Against the Ropes
Page 7
Torment pushes open the door and turns on the lights. The small, whitewashed room is bare except for an examination table, chair, and a small cabinet with a sink and cupboards.
“Door open or closed?”
My breath catches in my throat, and I head over to the sink to wash my hands. “Open is fine unless you’re concerned about showing any sign of weakness to the rest of the pride. Someone might deem you unworthy to lead and take you down.”
Torment chuckles and his eyes sparkle, amused. He closes the door with a bang. My heart skips a beat.
“Up on the bed.” I choke on the last word and my cheeks flame. Really. Flaming cheeks. How unprofessional. What if he had a groin injury? My body heats and sweat trickles down between my br**sts. Well, there’s my answer.
Torment eases himself onto the examination table. I open the cupboards and root around, pretending to search for supplies as I try to slow my racing heart. Deep, slow breaths. Unclench the jaw. Swallow the drool. Focus on the sharp scent of antiseptic.
“Okay, then.” I spin around and give him my best fake smile. Torment lifts his eyes from where my bottom used to be. He licks his lips. I almost melt under the heat of his gaze.
Swallowing hard, I walk over to the bed. “I’m…just going to examine you. I’ll be gentle.”
He gives me a curt nod, and I place my hands on his shoulder. His skin is hot, his muscles tight. His raw, primal scent of sweat and musk sends my already heightened state of arousal into overdrive.
Taking a deep breath, I clear my mind and focus on the task at hand. My training finally kicks in and I rule out a dislocation, not just because there are no physical signs, but because he does not appear to be in pain. I lean closer, pressing gently as I check for localized tenderness. My hair slides over my shoulder and brushes across his chest. He sucks in a breath and his muscles tense.
“Sorry.” I glance at his face to assess how much pain I caused. His eyes are closed and his jaw is tight.
“Did I…hurt you?”
“No. It’s…your hair…it’s—”
My hair? Did I hurt him with my hair? Or maybe he’s shocked by the color.
“Auburn?” I say, as he opens his eyes. “Most people think it’s a bad dye job because there’s so much red mixed in with the brown, but it’s real.”
Torment twists a strand of my hair around his fingers. “So soft,” he murmurs.
My lips curve into a smile. He likes my hair. He likes my name. He thinks I’m beautiful. My ego hasn’t had such a boost since…well, ever.
I trace my finger over three smallish scars on his shoulder. “You’ve had surgery on this shoulder.”
He shrugs. “It takes my weight when I fall. It’s seen a lot of misuse.”
“Poor little shoulder.” I brush my lips over the scars.
Torment’s body stiffens and he chokes. “Makayla.”
Oh God. What did I just do? After four years with the ambulance crew, I thought I had the empathy problem under control.
“Sorry.” I give myself a mental smack and rein my body in.
“Don’t ever be sorry for who you are,” he rumbles softly. From the way the phrase glides of his tongue, I sense it is something he also tells himself.
The rest of the examination proceeds uneventfully. I poke. I twist. I prod. I am the epitome of a clinical, detached, very horny professional.
By the time I finish running my hands over his sculpted body, I am wound tight with need. My br**sts ache. My panties are damp. But I am in control.
“I don’t think it’s anything serious,” I say. “Probably a mild ligament sprain or a light tear. Pain killers and ice packs for twenty minutes every two hours should help. You might want to get someone to strap it down if it gets worse.”
I pull an ice pack from the freezer and hold it against his shoulder. Unable to resist, I close my eyes and inhale deeply, breathing him in. I had forgotten how heady the raw, natural scent of a man can be.
“Makayla? Everything okay?”
“You smell so good,” I blurt out, then clap my hand across my mouth. Did I just say that?
Grimacing, I force myself to look up. His warm, brown eyes lock on mine and he gives me a heart-stopping grin.
“So do you. Like flowers in the sunshine.” The soft, velvety texture of his voice takes my breath away.
“You can take ibuprofen for the pain.” My words tumble over each other as I try to maintain the rapidly diminishing facade of professionalism. “Although I find a tub of Ben & Jerry’s works just as well.”
“Ice cream?”
“Not just ice cream. Amazing ice cream. So rich you can only buy it in pints. They keep changing the flavors, but my current favorite is Chunky Monkey.”
“Sounds…unhealthy.”
“That’s the point. It’s an indulgence. It’s not supposed to be healthy.”
Torment traces a finger over my lips. “I can think of several indulgences that are very healthy.”
I inhale a sharp breath. Oh. My. God. Is he coming on to me? What should I say? What should I do? I freeze and stare straight ahead.
“What did you think of the fight?” He drops his hand and I lick my lips, tasting his salty deliciousness on my tongue.
“It wasn’t what I expected. I thought there would be more punching and kicking people in the face. Lots of blood. Bones breaking. I didn’t know about the whole grapple and submission aspect.”
“Door open or closed?”
My breath catches in my throat, and I head over to the sink to wash my hands. “Open is fine unless you’re concerned about showing any sign of weakness to the rest of the pride. Someone might deem you unworthy to lead and take you down.”
Torment chuckles and his eyes sparkle, amused. He closes the door with a bang. My heart skips a beat.
“Up on the bed.” I choke on the last word and my cheeks flame. Really. Flaming cheeks. How unprofessional. What if he had a groin injury? My body heats and sweat trickles down between my br**sts. Well, there’s my answer.
Torment eases himself onto the examination table. I open the cupboards and root around, pretending to search for supplies as I try to slow my racing heart. Deep, slow breaths. Unclench the jaw. Swallow the drool. Focus on the sharp scent of antiseptic.
“Okay, then.” I spin around and give him my best fake smile. Torment lifts his eyes from where my bottom used to be. He licks his lips. I almost melt under the heat of his gaze.
Swallowing hard, I walk over to the bed. “I’m…just going to examine you. I’ll be gentle.”
He gives me a curt nod, and I place my hands on his shoulder. His skin is hot, his muscles tight. His raw, primal scent of sweat and musk sends my already heightened state of arousal into overdrive.
Taking a deep breath, I clear my mind and focus on the task at hand. My training finally kicks in and I rule out a dislocation, not just because there are no physical signs, but because he does not appear to be in pain. I lean closer, pressing gently as I check for localized tenderness. My hair slides over my shoulder and brushes across his chest. He sucks in a breath and his muscles tense.
“Sorry.” I glance at his face to assess how much pain I caused. His eyes are closed and his jaw is tight.
“Did I…hurt you?”
“No. It’s…your hair…it’s—”
My hair? Did I hurt him with my hair? Or maybe he’s shocked by the color.
“Auburn?” I say, as he opens his eyes. “Most people think it’s a bad dye job because there’s so much red mixed in with the brown, but it’s real.”
Torment twists a strand of my hair around his fingers. “So soft,” he murmurs.
My lips curve into a smile. He likes my hair. He likes my name. He thinks I’m beautiful. My ego hasn’t had such a boost since…well, ever.
I trace my finger over three smallish scars on his shoulder. “You’ve had surgery on this shoulder.”
He shrugs. “It takes my weight when I fall. It’s seen a lot of misuse.”
“Poor little shoulder.” I brush my lips over the scars.
Torment’s body stiffens and he chokes. “Makayla.”
Oh God. What did I just do? After four years with the ambulance crew, I thought I had the empathy problem under control.
“Sorry.” I give myself a mental smack and rein my body in.
“Don’t ever be sorry for who you are,” he rumbles softly. From the way the phrase glides of his tongue, I sense it is something he also tells himself.
The rest of the examination proceeds uneventfully. I poke. I twist. I prod. I am the epitome of a clinical, detached, very horny professional.
By the time I finish running my hands over his sculpted body, I am wound tight with need. My br**sts ache. My panties are damp. But I am in control.
“I don’t think it’s anything serious,” I say. “Probably a mild ligament sprain or a light tear. Pain killers and ice packs for twenty minutes every two hours should help. You might want to get someone to strap it down if it gets worse.”
I pull an ice pack from the freezer and hold it against his shoulder. Unable to resist, I close my eyes and inhale deeply, breathing him in. I had forgotten how heady the raw, natural scent of a man can be.
“Makayla? Everything okay?”
“You smell so good,” I blurt out, then clap my hand across my mouth. Did I just say that?
Grimacing, I force myself to look up. His warm, brown eyes lock on mine and he gives me a heart-stopping grin.
“So do you. Like flowers in the sunshine.” The soft, velvety texture of his voice takes my breath away.
“You can take ibuprofen for the pain.” My words tumble over each other as I try to maintain the rapidly diminishing facade of professionalism. “Although I find a tub of Ben & Jerry’s works just as well.”
“Ice cream?”
“Not just ice cream. Amazing ice cream. So rich you can only buy it in pints. They keep changing the flavors, but my current favorite is Chunky Monkey.”
“Sounds…unhealthy.”
“That’s the point. It’s an indulgence. It’s not supposed to be healthy.”
Torment traces a finger over my lips. “I can think of several indulgences that are very healthy.”
I inhale a sharp breath. Oh. My. God. Is he coming on to me? What should I say? What should I do? I freeze and stare straight ahead.
“What did you think of the fight?” He drops his hand and I lick my lips, tasting his salty deliciousness on my tongue.
“It wasn’t what I expected. I thought there would be more punching and kicking people in the face. Lots of blood. Bones breaking. I didn’t know about the whole grapple and submission aspect.”
