“What part of your back is bothering you?” I use my soothing murmur, the one I always employ in the treatment room, so making conversation is as soothing as being touched.
“Low back,” he grunts.
He flinches when I touch his shoulders, his muscles only growing tenser. “Does that hurt?”
“No.”
I wait for more of an explanation, but he doesn’t give one.
“How’s the pressure?”
“Fine.”
I work over his shoulders and upper back, then slide my thumbs up the taut ropes of the muscles that run alongside his spine. He only grows more tense. Getting him to relax might be an impossibility. A man like him lives in danger every day of his life.
I glance at the pile of neatly-folded clothing he left on the chair and note the gun carefully placed on top.
I lighten my touch to see if I can get him to give up the tension. No dice.
I hold his trapezius between my fingers and thumb and gently shake. “Give this to me,” I tell him.
“Huh?”
“Let go.” I keep vibrating. “Let me have this.”
Finally understanding, he releases his tight grip and loosens the muscles.
“That’s it,” I purr, my fingers sliding over his skin, coaxing even more tension out of him.
I may not have wanted him here, and I may never want him to come back, but I can’t deny how pleasurable it is to touch this beautiful man–the object of all of my teenage fantasies.
I hate the LaTorre Family and want nothing to do with them, but Joey LaTorre gets a pass. He was kind to me when my life fell apart, and I won’t forget that.
I work my way down, finding the place he injured by the giant ball of muscles. I’m careful with the area, using energy in the tips of my fingers to kickstart the healing before I attempt to unwind his lumbar and QL muscles. When he finally lets go, I move lower, tucking the sheet between his legs to reveal one buttock and leg.
As I begin to rub his glutes, I note one of his hips is higher than the other. I move my fingers to the side of his low back to investigate if the pulling is still coming from a tight QL.
Oh.
Um, yeah. It’s not.
Joey has a hard-on.
The muscles in my pelvic floor lift and squeeze in response to that very revealing tell. I guess I wasn’t imagining the sexual tension between us.
I guess it runs both ways.
And it’s crazy how much I want to give him that happy ending now.
I slow my movements down, drawing in a deep breath. Circling his muscular buttock.
Nope. This can’t happen. As satisfying as it would be to fulfill all my teenage fantasies with Joey LaTorre right here, right now, I’m not doing it.
I will not get involved with anyone in the Family ever again.
My mom barely got us out ofLa Cosa Nostra. Even now, I find out they’ve had their eye on us this entire time.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy this situation a little.