Chapter 6
6
[Cort]
F uck.
I knew this was a bad idea.
Even told my doctor there was no way I was going to massage therapy.
However, my back is acting up again.
When I bent for a laundry basket on the floor, my lower left side seized.
It sucks getting older.
I didn’t think I could stand upright and can’t say I am at a perfect ninety-degrees.
More like seventy-nine.
Which is the position I’m seated in—hands wrapped around the edge of the sheet-covered massage table, shoulders hunched forward, head lowered—when the door to the room opens with a whoosh and Vale Sylver stumbles in.
Her wheat-under-sunshine hair is pulled into a loose bun at the base of her neck, exposing her throat, and she swallows hard as she says my name.
I attempt to sit upright, both in surprise at her rapid entrance and the suddenness of her appearance, and then wince, gripping the table beneath my hands harder.
“I—” Vale looks up at the number on the door and then back at me.
“Sorry, this room’s taken,” I snark, gritting my teeth through the sharp pain on the left side of my lower back.
“I’m . . .” Vale glances back at me, then steps forward and closes the door behind her.
A giant tote is hooked over her arm.
She’s wearing a plum colored, light-weight jacket while holding a travel mug in her hand.
She stiffens her shoulders.
“I’m your therapist.”
I scoff.
She looks like any mom in a school pick-up line.
Not that I’m familiar with that situation lately, but I remember how Bailey used to look.
The harried appearance of a rushed morning.
“You’re kidding.” My voice is low, almost a snarl of disbelief.
Dropping her bag to the floor and stepping closer to the table, she sets her mug on the nearby counter and addresses me.
“I’m not.”
Her blue eyes are wide and clear, like the waters of Sterling Falls in early morning sunlight.
The liquid is pure but fierce as it cascades from the upper river to the lower one.
The falls always remind me of Vale and not just because of what happened with her beside it.
Little Bee has grown into an incredible queen of strength.
“There must be some mistake.” I’m here for a massage.
The doc told me once upon a time to get them regularly to help keep my back loose, but I’m not a fan of strangers touching me.
I’m actually not in favor of anyone touching.
And I’m really not looking forward to the possibility that Vale will lay her hands on me.
I lean forward like I intend to hop off the massage table.
With my hands still gripping the edge of the table for leverage, I swing my upper body forward, and almost double over.
Reaching for my lower left side, I let out an elongated, “Fu uuck .”
Vale rushes toward me, hands outward, and I snap upright, struggling to pull my shoulders back and my chest away from her.
I hiss again as pain shoots across my back.
Concern fills Vale’s clear eyes.
Her brows pinch, forming a divot between them.
Thankfully, her hands don’t make contact with me, and she stands to her full height.
“I can get another therapist for you.” Resolve settles on her shoulders, and she drops her gaze.
“No.” As much as I’m not certain I can do this with her, I need help, and I know I can’t do this with someone else.
Her expression shifts to something stern with a side of no-nonsense.
“Then I want you to get undressed and slip under the sheet.” She points at the covering partially folded back, inviting me to slide beneath it.
“Lay down on your stomach, head on the circular pillow at the end, and I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
With that, she spins, picks up her tote and exits the room, closing the door gently behind her.
I hang my head knowing this is a terrible idea, but a sharp pinch in my back reminds me why I’m here.
Within minutes, I undress and slide gingerly beneath the sheet, pulling it up to my chin.
A light knock on the door and the soft call of my name forces me to respond, “Come in.” My voice is rougher than necessary.
My throat a bit thick, both from the ache in my side and the anxious anticipation of Vale’s hands.
Vale opens the door and steps quietly inside before dimming the lights a little.
She does a double take at my position before reaching for a tablet on the countertop near where she set her to-go mug .
“Why don’t you tell me why you are here today?” Her voice is controlled.
She’s down to business, acting like I’m any other patient.
For some irrational reason, a rush of envy fills my chest. How many men has Vale laid her hands on?
Attempting to shut down my thoughts, I answer her although the scratch in my throat still makes my voice rough.
“Tweaked my back. Doc says I should get a massage regularly to see if it helps.”
She types into the tablet.
“Did you suffer a previous injury?” Her voice is still distant, disembodied even.
“I fell off a roof.” I stare up at the ceiling as I answer but sense Vale on my right spinning to face me.
A soft gasp follows.
“It happened about a year ago.” I was staring at you and lost my footing .
“You’re very fortunate.” Her voice softens.
Fortunate . That’s what the doctor said but I haven’t felt fortunate in years.
Over a decade, actually.
Vale steps closer to my right side, holding the tablet in her hand.
“So what areas of your body would you like me to concentrate on or stay away from?”
My dick.
And my dick. Can you answer with the same body part twice?
Of course, the last thing I need is Vale anywhere near that appendage that’s slowly coming to life from her closeness.
The second she lays her hands on me, I’ll be tenting this sheet.
Then again, the second she touches me, I’m going to tense up.
“Uhm . . . just anywhere is fine, but my back is the issue.”
“Of course.” Vale spins for the cabinet again and sets the tablet on the counter, before turning back toward me.
I still can’t look her in the eye and instead focus on the dull glow of the recessed lighting overhead.
“I’m going to need you to roll over to your stomach. ”
Right.
She’d initially mentioned that.
“So, I’m going to lift the sheet and then if you’ll roll to your left . . .”
Suddenly, Vale is holding up the sheet like a privacy screen and I attempt to shift but let out a sharp hiss as my left side seizes again.
With my hand on the edge of the table for leverage, I lug myself sideways to roll over, while Vale speaks from behind the raised sheet.
“Do you need my help?”
“No.” Again, too terse.
Too strained. But the longer I can delay her touching me, the better, which is counterintuitive to having a massage.
After an awkward pull and flip, aware that my dick is instantly soft again from the ache in my back, I belly flop on my stomach and place my face against the donut pillow at the top of the table.
Vale drapes the sheet over my back but when her hands come to my spine and smooth down the covering, I stiffen.
Shoulder blades tight.
Back concave. Even my legs are like hurricane resistant telephone poles.
Vale stills and instantly lifts her hands.
Clearing her throat, she says, “Maybe we should start slowly. I’m going to lay my hands on your back. You tell me if I hurt you.”
She places her hands against the middle of my spine and holds.
Her touch is not too hard, not too soft, but I’m not certain if it’s right.
Something inside me feels .
. . off.
Trying to concentrate on the warmth of her palms through the sheet and the delicate press of her small hands and ten firm fingers, I breathe in.
I breathe out. And Vale waits.
One heartbeat. Two.
She doesn’t so much slide her hands, as move them apart a few inches, and I’m incredibly aware of one between my shoulder blades and one on my lower back .
My heart hammers harder, anticipating the residual effects of being touched in a place on my body I cannot see.
The fear is ridiculous and unwarranted with Vale.
She wouldn’t hurt me.
But old haunts never die.
“You doing okay?” Vale asks.
My response is a grunt.
She moves her hands one more time, resting one near the top of my shoulder blades by a scar and the other near my ass, just above the curve.
She pauses again, waiting as I take another deep breath.
“Good.”
I’m not certain if it’s a question or praise before she removes her hands and returns them to the middle of my spine again, pausing another beat or two before repeating her deliberate, patient movements.
“It’d be better to have skin to skin contact, but I don’t need to, if you are uncomfortable.”
It’s strange to me that she can sense my discomfort, and yet stranger still is how I’m not entirely uncomfortable with her.
“It’s good.” I hesitate.
Am I asking a question or giving her permission?
“I’m going to move the sheet then,” she warns me like I’m a caged animal.
And fuck, I do not want to admit the fear sawing at my chest.
I nod against the donut pillow as Vale slowly moves the sheet downward, folding it over once, and then once again, and finally bringing it to the top of my ass where she pauses.
“Um . . .” She chuckles but covers it with a quick throat clearing.
“You could have kept your underwear on.”
I want to argue that she told me to get undressed.
“I don’t wear underwear.” Not necessarily true, but the comeback pops out in place of my argument .
The silence that follows is thick before Vale clears her throat again.
“You might want to for any future appointments.” Her voice isn’t as steady as she might have hoped because she sounds a little distressed.
Victory or defeat at knocking her off balance is erased when she smooths the sheet along the base of my spine, just before the swell of my ass.
I stiffen again as if her touch offends me when she’s been nothing but cautious and kind, warning me with every movement.
Get a grip, man . This is Vale.
She isn’t a stranger, even if I no longer know her, not as the adult woman she’s become.
Deep down, I know I can trust her.
She isn’t leading me on.
Isn’t acting inappropriate.
Isn’t hurting me.
Her bare hands return to the middle of my back.
Again, the pressure is strangely comforting, and the skin-to-skin contact is even warmer than minutes ago.
I relax just a little as Vale waits on my breathing to settle.
Then she repeats the measured movements, setting her palms higher and lower along my spine at the same time.
Closing my eyes, I inhale and exhale again with each pause she gives me.
With her hand just at the base of my spine, she adds pressure to her fingers on my right lat.
“Does that hurt?”
I shake my head despite the awkward cushion holding it.
“How about here?” She rolls her hand backward, forcing the heel to push gently against my lower left side.
I grit my teeth. “There.”
“I’m going to apply some light pressure. Tell me if it’s too hard. Or if you want it a little harder.”
The mere thought of Vale using those words in another manner has me closing my eyes.
If I wasn’t in so much pain, I’d find humor in the moment.
I might even flirt. I’d like to take Vale hard, push a little harder into her.
Bring us both back to that moment beside the Falls and have a do-over.
But as Vale applies more pressure, I grind my molars despite the pleasing relief, and I release any thoughts of a second chance with her.
Like the water cascading down Sterling Falls and drifting toward a larger sea, I had my moment with Vale and then lost it.