Just Pretend

by Juliana Conners

  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

  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 just fine— 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 appea
rs 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 financial support,” 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.

  “All those hours you were away, working or going to school or whatever you were doing,” he continues, the words “whatever you were doing” heavy with innuendo.

  I shake my head adamantly, not wanting it to sound like I ever cheated on him or did anything untoward, because I hadn’t. He’s acting as if I’m a bad person, when I’m not. I had been trying to make things work out between us, but clearly they haven’t been.

  “You could never bother to come out with me and my buddies or do anything I wanted to do,” he continues, angrily. “Yet I sat patiently at home waiting for you, only to find out you’ve been getting a bit too comfy with your ‘client’…”

  He grabs my wrist and presses it against the barre.

  “Tony! Stop it…” I begin to say, but Harlow grabs him and pulls him off me.

  “That’s enough, buddy,” Harlow says. “The lady doesn’t appreciate being manhandled like that.”

  “Fuck you!” Tony says, nearly spitting on Harlow, and raising his fist to him.

  For a second I think he’s going to fight him, but then he appears to realize how foolish this decision would be. Harlow is towering over him, his large shape and toned physique clearly the better match in any potential fight.

  “I’m out of here anyway,” Tony says, heading back towards the door. “I just came to ask you to borrow the car, so I can move out.”

  “I think it’s better than you didn’t,” I tell him. “Borrow the car, I mean.”

  “Thanks for nothing,” he says, and saunters off.

  “Tony, wait…” I say, and then to Harlow, “Just give me a second, please.”

  “Sure,” he says, and I can’t express how grateful I am for his understanding.

  I know it’s not very professional to fight with one’s boyfriend on the clock. Or to leave a client in the middle of his very first session. But I need this drama with Tony to be over with, and I don’t want to have any regrets.

  “Thank you,” I tell Harlow.

  In the lobby, I keep my voice down low so the receptionist won’t hear.

  “Tony, this really wasn’t the best way to go about this.”

  “So you’re just going to lecture me now, like you always do?” he asks, his mouth drawn up in a sneer. “So you can go back in there and make out with your client?”

  “Tony!”

  I know he said “client” loudly, and on purpose, to get me in trouble. It was probably a mistake to follow him out here. I’m glad we’re breaking up. I shouldn’t prolong it. I’m always too damn nice.

  “I just want to see if we can end things between us as smoothly as possible,” I tell him. “I never meant…”

  “Yeah, yeah, you’re little miss perfect Whitney and you never do anything wrong. Well, good luck finding someone as good as me.”

  I stop myself from laughing out loud.

  “I see you drooling over that soldier guy like a little doe- eyed idiot,” Tony says. “He’ll just use you and lose you, if he wants anything at all to do with you. You’re not his type. Too intellectual. Not enough of a ditzy cheerleader. And a bit too out of shape, if you know what I mean. You had a good thing with me, and you lost it. I’m not coming back.”

  “That’s good, because I don’t want you to,” I finally tell him, realizing it’s impossible to reason with him right now, or maybe ever.

  It’s not as important to end on a good note as it is to stand up for myself and let him know that I too am done for good.

  “As I’ve been trying to tell you for far too long, you’re useless to me these days,” I continue. It feels good to let it all out now, everything that’s been bottled up inside. “You don’t work, you don’t clean; hell, you’ve never even given me an orgasm! So good riddance.”

  His mouth drops open, as if he can’t believe I just said that. I can’t believe it either. But it’s the truth. I’ve never had one, and certainly not with Tony.

  “You’re going to be sorry…” he starts to say, but I turn back towards Harlow, relieved that Tony’s in my past and that a new future looms in front of me.

  I walk away from him, determined to never have to hear from him again.

  Chapter 22

  When Whitney returns, she’s noticeably distressed.

  “I am so sorry about that,” she says, her head down in an obvious refusal to look at me.

  “Your eyes are too pretty to be staring down at the floor like that,” I tell her.

  She has a dimple in her chin that is just too perfect.

  She finally looks up at me a little, standing close, and I just can’t help but touch her. I lift her face up to my own, so that I can fully see her beautiful eyes.

  “Harlow, I…” she begins.

  “I know. You just broke up with your boyfriend.”

  “Yeah, but that’s not even why I’m upset. That was a long time coming. As you could likely tell. I just… I’m your physical therapist, and…”

  “I know.” I take my finger off her chin, but her eyes remained locked on mine. “It was a reflex. I couldn’t help it. I just hate to see you so damn hurt. He doesn’t deserve you.”

  She looks at me like she doesn’t quite believe me. But it’s true. That Tony guy looked scrawny and wimpy, and he sounded like such a loser when he was talking about waiting at home or going out with his friends while she worked and went to school.

  “Thank you for the help,” she says. “It got a little scary for a minute. He’s not usually so… upset.”

  She looks back down at the floor, obviously embarrassed, and then walks away to retrieve my file from the table where she’d placed it before leaving to talk to Tony in private. Soon her demeanor is professional again.

  She doesn’t know this, but I was watching her from the door. I don’t trust that guy, and he clearly has the tendency to get physical, whether she thinks it was out of character or not.

  I could hear them, too. It was sad to see her try to talk to some sense into him while he just acted haughty. She definitely deserves much better.

  She deserves better in bed— I can’t believe he never gave her an orgasm! I could give her so damn many. But she also deserves better in a relationship.

  But you don’t do relationships, I remind myself, as if I need a big brother or father figure to step in and talk some sense into me. So you can’t help her out in that department.

  At times like this I wish my father were still alive. For a while Dr. Davis seemed to substitute, but now I’m just becoming impatient with him. And I doubt he’d be happy to hear that I have a thing for the physical therapist to whom he assigned me. Despite all that Dr. Davis has done for me, he could never fill the huge, empty shoes my father left when he passed away.

  I make a mental note to call Ramsey— the closest thing I’ve had to a father figure since our own father died— when I’m done with my first session. Although it’s beginning to look like I’ll never get out of he
re.

  As if reading my mind, Whitney says, “All right, well. I’m sorry. Where were we?”

  She glances down at the list in her hands.

  “You were running your hands down my back,” I tease, but she looks a little more hesitant than she had when we were in the midst of our session.

  Tony barging in on our session sure gave her a wakeup call, I suppose.

  “And you were giving me the kindergarten physical education tests,” I quickly remind her, to change the subject to something less dangerous or forbidden. “And I was passing all the levels. Do I get a little badge for my Boy Scout uniform or something?”

  “Very funny,” she says, but she lets out a genuine laugh, which is nice to hear. “But the tests do get progressively harder. Don’t laugh, but I need to see how many push- ups you can do in a minute.”

  “Seriously?” I get down on the floor and begin them before she can even begin timing me her stopwatch. “This really is some little kids’ test.”

  Does this place not know how many sit ups I have to do for my physical fitness tests for the SEALs? Even though I’ve not been able to return to active duty, I’ve kept up with all the standards so that I won’t have any obstacles holding me back from formally participating once I’m cleared for duty.

  “All right,” Whitney says, after sixty seconds has passed, and makes a note on her piece of paper. “Now, sit- ups.”

  Then we go through all kinds of timed tests— I squat, lift weights, and stretch as if I’m a monkey performing in a circus— and I know I do well on all of them. It’s obvious by my performance as well as the look on her face.

  “That’s good for today,” she says, nodding resolutely. “I need to talk with my supervisor about the results of your assessment but I think they went quite well.”

  “Will you be speaking to Dr. Davis?” I ask hopefully.

  She is obviously thinking about my question, but she’s slow to answer.

  Finally, she says, “Next time I’d like to take you outside, to the track. If your assessments out there are as good as they are in here, I do think that pending my supervisor’s recommendations, I will need to bring Dr. Davis up to speed on the results of my initial tests.”