Chapter 2 #2
My face heated. I’d only learned that term recently, and I was instantly filled with mortification.
Be professional. Be Barbara! “I’m talking about loving yourself the way you are now, Fender.
If you want a loving relationship, and yes, a healthy sex life.
” I didn’t even stutter when I said S.E.X.
You got this, Temp. “If you want intimacy with a mate in the future, or other loved ones, you need to come to terms with this change to your body.” I didn’t smile, even though I was extremely proud of myself.
He studied me but said nothing.
All thoughts of smiling dissipated at the look in his eyes.
I took a steadying breath. Fender was a hound, and hounds struggled with emotion, with expressing themselves.
We needed to work around that so I could effectively treat him.
“Have you been with anyone since your accident? From what I’ve researched, hounds have very strong...
” I swallowed thickly. Say it. “Ah…carnal urges. Are you ignoring your instincts because of your leg?”
“You asking me how often I’m getting laid, Tempest?”
My heart sped like crazy. Was I? I was hit by another wave of mortification. “No, of course not. I beg your pardon. I didn’t mean to intrude…I… I, um.”
“It’s fine,” he said but still didn’t answer.
As badly as I was messing this up, I was a healer, and I wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight if I didn’t make some progress with Fender before he left our session.
What I was about to propose, if he was any other patient, wouldn’t be a big deal.
I’d done the work, I’d passed the module, and I was ready to put it into practice, but this was Fender, and he made me feel squirmy and nervous.
You’re a professional. I pushed on. He needed this.
“I’d like to try something different with you,” I said.
His lips kicked up on one side, and the gold shimmered across his irises again. “Yeah? What’s that?”
“Touch therapy.”
His brows lowered. “You wanna touch me?”
Oh, you have no idea. I straightened, surprised by the scandalous voice in my head. The voice could be brave because she was in my head and not sitting a few feet from Fender. “If you’re comfortable with it, but obviously, if not, or you’d prefer someone else treat you, I can do a referral—”
“No. I want you.” His nostrils flared.
There was an extra growl in his voice. It made the tingles more difficult to ignore, but I did studiously try, because I was a professional and he was my patient. “Very well. If you’re comfortable going ahead, we can start now.”
His chin jerked up just a fraction. I stood and crossed the short distance between us. His eyes never left me, and it was hard to stop my knees from wobbling or to yank on my top that emphasized my belly and hips. “We’ll start off slow, okay?” I got down on my knees in front of him.
“I can do slow.” A rumbling sound vibrated from his chest. “I excel at slow.”
I smiled up at him, not sure what he was talking about but wanting to make him feel at ease.
This kind of closeness could be difficult for some patients.
“Excellent. Now, I’m going to place my hand on your thigh, just above your stump, and then ease it down.
We’ll do it over your jeans to start with, and over the next few visits, we’ll progress to skin on skin. ”
His Adam’s apple slid up and down his thick throat. “Skin on skin?”
“Mm-hm,” I said as I tried to control my breathing. My heart was pounding super fast. And my goodness, he smelled yummy. Stop smelling the male and do your job! “Can you remove your prosthesis for me?”
He said nothing but did it easily. It was made in Hell by Lucifer himself. I had no idea how it worked, but there was magic of some kind involved that held it in place.
When he laid it on the floor, I rested my hand on his thigh. “Is this okay?”
He nodded, and the amber of his eyes deepened, the color darker, but there was also more gold. They were striking.
“I’m going to keep it here for a minute, then bring it lower.”
“Sounds good.” His gaze slid over my face. “You got sparkly stuff on your cheeks,” he said, and his voice was so rough and deep now that goose bumps lifted across my arms.
“I do,” I said, trying not to reach up to touch my face, feeling even more self-conscious. “I like makeup and…sparkles.”
“That a new lipstick?”
“Um…yes, as a matter of fact.” How on earth did he know that?
He nodded as if I’d confirmed his suspicions about my use of a new lipstick, something he seemed extremely interested in, because he was still looking at my mouth.
The silence stretched on after that, becoming awkward.
“So, how’s the garage going? You guys been busy?
” I asked, finding the silence unbearable, which was not ideal, and Fender was sitting kind of stiffly.
The goal here was making him comfortable being touched near his stump, and that wouldn’t work if I was close to squirming under his penetrating stare.
I needed to put him at ease, which meant I needed to be at ease, so he’d associate that with having my hand on him, with having someone touch a part of him that he himself recoiled from.
He blinked down at me, then cleared his throat. “Busy, yeah.”
“My car’s been making a weird sound. I was thinking about bringing it in.” That was a complete lie. I didn’t own a car, but I wasn’t sure what else to say. We didn’t exactly have anything in common.
“What kind of car do you have?”
I smiled. “A blue one.”
His lips twitched. “Bring it in any time, Temp, and I’ll get it sorted for you. I’m really good with blue ones.”
“Oh, that’s very kind of you.”
He was amused. Why was he amused? “That’s just the kind of male I am.”
I slid my hand lower, so it was half on his stump. He stilled. I quickly searched for something to say. “What’s your favorite thing to eat?”
The amusement was back. His eyes actually sparkled. “What I’d like isn’t on offer right now.”
“Is it out of season? Oh, I hate that. I love watermelon and get so excited when they start to flower in the garden.”
“Yeah, it’s something like that.”
“Well, what else do you like?”
“What do you like?” he asked, turning my question back on me.
I smiled. “I love my garden…my pets, Glinda and Manny, oh, and I love to bake.”
“Cats?”
“Um…yes.” Manfred wouldn’t be happy I’d said he was a cat, but it couldn’t be helped.
“What’s your favorite thing to bake?” he asked next.
I slid my hand lower, and other than a deeper inhale, he didn’t react. “I make exquisite pie. Fruit pies are my specialty. It’s probably conceited to say so, but it’s true. My peach pies are soooo good. When peaches are in season, I bottle as many as I can so I have them all year round.”
He made another rough sound. “Fucking love a taste of your peach pie, Temp.”
My face heated with pleasure. I was proud of my pies. “I’ll make you one, if you’d like?”
“I’d love that, babe.”
I smiled wider. I liked it when he called me that, and he did at least once every session. “I’ll be sure to do that, then.”
His gaze lowered to my hand, and I looked down as well. I was gently sliding my thumb back and forth over his stump, hoping it was reassuring, keeping him aware of the contact between us, and that I wasn’t grossed out or scared or any of the things many of my patients feared.
“You still doing okay?” I asked him.
“Yeah, I’m okay.”