Chapter 12 #3
Harrow found Grier’s eyes. “I’m not privy to everything in her head, but whatever this is between you two…
it has her addled. She’s one of the most driven, headstrong women I know—when she sets her mind to something, she does it.
You’ve got her second-guessing herself, and, honestly, it’s unsettling her. ”
“I think I’m confused,” Grier said carefully. “Are we talking about her decisions to pursue… or to withdraw?”
“Both. And neither,” Harrow admitted. “It’s not my story to tell—but I hope one day she’ll be willing to share it with you.”
“One day assumes there’s a day one,” Grier replied, her tone colder than she intended. “And I’m not certain Tobin’s interested in that.”
“I think she is,” Harrow said softly. “She’s just… calibrating. Trying to stabilize the trajectory she thought she was on, to accept that there’re multiple means to the same end.”
“These riddles are making my brain hurt more than it already does,” Grier whined.
“I wish she’d just talk to me like you are.
I get that you can’t share her story—I don’t want to hear it from you.
But, it’s like I can’t get her to be real with me.
It’s scorching flirtations or frigid apathy. No in-between.”
“You’re not wrong,” Harrow said, smiling sympathetically. “Well, now my curiosity is piqued!” Grove inserted herself.
“Because I’d still like to know what the hell that text was about.” “Grove!” Grant admonished, giving her a look.
“Maybe you should just ask her,” Delta chimed in, startling everyone. She immediately returned to her book, unbothered.
Grier exhaled a soft laugh, shaking her head. “I have the distinct impression it isn’t that simple,” she said, more to herself than to the others.
“You’re probably right,” Harrow admitted. “Tobin’s intensely guarded—another story you’ll have to patiently extract from her. But, if my opinion holds any value here—and I completely understand if it doesn’t—she’s worth the fight.”
Grier’s watch alarm buzzed just as Harrow finished her appeal.
“To the gallows, I guess,” Grier muttered, more to herself than anyone else, but glanced at three sets of apologetic eyes as she made her way to the basement door.
She didn’t even allow herself a healthy sigh as she knocked and swung the door open, giving Tobin the briefest moment to prepare before she descended the stairs.
“How’s it going down here?” Her voice was more chipper than she felt.
Tobin laid where Grier had left her and raised a thumbs-up. Awesome, not even verbal responses anymore, she mused.
“Glad to see you haven’t moved,” Grier said, attempting to lighten the mood.
“I don’t think I can,” Tobin replied quietly.
At least she’s talking, Grier thought. “Yeah, I know. I typically treat kids—they think I’m funny.”
Silence.
Fantastic. Moving on.
“Okay, let’s get these needles out of you.
” Grier turned off the stimulation pack and began plucking the needles from Tobin’s back.
Now that she’d had a minute to collect herself, she allowed her eyes to take in the sight of Tobin lying prone on her treatment table.
Definitely not how I thought I’d get you on your stomach…
She carefully tugged the lower edge of Tobin’s shirt back down over the small area she’d exposed to set the needles, wincing as she covered the delicate tattoos she yearned to explore.
She wondered, with fervent hope, if she’d ever get to see the full sleeve—the sweep of ink she assumed ran across the majority of her left torso, shoulder and arm. And that sliver under her breast…
She sighed.
“Are you okay?” Tobin inquired. Clearly, that sigh had been louder than intended.
“Absolutely.” Grier’s response was rushed. She could feel her emotional control waning.
“Are you?” A double entendre. Not at all a question about Tobin’s current pain. Absolutely a question about her current emotional state—her level of want, her appetite. Grier knew how the question would be received: with a facade of professionalism, and answered the same.
“I think the acupuncture helped a little. My back hasn’t had an active spasm since I lied down.” Grier could hear the hesitation in Tobin’s voice. She was fighting the pain, probably as much as Grier was fighting her own emotions.
“Good news, then.” She stepped back, Tobin fully covered by her shirt again, no tempting ink to peruse longingly with her eyes. Unfortunate.
“I liked the music choice,” Tobin said, her voice carrying an edge of effort, as if smoothing over the coarseness of their earlier interactions.
“Mmm. Yes, I thought it might… help.” She felt herself crooning, her voice darkening with desire.
Stop, she thought. She was toeing the edge of professional behavior.
Anything she did while Tobin was under her care could be misconstrued as abuse of power—a power she deeply wanted to wield over Tobin, right here on her treatment table.
Her body throbbed, the carnality of her desires hidden from their subject, but not from their master.
“Okay, I’m going to start the next phase of treatment. I’ll be touching your back, hips, and buttocks. If anything I do or anywhere I touch makes you uncomfortable, let me know, and we can adjust.”
“Oh… okay.” Tobin hesitated.
“That was not convincing. What are you thinking?” Grier hated the defensiveness in her voice.
“I’m okay. I was just thrown off by a grown woman saying buttocks.” Tobin stifled a laugh, then groaned as her back spasmed from the efforts.
“I’m not the least bit sorry that hurt you,” Grier scolded, her voice lilting with more than an undertone of flirtation. “Are you ready, or do I need to wait another seven to ten years for you to grow into adulthood?”
“I don’t recall claiming I was an adult,” Tobin parried, her voice mildly muffled by her position on the table.
“Har. Har.” Grier drawled. “Are you ready for me to touch your back and ass?” She’d had enough of the banter. If she let Tobin get any deeper under her skin, she’d lose her grip on professionalism entirely. Skin. Any vision of Tobin’s skin with hers—under, over, in—sounded absolutely euphoric.
Tobin hesitated, tension rippling through her frame. “Is this going to hurt?”
Cool your shit, Grier. She tempered her lust, softening at the concern in Tobin’s voice. “No. It’ll likely be uncomfortable at times, but if I’m hurting you then you have to tell me, and I’ll stop immediately. You’re in control, always. Do you understand?”
“Yes. Yeah, okay. I’m ready.” Tobin exhaled, relaxing slightly on the table.
“Good. Roll onto your right side for me. I want to work the muscles before I try the adjustment.”
Tobin complied, with a little assistance from Grier.
“I’m going to place my hand along the muscles of your low back and glutes and ask you to move your leg, arm or torso to stretch the muscles under my thumb. Ready?”
Tobin nodded, her eyes closed. Grier ardently hoped she’d done so as an attempt to relax—and not to explicitly avoid making eye contact with her.
She guided Tobin through the muscle releases, pressing her fingers into the small of her back, focusing on what she felt beneath them, coaxing the spasmodic muscles to release.
Tobin was silent except for the steady rhythm of her breathing and the occasional grunt as Grier worked into particularly sensitive areas.
Grier’s movements were on autopilot; she used her fingers to listen to Tobin’s body, tracking where the sinuous muscles knotted and spasmed, responding to her pressure with gradual surrender.
When the muscles felt as relaxed as they were going to get, Grier encouraged Tobin to return to her stomach.
“Okay, Tobin. I’m going to start the adjustment now.
My table has cushions beneath you that I can pop up with some levers.
You’ll feel the pieces shift, then I’ll place my hands on your body above them.
I’ll push into the joints, and the table pieces will drop back to their resting position beneath you, coaxing motion into the joint.
Before we get that far, though, I need to assess the position and mobility of the joints. Are you ready?”
“You’re very good at explaining this.”
“My hands touch a lot of body regions that most people aren’t used to having handled.
So I want every person—especially children that have very little autonomy—to know what to expect with me, and to know they’re in control.
If I’m told to stop, I will. But— general rule here—if you tell me it hurts, I’ll probably keep picking on it. ”
“Hate you now, love you later?” Tobin asked, echoing one of Grier’s quippy catchphrases from their first encounter.
Grier was grateful Tobin was face down; her face colored so completely at the comment. Tobin had actually remembered one of her lines. But the gravity of the word choice was also heavy with uncertainty. Could Tobin be capable of loving her? The thought wedged a lump in her throat.
“Exactly.” It came out as a whisper. She didn’t try to correct it.
Grounding herself, she let her hands hover for a heartbeat, then carefully placed her hands on Tobin’s pelvis, gently applying pressure to the large joints, feeling for telltale signs of poor joint mobility while monitoring Tobin’s breathing and muscle tone.
Her hands shifted from the pelvis into the small of Tobin’s back, the edge of her shirt lifting with the movement.
The instant her fingers met bare skin, heat ignited beneath them.
Grier swallowed hard, fighting to keep this professional.
Tobin clearly needed the work—but damn, if she didn’t want to trail her fingers down her spine in a less than therapeutic way.
She rolled her thumb into the sensitive area around Tobin’s injury and felt the muscles tense beneath her touch.
Tobin gripped the armrests on the table, knuckles blanching white.