Page 63 of The Goalie in Room 1

I envied every drop of water, every sud of soap, every fiber of loofah that touched his skin. I groaned, dragging my gaze away and shoving my hand through my hair. But my eyes floated back to him like a moth to a flame.

Cash opened his eyes and caught me staring.

“You okay over there, Doc?”

“Perfect.” A frog would’ve sounded clearer than I did.

He laughed. Loudly. His hand traced over his defined chest and sculpted abs. How in the hell he’d managed to keep that six-pack through a year of reconstructive surgeries and rehab, I couldn’t say. But whatever he’d done left me breathless and fighting my body’s reaction.

I rolled my eyes. “Wash your hair.”

He grinned as he worked shampoo through it. The expression faded when he reached for the handheld sprayer.

“Stop!” I yelled, surging forward. “Sit upright.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked, doing as I told him to.

“Your knee twisted.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re naked, wet, medicated, and sitting on a slick tile bench covered in water and soap while holding yourself in place with one functional leg. You are not fine.”

His eyes sparkled with amusement. “You noticed I’m naked? I thought you’d gone blind.”

I stepped into the shower with him, thankful I was barefoot and in athletic shorts.

“Close your eyes.”

He stared up at me before his lids slid over his beautiful blue eyes. The intimacy of the situation struck me hard. I took a deep breath and worked my fingers through his hair, rinsing away the shampoo. Cash went still beneath my hands.

But not quiet.

He moaned and groaned and hummed until my cock lengthened and filled, slithering down the leg of my shorts.

There was nothing clinical about the way his head tipped back or how his body relaxed when my fingers moved over his scalp. Nothing professional about my awareness of every inch of wet skin sitting before me.

As soon as the shampoo was gone, Cash held up the conditioner, and I swallowed the groan. My cock throbbed, and I seriously considered crying in frustration.

The moment I rinsed the last of the conditioner away, I asked, “You finished?”

His eyes opened, and he looked up at me, his head moving slowly left and right. He grabbed the conditioner and drizzled it over his rock-hard dick with one hand while the other slid up and down his length.

“Fuck,” I groaned. “Stop. You have to stop.”

“No, Doc. I don’t.”

“Yes,” I said. “You do.” I twisted the faucets before I turned and snagged a towel from the pile to pat his leg dry. “I’ll wrap everything once we get you dried off,” I said as I slipped his brace under his leg and locked it in place.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his erection had flagged, but the position I was in had me imagining leaning forward to swallow him whole. Using tongue and lips to coax him back to full hardness until he flooded my throat with the load of cum he’d been trying to stroke from himself.

Cash’s smile vanished when my gaze met his. “Sorry. That was…”

“Don’t apologize. This situation is difficult for us both.”

He nodded, and I sighed. “It’s not because I don’t…”

“I don’t need platitudes, Doc.”