by Emma Renshaw
James steps away and snags his wallet from his desk, pulling out a condom and quickly rolling it down his length before coming back at me. He picks me up, wrapping my legs around his hips.
"Tatum?" he asks. The head of his cock is against my entrance, waiting to make sure I'm good with what's happening. I know he wants to hear the word yes. I give him better.
"Fuck me, James."
He rams his dick inside of me, both of us groaning in pleasure before we attack each other's mouths. Our tongues sweep along each other’s, battling, fighting for dominance, wanting to win the war waging between us. My nails scrape down his back, leaving marks as he pulls on my hair. We're both making unintelligible noises as we slap against each other.
"Fuck," James hisses as my pussy starts to flutter around his dick. I'm so close to falling over the edge, but I need...
"More," I whisper.
James ducks his head, pulling a nipple into his mouth and propping me better against the wall while his hand leaves my hair, drifting down my body.
His thumb flicks my clit lightly.
“Yes. More. I…I…”
My words trail off as I moan when his thumb starts circling with more pressure and I explode, quivering in his arms as he continues to fuck me through my orgasm. My back claps against the wall over and over. His lips crash into mine, giving me another soul-searing kiss as he slams into me one final time, growling as he comes, sending me over the edge again.
James pulls his lips away from mine. We're both shaking as we hold onto each other, breathing heavily. Our slick skin feels fused together. We're polar magnets, clashing and fighting until finally we fall against each other, unable to break apart.
His eyes don't leave mine as he slips out of me and lightly kisses my lips. He takes off the condom, tying it off before tossing it in the trash. I'm surprised when he takes a clean towel from a storage unit behind his desk and kneels in front of me.
"I can—"
"Let me." He places my foot on his knee and slowly slides the towel up my leg before cleaning me softly.
"Thanks," I whisper, unsure what else to say about this gentle act. A moment ago he was fucking me so hard there might be a Tate-shaped hole in the wall and knowing he’s kneeling down in front of me, showing me kindness through an act more intimate than the sex we just had. He nods, not looking away from me, but I can hardly look at him. A rush of emotions is filling me, and I don't know what to think right now. It feels like it was bound to happen, but I barely even like him. I don't hesitate—"I still don't like you."
"Feeling’s mutual," he mutters, picking up my clothes and handing them to me before getting dressed himself.
Once we're both dressed, we face each other a little awkwardly. "I need to go," I say.
"I'll walk you out."
I nod; an argument isn't worth it. As we exit his office, I keep my head down, but I can feel the stares from his friends and see them in the peripheral vision. When light laughter comes from that area, James turns quickly.
“Fucking quiet. Now.”
Their laughter dies immediately, I don’t stop my strides to the front. I know they weren’t laughing at me, just the absurdity of the situation and I pray they didn’t hear me from James’s office. James catches up to me, walking closely without touching me muttering under his breath. “Assholes.”
I take a deep breath shaking my head.
“They don’t mean anything by it.”
“I know,” I mutter. When we reach my car, I turn toward him. "I expect you to show up to the next session."
"I'll be there," he says, opening my car door for me. Then he stands in the entry of his gym, watching me drive away.
Chapter 17
James
Tatum and I took things too far the other day. Neither of us planned for that to happen. It shouldn't have happened. End of story.
She's my fucking physical therapist. And I fucked her. Christ. She's friends with the girls now, too, so I will be seeing her. This is exactly why I set the boundaries I do, so shit like this doesn't happen. I don't want complications in my life. Every facet of my life is complicated enough without adding in a pretty girl.
It won't happen again.
It can't happen again.
Even if I can still feel her silky-smooth skin under my palm. Even if every time I breathe, I smell her jasmine scent. I didn’t even know I knew what jasmine smelled like, but that’s what comes to mind when I step close to her. Tatum’s face. Tatum’s body. Tatum’s hair. Tatum’s smile. Every single part of her is burned into my mind. I don't only see it when I close my eyes. It's all the damn time, playing like a movie on loop through my mind.
By the time I pull into the clinic's parking lot, I'm completely hard, aching to be inside her again. But that won't happen. It can't.
I also can't walk inside there like this.
Stench of a locker room. Spoiled milk. Every nasty thing I can think of runs through my mind until I no longer have the hard issue in my pants. I need to pretend we're normal. Uneasiness settles in my gut. I don't know what she’ll expect or think. When she left the other day, she was hardly able to look at me, which fucking gutted me. I don't want our relationship to change or for things to be weird. We'll go back to how it was before.
I can't believe I'm thinking so much about this.
I'll gauge my reaction by how she acts when she sees me. We only have a couple weeks left of sessions. After that, I can keep as much distance between us when we're out. We won't be alone. This will be easy. Liar, my mind roars as an image of a naked Tatum stays front and center.
There’s no way I can erase that from my mind. I could be ninety-four-years-old, completely senile, but every detail of Tatum will be remembered. Every single inch of her skin is branded on my brain.
I groan, hopping out of my SUV and heading toward what I'm sure will be the longest session yet.
Tatum isn't in the room when I enter. I head for the corner we usually start in. She's late. Tatum is never late. Fuck. This is going to be awkward. She's probably in the hallway gathering enough courage to come in here. Pacing like she does and talking to herself.
I push off from the wall when Simon comes into the room. He smiles as he strides toward me with false confidence. My head turns to either side of me. He must be here for someone else.
"James," he says, sticking out his hand. "I'm going to take over the remainder of your sessions, following Tate's plan."
"No," I growl. "Tatum is my PT. That's it."
"She asked me to take you back on as a patient."
"Where is she?"
"I'm not sure how that's any of your concern," he says hesitantly. Simon takes a step back bringing his tablet to his front and crossing his arms in a protective manner.
I step toward him, looking down at him. He shrinks away slightly. "Tell me where she is."
"I'm not sure," he says quietly. "Tate and I had lunch together. I don't know where she is now."
She had lunch with this clown? Not that I'm jealous. That's not what the swirling in my gut is about. I just don't like this guy. I shove past him, stalking into the hall. I'm going to find her.
This is bullshit.
She came storming into my office when I didn't show. When she left the other night, she told me I needed to be here. Well, here I am, and now she ditches out and gives me back that fucking clown? Hell, no.
I open every door I pass, knowing she’ll be behind one of them. I'm nearing the end of the last hall, frustrated I haven't located her yet.
I swing open the door to the break room, a group of women at one table turn their heads my way, and two guys look up from their food.
“Tatum,” I bark.
Each of them blinks in surprise. I growl, the impatience eating me alive. “Tell me where she is.”
Nothing.
Fucking Christ.
“Have you seen Tatum?” My tone demands an answer. After a moment I finally get a silent answer from all of them.
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They shake their heads slowly continuing to watch me. I stomp out of the room into the hallway. Security is probably on their way to haul me out of here for acting like an insane person. If they spend five minutes with Tatum, though, they'd get it. That crazy, infuriating, gorgeous girl has me wrapped up so fucking tight, I don't know which way is up. Security would let me go after just a few minutes with her.
I reach the end of the hall; there's a door on either side of me. One is the women's restroom and the other is a supply closet. Obvious choice is the women's restroom. She's hiding and probably thinks I won't go in there. I will. I don't give a shit, but I really hope it’s the supply closet. I try that door first.
Tatum yelps as I yank open the supply closet door. Her hand comes over her mouth, and medical supplies fly from her grasp. I prop my fist on my hip and pinch the bridge of my nose before glowering at her. "The supply closet?"
She's silent, looking around like she's waiting for something to pop out and save her from this conversation. Finally, her eyes meet mine as her arms cross over her chest, and she raises her chin slightly—a rich girl attitude taking over her normal persona. "I needed supplies."
"You need to get your ass to our session. I don't have all day."
"I traded you to Simon's shift."
"Simon," I spit out his name. "Simon is not my guy. I already fired Simon. Get your ass in check and come do the session."
"I'll find you someone else," she says, flinging her hair over her shoulder and avoiding eye contact.
"You're the one who showed up the other day demanding I be here and finish this. You. That's it. It's you or it's no one."
"I thought about it, and..." She trails off, worrying her plump lip between her teeth.
Her taste fills my mouth. I want to bite that lip before soothing it with my tongue. I shake my head to clear those thoughts. "And?"
"It's not a good idea for us to work together."
"Because we fucked?"
Tatum flinches, sucking in a sharp breath. Her stunning eyes meet mine, her brows pulled down. The next words spoken are hiss through her teeth. "Keep it down. James, I don't normally do things like that. I acted inappropriately."
I like the way she acted. I rub a hand over my mouth to stop my smirk. "Tatum, it was a one-time thing. It happened. Let's pretend it didn't and go back to how things were."
"Just like that?" she asks hesitantly.
"Just like that."
"Don't tell anyone what happened."
I grunt. I don't go around informing my friends of the women I've been with, but I have to admit, it stings a tiny bit. Shouldn't be surprised, though, she's a girl from a well-to-do family with buckets of money and a higher education, and I'm just me. I've been the dirty secret for a lot of women.
"Didn't plan on it," I finally mutter.
"It's not going to be weird?"
"Not on my end."
"Are you sure?"
"Look, Tatum, it happened, okay? Can't change that fact. It's not going to happen again. It was just..."
"What was it?" she asks quietly, taking a small step toward me. I can smell her enticing jasmine scent. That smell alone is enough to drive me wild and makes me want to pounce on her and keep her under me for the rest of eternity.
"A release of anger or something."
"Yeah," she says, taking another step closer. She looks down at her feet before craning her neck back to look into my eyes. "It'd been awhile for me, so it was probably just that."
"Yeah," I breathe. The urge to ask her just how long it'd been overwhelms me, but I keep a lid on my curiosity. It's none of my damn business, and I have a feeling the answer would make me feel more possessive than I already do. It's a feeling I need to fucking shake, so I don't ask. Nothing good would come from having that knowledge.
"Sorry I paired you with Simon," she says, her lips twitching.
I glare at her, scrutinizing her face. "No, you're not. It's just another way you're trying to torture me. I suspect you asked him on purpose."
A tiny shrug and the hint of a smile makes me want to laugh, but I hold it in. "You knew I would come looking for you."
"Only because it was Simon," she says, coming next to me as we start down the hall toward the physical therapy room.
As if he’s been summoned, Simon appears at the end of the hall, watching Tatum before moving his glower to me. His eyes snag on the limited space between Tatum and me before spinning on his heel and marching in the other direction.
"No," I say. "It's because of you. I only want your help."
Chapter 18
Tatum
James and I walk into the physio room to start our session. Deep down, I knew he'd try to find me, but I hoped he would accept Simon as his fate. If I truly wanted it to work, though, I should have picked anyone besides Simon. I knew he would piss James off the most, and I couldn't resist that.
Simon is standing just inside the door with his long, lanky arms crossed over his chest. Compared to James’s strong, brawny arms in the same position, Simon's look like spaghetti noodles—pale with no definition. James is glaring at Simon in his usual broody manner.
Simon's hands come down on my shoulders, softly squeezing. James takes a slight step closer, his menacing shadow falling over us. Simon's Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, but a wave of relief and comfort sweeps through me. "I can stay," Simon says quietly.
"Not necessary," James growls.
"Tate?" Simon asks.
"I'm good, Simon. It was a misunderstanding," I reply, backing away from his hold. My back hits James’s strong chest, but he doesn't move; He just stands there, his body searing mine through our clothes.
Simon huffs before glancing at James and returning his eyes to mine. "Call me if you need me," he says. He sweeps a finger down my cheek. I jerk my head back breaking the contact. Simon has been a little creepy since I met him, but this is the most forward he's ever been.
“Please don’t touch me,” I say before turning into James and pushing him so he’ll start walking in another direction.
"I don't like him," James says as soon as we’re a foot away.
"Shh, he'll hear you."
"Like I give a shit."
Rolling my eyes, I ignore him and walk to our usual area. "Let's get started."
James snags a sixteen-pound medicine ball from the floor with one hand and starts swinging his shoulder around while keeping a firm grip on the ball. I've been testing his strength lately, getting his motion and movement much closer to what it was before he was shot. He's improving rapidly, and I know we'll be able to finish by our target date, even with the one session setback from a few days ago.
“You had lunch with him?” James asks in the middle of an exercise without looking at me. The feeling I get is exactly why having sex with him is a bad idea. The idea that he could be jealous fills me with a sense of elation.
"With Simon?" I ask.
"Yeah." He glances up at me from his position.
"Not unless you count being in the same building as eating lunch together."
James gives a slight nod before falling back into silence. There's tension between us, even though we agreed there wouldn't be. I'm not exactly good at pretending nothing happened.
"Why?" I ask after the silence extends for too long.
"That's what he said," James replies.
"What do you mean?"
James sighs, reluctantly giving more than a few words. "He implied that y'all were eating together when you asked him to save you from me." James finishes with a grunt, like it's ridiculous that I could possibly need to be saved from him. He's exactly who I need to be saved from. How is it possible to truly not like a person but want them naked at the same time?
A naked James is a good James.
His scowls and broody nature turn into something else completely. His face while he fucked me against his office wall was carnal desire. He became even more beautiful in those moments. It's really not fair to look tha
t good. It's probably why he's so moody. You can't look like him and have a good personality. It'd be too much; women of the world couldn't handle something like that.
James would have a trail of women following him everywhere if every woman got a glimpse at what's under his clothes. If they got the chance to run their fingers over the intricate tattoos on his arms. If they all got to feel his hot skin beneath their touch, see his face when he...
My breath shakes when I inhale deeply, wiping away the image of naked James from my mind to turn back to our conversation. "I didn't eat with Simon," I finally say.
"Good," James grunts.
"Why is that good?"
"I can tell you don't like him. He's a creep. You shouldn't be around him."
"Instead I should be around you?"
James turns his big head, astounding me with the heartbreaking confusion and agony on his face. "No, Tatum, you shouldn't be around me, either."
Dammit. That soft voice with a warning against him only makes me want him more.
When I leave work it’s with one goal in mind—get to my best friend’s house. I need to unload on her. James is slowly taking over every thought in my head. Today after our session, I was thinking about his facial expression while showing a client how to use the resistance bands. I snapped myself in the face because I lost focus. Thoughts of him are becoming dangerous. I jog to my car. It’s been an insanely long day—a long week, and I need my best friend.
My fist rapidly beats on the huge wooden door while ringing the doorbell with my other hand. "Answer, answer, answer," I chant to myself.
Isabella swings open the door with a scowl on her face that quickly wipes away when she sees that it's me. "What on earth?" she asks. "Are you okay?"
"I slept with someone."
Her eyes round comically as she chokes, her mouth gaping like a fish. "Someone as in not Patrick?"
