Lussuria (New Version) Read online

  “Okay, can I have your name, please?”

  “Lucca Caruso.”

  Of course it would be like an Italian God movie star name.

  “You never told me your name,” he adds optimistically.

  “Mr. Caruso, can we just press on with your questions, please. I have a lot to do today.”

  He appears slightly disheartened. His back can’t be that painful considering his buoyancy. This is not a frigging date. It is a professional evaluation, and a stranger will not corner me.

  “Date of birth?”

  In response, he tells me with the same directness, then adds, “And call me Lucca.”

  Mental math makes him thirty-two years old. Hmm, he looks good, excellent actually.

  “Where are you going on holiday?”

  He doesn’t give up, but I won’t pander to his questions, absolutely not. Unless he wants panic attack number two in the space of ten minutes. I feel my hands getting sweaty.

  “Address, please?” I ask in my most pleasant, but firm tone.

  “The Smithstone, Bothwell,” he says modestly, “-and you never told me where you’re going on holiday.”

  Hmm, a playful, curious answer and question.

  He is staying at one of the most expensive residences in Bothwell, in a prime location. It’s a beautiful street, lined with traditional Victorian red sandstone houses, many of which have large, gated, private entrances. If his property is the one I’m thinking of, it’s a huge conversion near the end of the street secluded by rows and rows of tall green trees with an obtrusive red sandstone wall, and a large security gate making it very private. It’s lovely in the autumn when the rustic colored leaves fall from the trees and bustle around the red sandstone walls.

  I live in Uddingston—the neighbouring town—so I frequently walk my dog Doris through Bothwell castle grounds and around all the lovely charming old wealthy historic streets. It’s a beautiful walk, full of character and class. I’m lucky to live in that area; the restaurants and boutiques are desirable and chic.

  I can’t believe we’ve never met before now, living so close to each other.

  “You know it?” he asks.

  That’s a full 360 degree question. He’ll ask where I live next, and that’s off limits for strangers.

  “No, sorry. I don’t, I’m afraid.

  “So, where are you from? You have a beautiful accent.”

  Intrusion or what? I flipping knew it was coming.

  “Around.”

  End of…period….

  “Profession?” I stutter at him, feeling off guard.

  “CEO, of Osurac Industries, Property management and Development, Health and Wellbeing facilities and Hospitality and Entertainment.”

  He looks relieved to have sailed through that question and has now closed the space between us, leaning further into my space. He isn’t boastful; he seems appeased that the questions over, so I don’t pay any attention. I simply scribble down his answers and move on.

  “Medical history? I know it’s personal, but I just need to run everything by you. It's standard procedure.”

  “Absolutely, go ahead. I love personal.”

  There is a sexy rasp in his cadence and a hotness about the way he is looking at me ... it’s smoldering.

  After fifteen minutes of asking personal health questions, I’m feeling a little tired, and my phone is buzzing again.

  “You want to attend to that?”

  “No.”

  Shaking my head, I lean over my desk and switch my phone off, then place it in my blazer jacket pocket over the back of my chair. He watches me carefully, rubbing his thumb over his left eyebrow in contemplation. He’s obviously thinking about something as he feathers his eyelashes up and down.

  “It’s fine if you want to get your phone. I’m not in a rush, and I can wait.”

  Damn he’s an absolute persistent pest, and my mental swearing is jumping up to a whole new level.

  “No, it’s fine. I’m good to check it later, it isn’t important, I’m sure.” My shoulders rise up and down with a large exhale of breath as I finish saying this.

  “You’re a terrible liar, but I won’t press you.”

  How in God’s name does he know I’m lying? Right, I need to get this handsome stranger out of my clinic pronto.

  “Let’s move on.” I swallow, but my throat is dry and tight.

  I look through his medical history, and there is nothing untoward. In fact, he’s in fantastic shape and good health and has the physique to prove it.

  Concentrate, you weak failure. FILE IT! Thoughts are feelings, and feelings are hurtful.

  Fuck!

  File under I for Intoxicating.

  “Okay, can I take you over to the bed?”

  Shit!

  I blush, realizing how that sounds. I mentally kick my sorry lame ass.

  “Please do! You’re on a roll today. I’m getting my hopes up here. It’s not every day a beautiful young physio throws herself at me.” He looks at the distress and discomfiture in my face. “I’m sorry, I thought it was a compliment, but you don’t and its upsetting you. I promise I’ll not make any more inappropriate comments if you feel uncomfortable.”

  Clearly, I do feel uncomfortable. This is my worst frigging nightmare!

  Having a mental breakdown ... meeting a gracious God who’s really bothering me and I don’t know why ... embarrassing myself and losing control...

  I stand and he stands with me. He holds his hand out as if in a customary gentlemanly thing to do, to let me walk on first.

  “I apologize about the mess. The clinic isn’t officially open until tomorrow.”

  Mr Caruso parts his lips and smiles a massive beaming set of whites at me. “Well, I’m one lucky man to have caught you and some of your precious time today then.” His voice strings out the words as he rolls his tongue through his pronunciation.

  “Can you sit on the edge of the bed for me and remove your gym shoes, please? I need to check your balance and alignment.”

  I am in control of this situation.

  I can do this.

  He leans slightly over to his side as he lifts his feet towards him to take his shoe off as opposed to leaning right over towards his foot on the ground. His smooth sculpted tanned legs as equally toned as his upper body. He must get them waxed. His shorts end at his knees, and I can’t help but notice his bulging massive gastrocnemius muscles at the back of his legs. He must run. His calves look as though they could have their own heartbeat, they are so structured.

  Pulsing.

  Beating.

  Throbbing.

  Hazel would die if she saw this.

  “Okay, can you stand up straight for me? Keep your hips square to the front, and keep your shoulders down and back. Just rest your arms at the side of your body and relax.”

  I look at him from the front and back, and try desperately hard to ignore his magnificent body. He definitely looks as though he has good posture and symmetrical alignment.

  “Reaching over to one side, bend and trace your arm down the outside of your leg, just as far as you can go.”

  I watch him carefully as he watches me carefully.

  “That’s as far as I can go. Is this okay?”

  Every rippled muscle is outlined, and his body is magnificent.

  “Er, yes. Can you do the same on the other side?”

  I watch his facial expressions. He looks comfortable, and I’m sure I see the hint of a smile from his smooth sexy sultry lips, but there closed this time as if he is trying to be serious and concentrate.

  “Pull your stomach in and lean slightly forward, moving into a forward bend. Just hang your arms down loosely, and I will move around you to look at your spine and the direction of your hips.”

  Hmm, he is slightly leaning on one leg more than the other, causing his hip to dip down and back.

  “Is this okay?” he groans from his forward bend position.

  “Yes, perfect. Can you reverse th
is for me? Put your hands on your hips and lean slightly back into a gentle back bend.”

  “Like this?” he barely whispers. “Fuck, ouch, aw…..La sua piaga!” Mr. Caruso takes his hands off his hips and jerks his body upright in a rigid manner. He sighs, and lets out a huge exhale of breath. “I’m sorry for swearing. It was just a little nervy.”

  “Mr. Caruso, please sit on the bed with your back as straight as possible, and keep your knees bent with your feet flat on the floor.”

  I move on quickly to distract him. He obliges, but he has clearly slumped forward with his shoulders rolling down and forward.

  “Please, call me Lucca. You make me sound like an old man.”

  He’s anything but an old man. I’d say a very fit, handsome young man, in fact.

  “Lucca, I would like you to lie on the bed, face up with your feet pointing towards that wall. Would you like a pillow or neck support”? I kindly ask.

  “No, I’m good, thanks. What’s the prognosis, Doc?”

  I smile. “I’m not finished yet.”

  For a brief few seconds, I lose the stranger danger vision and let myself do my work. I know I will have to make hand to skin contact, and let’s face it, this man is a God; a sexy, handsome vision of male perfection.

  “I need to lift your legs one at a time with your knees bent to check the flexibility and mobility in your lumbar area of your spine.”

  He looks up at me standing at the side of the bed, then reaches up and touches my hand. “I trust you.”

  Oh Lord, I wish he wouldn’t use that word. It really is a sore point for me. I feel my throat constricting again. No, no, no, I can do this, I must stay strong. My heart is throbbing, my head is throbbing, and my sensitive area is betraying me by throbbing along with them again. It’s like a girl band of three beating together.

  Throbbing.

  OH HOLY SHIT.

  I move quickly and position myself over the bed. I’m getting warm ... hot ... oh, for crying out loud, I’m having a hot flush! Is that normal at twenty-six years of age? He looks adorable just lying there gazing up at me...

  Please don’t be so adorable, and please stop feathering those amazing lashes! In addition, quit with the sexy Italian words!

  Composure. That is what I need. I take a deep breath and place my hands on his skin just under his right kneecap.

  Oh, good Lord.

  I feel a wave of electricity travel through my meridian system. Is this possible? My mind is screaming no, and my heart is crushing, but my hands seem to enjoying the contact. I need to make this quick or I will be entering panic station number three of the day—not what one needs before having to speak to Granny about a certain matter.

  Fuck!

  File under A for Another. Another matter that I’d love to forget about.

  Looking briefly at Lucca, I notice his eyes are alive—big, wide, and excitable. They look even more crystal-clear if that’s even possible under those feathered long lashes. He parts his mouth again and raises the corner of his lip on one side, showing that sexy dimple on his cheek. Fuck, it’s distracting. It’s sweet, and makes him look even more handsome and painfully attractive.

  I push his knee in toward his chest, and he lets out a huge puff of breath.

  “Just relax.” I soften my voice to suggest I will be gentle.

  “I’m not doing very well here, am I?”

  “You’re doing great.”

  I push his knee to the side, allowing his strong, muscly legs to open and move away from his body. His hips open and rotate, then I reverse the movement and cross his knee in the other direction. I lean onto the side of his leg and use my body weight to gently rock it down. He hitches his breath in his throat when my chest leans on the side of his leg, but I don’t believe it is through pain.

  He is aroused...Fuck.

  Bloody pervert.

  I repeat this several times, mentally singing a melody to distract me, then do the same on the other side, ignoring his obvious hard-on. I ask Lucca a serious of questions relating to the injury and try to distract him while I apply more pressure and manoeuvre him in various ranges of movement and stretches to get a sense of his mobility and hopefully quash his arousal.

  “Are you experiencing any leg pain, shooting sensations down the backs of your legs or pressure across your gluteus medias?”

  “No nothing there.”

  “This is good. You’re not experiencing sciatica, so the pain is held in your lower back and easier to manage.”

  I feel somewhat relieved about this as the thought of having to have him lower his shorts to let me prod and press my thumb into his piriformis muscles and across his buttocks is making me dizzy.

  As I’m rocking him side to side, my fingers, hands and arms are tingling with energy, heat and chemistry; like a rush of something frictional—sexual energy. My upper body leans over his as I rock him forward and back, and as a result, our faces are rather close. Intimately close. I’m inhaling his intoxicating sacred scent, and it’s not only pleasurable, it is irrefutably sexy.

  I once again notice his erection straining against his shorts. Oh God.

  “Lucca, can I ask you to get up and lie facing down on the bed, so I can look at your lumbar area more closely? Take your time.”

  Spine close? Okay.

  Erection close? Not so much.

  He smiles audaciously and obliges, knowing I’m mortified, then he readjusts himself before rolling around. He starts to lift his t-shirt up...

  “No! No, I don’t need you to do that. You can keep it on. I’ll just lift the bottom of-”

  Too late.

  Adonis.

  Oh dear God. His shoulders are broad, his skin is the most luscious color of dark bronze and his muscles are ... well, perfect. This man really is superhuman and a vision to the eye. I have never looked at any man this way, and I don’t want to either. It’s against my rules.

  Fuck!

  File R for Rules. Rules are out the window this afternoon.

  I pause before I place my hands on his lower back. He is naked from the waist up, lying on his excitable manhood, and honestly, I haven’t seen anything this beautiful or desirable before. His wife is a very lucky woman to lie across this body and snuggle into those chiseled arms.

  WTF! Am I seriously thinking this?

  I’m a mature twenty-six year old and, by choice, single. Yet, here I am, drooling over a mystery man, and allowing it to playing havoc with my sensitive areas… my heart and my sex. This is mind boggling, raw and new for me.

  I inhale a large breath of air and press my hands firmly on his lower back, Jesus, his skin feels amazing. He hums contently with a deep grizzle in his throat as if he is enjoying my touch.

  “Lucca, I need to press and feel about, and possibly manipulate the area by massaging there. Are you okay with this?

  My voice is high pitched, and I think it’s obvious I have been holding my breath. I let it out and drop my shoulders.

  “Music to my ears, Doc. If I go quiet, it is because you have massaged me into a sedated trance with your expert hands.”

  Playful and optimistic. Hmm.

  I frown my brow together and press my lips in a firm line knowing he can’t see me, and try my hardest to net in those loose butterflies flapping around in my stomach. They won’t be spreading their wings anytime soon.

  I press my thumbs up and down and around his discs, prodding and spreading the fibres. I then rub gently until I apply more pressure using the flat of my hand. I hold onto the bottom of his back and side of his hip and rock him forward into the bed and release, hopefully knocking that huge bundle in his shorts into sense. I repeat this several times, trying to get mobility to return. I hear him sigh softly, so I continue as I know he’s not experiencing pain.

  I spend the next ten minutes quietly rocking his hips, spreading the skin with the flat of my hand, and pressing one hand on top of the other to put added pressure in certain areas, trying to disperse the inflammation and separ
ate the fibres and tissue.

  “You never told me where you were going on holiday, or your name for that matter.”

  Good Lord, not that again. Why does he want to know? I don’t offer any information about my personal life to strangers, no matter how painstakingly gorgeous and handsome they are.

  “I thought you were off to nod land there for a moment.”

  “Nearly, but you definitely have healing hands. It feels better already. Amazing, actually.”

  I can’t see his face, but I know he’s smiling.

  And in his shorts.

  “Good, I’m going to write up a report on your form and transfer it over to our online patient system. Take your time getting ready, then please come back over and have a seat when you’re organized.”

  My hands feel cool when they leave his body, not energized like they were on his warm smooth skin. My thoughts are once again anxious.

  I start scribbling and ticking boxes, marking up exactly what I have completed today to keep Mark in the know, but I’m distracted thinking about the skin I have been massaging. I’m proud of myself that this is nearly over, but I also feel very antsy and unconditionally drained. Blindly, I search in my bag with my hand, and retrieve two painkillers. I swallow them with the residue from my water bottle.

  Lucca returns to the chair and watches me carefully.

  “Are you alright? Do you feel ill?” he asks with concern.

  “I’m fine, just a headache. I want to catch it early on as I’d like to get a good sleep before my flight tomorrow.”

  He opens his mouth to speak, but I beat him to it.

  “So…I think with rest, your anti-inflammatory tablets prescribed by your own GP, and some core exercise, you will be as good as new. Also, if it flares up I recommend you put ice on the area. You need to do some hip opening exercises, gentle back bends to strengthen the lumbar area, and avoid lifting anything heavy. It really is common sense and definitely no impact for now. You just need to take things gently.”

  “Oh, I intend to, Doc. I’m making it my mission to take things...gently.” Lucca chuckles as he winks at me again, causing me to blush, bite my lip and look down at my report. I don’t know what’s so funny about taking it gently, but I’m getting the feeling he is thinking about something else entirely.