn't know what she wants) was that Heath kept his word. He didn't go for any cheap feels (not that he was dexterous enough to do so) and he stayed away from his usually pervy innuendo. On one hand, I craved feeling desired by this gorgeous man, but on the other hand, it made me feel trusting enough
in his presence to open up more. And so, I would often spend time chilling in bed with him at night. We would just talk, about nothing really, just while the hours away laughing and creating inside jokes.
I liked looking at him. He thought I was just watching him speak, but really I would just drink him up, and I hoped that might be enough. It's kind of like how you crave a giant, delicious piece of gooey chocolate cake, but then feel satisfied after a bite because it's so decadent. Except we all know the truth: only skinny bitches like Illy or people on television who never have time to eat are satisfied after one bite. No, what happens to actual humans is you fight the temptation, you hold out on touching the cake, until all you can think about is the fucking cake, and then you tell yourself "just one bite" and then you take one bite, and then you wake up four hours later: in a back alley, 1000 calories fatter, with a chocolate mustache and an empty plate resting on your breasts.
Heath is chocolate cake. Staring at him did not squelch my cravings, they made me want to devour him.
So a few nights after the whole hand-to-dick incident, Heath and I were sitting in his bed. It was about eight or so, and his shoulder was starting to feel decent enough that he could let it rest outside of his sling.
"So, what would you be doing right now if you were at home in the city?" He asked, fiddling the very end of a long black lock of hair with his thumb and forefinger.
"You don't want to know the answer to that."
"Yes I do."
"It involves licking the bottom of a bowl of Velveeta."
"Jesus, something tells me it's been a long time since you've been laid."
"What makes you say that?"
"For one, the answer to your question. Two, you are a little tense, pretty much always."
"Well, that's none of your business."
"Tell me...how long has it been? Three months?" I kept a straight face. "Oh my god. Six?" I pursed my lips and looked away, feeling a little embarrassed. "Dear lord. Longer than that?"
Gorgeous Rotten Scoundrel Page 9
