Page 6 of Mother Pucker

“No,” she says curtly, but it only has me chuckling more. “It’s fine. Now, I’m going to need you to extend your injured leg.”

I do as she asks while she watches my face contort as the muscles in my thigh contract.

“I’d like to examine you using my hands. Is that okay?” She tucks her short hair behind her ear again, avoiding my eyes.

Oh, she’s making this way too easy.

“It’s more than okay, Doc. In fact, I think I might like that very much.” I smirk at her with intention, loving the way she tenses.

By now, I think I’ve figured out the source of the incessant vibration. And based on the humiliation that seemed to take over her otherwise confident persona, I’d bet I’m right.

My eyes rake down her body from head to toe before she bends over me, my eyes snagging on the sliver of skin between her jeans and sweater. She’s fucking exquisite. From the way her waist cinches, to that firm ass I got an eyeful of when she bent over her purse, I can tell she doesn’t shy away from the gym.

I smile bigger, noting the increased pulse on the side of her slender neck before catching a glimpse of tiny stars tattooed right behind her earlobe, almost blocked by her large golden hoop.

I’ve never been one to note these things on women–hair, jewelry, or ink–but it seems my brain has decided everything about this woman is noteworthy.

Except, I can’t understand why.

I decide to goad her a little more. It’s too fun. “So, just your hands or . . .?” My lips twitch when she stiffens. “Are there anytoolsinside that vibrating purse of yours you want to use to help relieve the . . . pressure?”

Shay’s eyes snap to mine, and I’d bet she’s positively sweltering under that sweater. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Parker, but I’d appreciate if you’d let me conduct my assessment.”

I smile, knowing we both know exactly what’s in her purse, and damn if that doesn’t make my cock perk up. The vision of her using it, touching herself . . .

“Conduct away, Doc.”

Her slender hands wrap around my thigh, and despite the fact that I’m in pain, a shudder rolls down my spine and my cock thickens inside my shorts. And when she presses her fingers into a few tender muscles on the inside of my thigh, I have to clench my jaw to refrain from releasing a groan.

Think about something else.

My fourth grade teacher, old Mrs. Merdock, wearing a bikini.

Coach’s balls when he comes out of the shower.

Yup, that did the trick. My dick feels nice and un-bonery now.

“Have you ever injured your groin before?”

Well, that was a short-lived reprieve.

Dick’s springing back up again, seeming to like the wordgroinon her lips. There should be nothing, and I meannothing, about her question that should make me hard, but tell that to the metal rod inside my shorts.

I eye her with amusement, hoping to send signals to my erection to chill the fuck out, but it’s no use. Not when the vision of her using that buzzing tool in her purse on herself fans at the edges of my fantasies. “If you’re asking if I’ve ever broken my dick, then I can assure you, I haven’t.”

She rolls her eyes, purposefully shoving her fingers into my muscles and making me grunt. I get the feeling that was purely for her benefit.

“You clearly haven’t been with the right woman, then,” she mumbles almost inaudibly.

I lift my brows. Say what now?Did she just imply that the right woman would break my dick?

“What was that?”

Jesus Christ. Should I want her hands on me, knowing her weird ass fetish, or should I be making a run for it, regardless of my current groin situation?

She shakes her head before speaking more clearly, “What I meant was, have you hurt your adductor muscle before?”

I smirk, wondering if I’m out of my mind for feeling aroused by the direction of this conversation. “Is that what you meant? Because I could have sworn you were talking–thinking, perhaps–about my well-functioning dick.”

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