The sun was creeping through the blinds and landing on the bed covers. I wasn’t looking at the morning light, though. I was watching Ethan sleep.
He looked peaceful. Even when he was asleep, he looked handsome. He had a sleeve of tattoos running down his arm, a mix of old school roses and tribal patterns. At twenty-seven, he was a proper lad. He usually had so much confidence, the kind you get from climbing cell towers for a living. He was a tower technician and spent his days hanging off metal structures hundreds of feet in the air. That job gave him a great body.
I sat up a little and caught my reflection in the mirror across the room. I was twenty-five, and I worked as a mobile hairdresser, so my appearance is my business card. My dark brunette hair was cut in a sharp, classic bob. My blue eyes stared back at me. But my eyes looked frustrated.
I looked back at my husband. Before the accident, our sex life was incredible. We couldn’t keep our hands off each other. But then he had a fall at work. A few months before, he slipped on a climb and damaged his spine. Since then, everything changed. He was pretty much bedridden, and it was a slow recovery.
The muscles that used to ripple under his skin had softened into something else entirely. His stomach, once flat and hard as a board, spilt over the waistband of his boxers. His arms had lost that sharp definition, looking thick and doughy instead of strong. It hurt to see the man who used to haul himself up steel beams struggling to lift his own weight.
I tried to encourage him to do the little stretches the doctor gave him, but he just grunted and turned his head away. He spent hours staring at the ceiling or the TV without really watching it. There was a heavy cloud over him that I couldn’t seem to blow away.
I missed the guy who would fix anything around the house or make me laugh until my sides hurt. Now, he wouldn’t even lift a finger to help himself get better. It felt like I was living with a ghost of the man I married.
The doctors warned us that the damage to his lower spine might affect things below the waist in more ways than just walking. They talked about nerve pathways being blocked, like a wire cut in a circuit. I tried to stay positive at first, thinking it would heal like a bruise, but the reality was much harder. His body just didn’t respond to me anymore. It was like the signal from his brain couldn’t reach the part of him that used to want me so badly.
We got desperate and decided to try the little blue pill. I remembered the night we tried it. There was so much nervous energy in the room. I put on my best lingerie and tried to make it romantic, setting the mood like I used to. We waited for the medicine to kick in, both of us pretending we weren’t terrified it would fail. He lay there staring at the ceiling, and I did everything I knew to get a reaction out of him.
Nothing happened. It was completely lifeless. The pill didn’t make a difference. Ethan pushed me away, his face bright red with embarrassment. He rolled over and refused to look at me for the rest of the night.
We went back to the specialist to see if there was anything else we could do. The doctor told us that specific physiotherapy might help retrain the nerves and get things working again. It gave me a glimmer of hope. Ethan agreed to try it, but that didn’t last long. He went to three sessions, complained that it was too hard and humiliating, and then he just refused to go back.
I missed the old Ethan so much. I missed his drive. He used to have so much energy, whether he was working on the house or climbing those towers. Watching him give up without a real fight was heartbreaking. It felt like the man I fell in love with was slowly disappearing into the mattress, leaving this bitter stranger in his place.
The physical frustration was driving me crazy. Before the accident, we matched perfectly. My sex drive had always been high, and he was the only one who could keep up with me. We used to tear each other’s clothes off the second he walked through the door. I lay awake at night with an aching body and a husband who can’t satisfy me.
I felt a familiar ache in my stomach. It had been months since his accident, and I was starting to feel desperate. Masturbating and toys were OK, but I really needed a good seeing to, and I missed his cock.
I slid down the bed quietly. The sheets felt cool. I looked at him to see if he was waking up, but he was still out cold. I pulled the duvet down to his hips.
His cock lay soft against his thigh. It wasn’t anything massive. He was a modest size, average really, but before the accident, he knew exactly how to use it. Looking at it now, limp and resting against his balls, I felt a pang of sadness mixed with need.
Only if I tried hard enough again could I make it work.
I leaned down and kissed his hip. Then I moved lower. I took his soft cock into my mouth. It filled my mouth easily. I started to suck, swirling my tongue around the head. I bobbed my head, taking him as deep as I could, trying to coax some life into him. I licked the underside and fondled his balls, desperate for him to stiffen up.
I kept sucking, making wet noises, hoping to feel him twitch or grow hard against my tongue.
But as usual, there was nothing.
He stayed completely soft in my mouth. I felt a heavy weight in my chest. It wasn’t working.
Ethan started to move. He made a noise and opened his eyes. He looked down and saw me there with his limp prick in my mouth. Then he realised nothing was happening. The look on his face broke my heart. It was pure shame.
He pulled away from me and covered his crotch with his hand.
“Nat,” he said. His voice was rough from sleep. “I’m sorry. I know you’re trying, but it’s just not happening.”
I sat up and pushed my hair out of my face. I smiled, trying to act normal.
“It’s okay, babe. Really. Don’t worry about it.”
“It’s not okay,” he said quietly. He turned onto his side, facing the wall. “I’m useless.”
I rubbed his shoulder. “You’re healing,” I told him.
I lay back down and stared at the ceiling. I told him it was fine, but inside I was screaming. I loved him, but I was so horny it hurt.
He stayed facing the wall for a long time. The silence was thick in the room. Finally, he spoke up, but his voice sounded hollow. “You should probably just go find some random bloke at a bar,” he mumbled. “At least he could give you what you need.”
I knew he was trying to make a joke out of it, but it landed heavily in the room. It wasn’t funny. It just showed how much he hated himself right now. “Don’t say that,” I said, my voice sharp. “I just want you back.”
He rolled over to face me again. His eyes were red, but he looked determined now. He reached out and placed his hand on my thigh. “I can’t get hard, Nat,” he said softly. “But my hands still work fine. Let me take care of you again. Please.” He squeezed my leg and slid his hand up towards my hip. “Let me make you feel good.”
My breath hitched. I wanted sex, but I knew this was the next best thing. I didn’t hesitate. I nodded and spread my legs a little to open myself up to him. He moved closer and pushed the duvet away completely. He slipped his hand between my legs and found the wet heat waiting for him. I let out a shaky breath as he found my clit with his finger. It wasn’t the hard fucking I woke up wanting, but the feeling of his rough skin against my wetness was enough to make my hips buck off the mattress.
“If I were hard right now, I’d flip you over and pound you until you couldn’t walk properly. I’d make you scream the house down,” he whispered against my ear. His fingers picked up the pace, curling and thrusting inside me. I imagined the previous fuck sessions we had, and the words sent a jolt of electricity straight to my groin. I was already so close to the edge, my hips snapping up to meet his hand with every thrust.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I reached up and grabbed a fistful of his hair. I yanked his head down to mine and smashed my lips against his. It was a messy, desperate kiss. I used my tongue to mimic what his fingers were doing. I ground my pelvis hard against his hand, trying to force the orgasm to hit. For a second, it felt like the old days. We were just two people lost in the heat of the moment.
Then he hissed through his teeth. His hand stopped moving instantly, and he ripped it out of me. He rolled onto his back, clutching his shoulder with a grimace of agony. “Fuck,” he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. “My shoulder locked up.” The sudden loss of pressure was devastating. I lay there panting, my legs still open. I was throbbing and soaking wet, my fluids cooling on my thighs. I was completely high and dry, left on the brink with no release.
I took a deep breath and pushed the disappointment down deep. It was hard to ignore the thumping between my legs, but seeing him in pain was worse. “I told you, you need to go back to the physio, but you’re so stubborn,” I said, concerned.
I sat up and moved behind him. My fingers dug into the hard muscle of his shoulder. It was rock hard. I worked my thumbs into the knot, trying to rub the spasm away. He groaned, but his breathing started to slow down. “I’m sorry, Nat,” he whispered again.
“Don’t worry about it,” I lied. I leaned over and kissed his forehead. “I wasn’t that close anyway. It’s fine.” It was the biggest lie I had told in a long time. My body was screaming for release. I gave his shoulder one last squeeze and slid off the bed. The wetness on my thighs was cold now, a reminder of what didn’t happen.
I looked at my watch and realised how late I was for my next appointment. I shot up, walked to the wardrobe and grabbed my clothes. I sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on some old leather-tight black pants. They were tight and shimmied up my legs, hugging my ass and thighs perfectly. I threw a white t-shirt over the top. My first client was a new booking, a woman named Elsa who lived just down the road. Focusing on a new client was better than dwelling on the sexual frustration that was making my hands shake as I finished dressing.
I grabbed my keys from the dresser and glanced back at the bed. Ethan was propped up on his pillows, rubbing his shoulder. He wasn’t looking at his injury, though. His eyes were fixed right on my legs, which made me smile.
“God, I’ve not seen those in a while. Fuck, they look good on you, Nat,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. “They show off your ass perfectly.” He licked his lips, looking me up and down. “I am sorry about what happened before. But don’t think I have forgotten. When you get back later, I am going to finish you off properly. I promise.”
“I will hold you to that,” I said, offering him a small, playful smile. I blew him a kiss and walked out the door.
Since the address was only a few streets away, I decided to walk. I grabbed the handle of my rolling equipment case and slung my product bag over my shoulder. The walk helped clear my head a little, but the friction of the tight leather rubbing against my thighs with every step was a constant reminder of the morning. I focused on the sound of my heels clicking on the pavement, trying to get into my professional zone before I met this new client.
I reached the house, a modern semi-detached property with a neat driveway. I took a deep breath, smoothed down my white t-shirt, and pressed the doorbell. Heavy footsteps approached from inside, but it wasn’t a woman who opened the door. It was a man. A towering, incredibly handsome man filled the doorway. He was completely shirtless, his tanned skin inked with tattoos, gleaming with fresh sweat. A damp towel was slung around his neck, and his chest heaved slightly as if he had just finished an intense workout.
A small gasp escaped my lips before I could stop it. My brain totally short-circuited. I stood there staring at his broad shoulders, sculpted pecs, and the thick muscles of his arms. He was massive, built like a professional athlete. My eyes drifted down the deep cut of his abs to the waistband of his gym shorts, which hung dangerously low on his hips. The sheer size and vitality of him hit me like a physical wave.
“Can I help you?” he asked, his voice a deep, smooth baritone that vibrated right through me.
“Oh, hi, um,” I stuttered, feeling my cheeks burn bright red. “I’m… I’m Natalie. The hairdresser. For Elsa?”
He flashed a brilliant white smile. “Ah, right. She mentioned you were coming. Come on in, Natalie.” He stepped back, holding the door wide open. As I pulled my equipment case over the threshold, I had to brush past him. The heat radiating off his body was intense, and the musky smell of male sweat filled my nostrils.
He closed the front door, and the hallway instantly felt much smaller. “She’s still in the shower,” he said, wiping his brow with the damp towel. “She said you should cut wet hair, so she wanted to be ready for you.” He chuckled, a deep rumbling sound, and gestured to his own dripping chest. “Sorry about the state I’m in. I always try to do a heavy lifting session in the morning.”
I tried to keep my eyes on his face, but it was a losing battle. Thick droplets of sweat were tracing paths down his skin, catching the light from the hallway window and drawing my attention to every rippling muscle. “That’s fine,” I managed to say, my voice sounding a bit breathless. “Wet hair is perfect. And don’t worry about the sweat, it’s good to stay fit.” I knew I was babbling, but my brain was completely flooded.
He smiled again, leaning back against the wall with easy confidence. He was so relaxed, completely unbothered by standing there half-naked with a stranger. My black leather leggings suddenly felt two sizes too small. The friction from my walk had left me incredibly sensitive, especially after being left high and dry by Ethan. Now I was trapped in a warm hallway with this fit specimen.
“Can I get you a drink while you wait?” he said, trying to break the awkward silence
“I’d love some water, actually,” I said. My throat felt scratchy and dry. He nodded and disappeared into the kitchen for a second. He came back holding a tall glass of ice water for me and a large sports bottle for himself. He handed me the glass, and I quickly took a sip, letting the cold liquid cool me down from the inside out.
“So,” I started, my voice a little too loud in the quiet house. “Good workout?” I gripped my glass tighter, desperate for a normal conversation to snap me out of this trance.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his huge hand and gave me a proud smile. “Yeah, I love to keep fit. I’m a physiotherapist. I work for Chelsea Football Club.” He gestured down to his chiselled torso with a chuckle. “It’s not a good look if I’m overweight and trying to tell elite athletes how to take care of their bodies. I need to practice what I preach.”
My heart did a strange flip in my chest. The irony was almost cruel. The exact type of professional my husband desperately needed to see was standing right in front of me.
I laughed, feeling the nervous energy bubbling up. “I actually hate football,” I blurted out, shaking my head. “Can’t stand it. It’s just twenty-two men chasing a ball around a field for ninety minutes. It’s so boring.” I swirled the ice in my glass, immediately regretting saying something so blunt, but my brain filter was completely broken.
He didn’t seem offended at all. Instead, his deep laugh echoed in the hallway again. “You know what, I actually agree with you,” he said, taking another sip of water. “It can be pretty boring. Personally, I prefer rugby. Much more contact, much more physical.” He rolled his broad shoulders as he said the word physical, and I couldn’t help but notice how the thick muscles in his chest and arms shifted under his skin.
“So, what kind of sports do you like then?” he asked, his voice dropping to a smooth rumble. “You definitely look like you keep in shape,” he added, his eyes locking with mine, and I could see a blatant spark of interest. The compliment sent a jolt of electricity straight to my stomach. I felt my face flush hot, but I didn’t want to look away. I was trapped under his attention, and a frustrated part of me was drinking it up.
Just then, footsteps creaked on the stairs, and a woman appeared at the top of the landing. She was wearing a fluffy pink dressing gown and had a white towel wrapped around her wet hair. I blinked in surprise. This must be Elsa. She must have been about sixty years old. She wasn’t the glamour model I had pictured based on the guy downstairs. She had a soft, motherly figure, the kind with comfortable curves and a bit of weight around the middle that comes with age. She looked lovely and normal, but she was old.
My mind raced as I tried to do the math. I had assumed he was her husband, but the age gap was massive. Maybe she was a cougar? Or maybe he was her toy boy? I felt a sudden spike of confusion.
Elsa smiled warmly as she came down the last few steps, clutching the bannister. “Hello, you must be Natalie,” she said, her voice bright and friendly. She looked over at the shirtless giant leaning against the wall. “I hope my son is being welcoming? He usually ignores the doorbell when he’s in the middle of a workout.” The words hit me like a slap in the face. The pieces slammed into place, and I felt a wave of relief mixed with a fresh flush of embarrassment wash over me.
“Mason, for heaven’s sake, go and put a shirt on,” Elsa scolded, swatting his arm. “We have a guest. You can’t just stand there dripping sweat all over the hallway carpet.”
He didn’t look embarrassed. He just grinned down at his mum and shrugged his massive shoulders. “I’m just comfortable in my own home, Mum,” he teased, his voice dropping to that low rumble that vibrated in my chest.
Elsa turned to me and rolled her eyes, but I could see the pride in her face. “He is always doing this,” she sighed, shaking her head. “Even when he’s not exercising, he’s walking around topless.” She laughed and patted his rock-hard stomach as if he were a little boy, not a giant of a man towering over both of us.
Then she caught me off guard. She tilted her head and looked me right in the eye. “He has got a nice body though, hasn’t he?” The question hung in the air. My mouth went dry. I was standing between his mother and his half-naked torso.
I felt my face turn a deeper shade of red. “Um, well,” I stammered, gripping the handle of my case tighter. I couldn’t lie with him standing right there looking like a statue. “Yes, he’s… he is very fit. Obviously.” I tried to sound professional, as if I were commenting on a piece of furniture, but my voice squeaked a little at the end. Mason chuckled and crossed his massive arms over that distractingly wide chest.
Elsa nodded as if that was the only correct answer. “Yes, my little boy definitely looks after himself,” she said, like a proud mother. Then she turned back to me, her expression turning serious. “He is single, you know. Thirty years old and still not found a nice woman.” She sighed dramatically and adjusted her towel. “I keep telling him to find a nice girl. Build a life.”
Mason rolled his eyes. “Alright, Mum, that’s enough,” he said, though he was still grinning. “Go get your haircut. I’ll go make myself decent,” and he walked up the stairs, leaving us alone.
Elsa glanced down at my left hand resting on the handle of my case. Her eyes caught the glint of my gold wedding band. “Oh, that is a shame,” she said, clicking her tongue with genuine disappointment. She looked from my hand back up to my face, scrutinising my messy bob and my slender frame. “He really likes white girls, you know, especially the skinny brunettes. You are exactly his type. Literally exactly what he looks for.”
She was so brazen, and she wasn’t finished. She gestured to my equipment. “And look at you. You run your own business. You are out here working hard on a Saturday morning. That is what he needs. An independent, driven woman. Just a shame you’re taken.”
Elsa sighed loudly, breaking the spell. She turned and waved for me to follow her down the hall. “Come on, let’s go to the kitchen. The light is better there,” she said. I dragged my feet following her, listening to her grumble. “I worry about him, you know. He has a lot of money working for Chelsea, but he comes home to me. It is not right for a man to live like that. He just wants to look after his dear old mother.” She opened the door to a pristine, modern kitchen with shiny white counters and gestured for me to set up.
I set my bag down on the table and started to unzip it. Elsa sat down in one of the dining chairs and smoothed her robe. “So, tell me about your husband,” she asked, clasping her hands together. “What does he do?”
The question crashed into me like a bucket of ice water. I thought of Ethan lying in bed, staring at the wall, unable to work. The guilt was instant and heavy. “He is a tower technician,” I said, my voice faltering slightly as I pulled out my cape. “But he is off work at the moment. He had a bad accident.”
I draped the black gown over Elsa and tightened it around her neck. The kitchen was quiet except for the sharp snip of my scissors as I started working on the back. I combed through her wet curls, focusing on getting the length right, but Elsa wasn’t interested in silence. “A bad accident?” she repeated, watching my face in the glass cabinet. “That sounds terrible. Is he okay?” She shook her head sympathetically, but I knew she was digging for details I didn’t want to give.
My stomach tightened. I thought of Ethan turning away from me in bed this morning and the hollow look in his eyes. “He is getting there,” I lied, forcing my voice to sound light and breezy. I snipped a section of hair near her ear, my hand steady despite my racing heart. “He is doing his exercises. The doctors said he is very lucky and he will be back to normal soon. He is strong, so he is handling it really well.” The words tasted like ash in my mouth. It felt wrong to paint this perfect picture when the reality was so broken.
Elsa nodded, seemingly satisfied with my performance. “That is good. You need to keep his spirits up.” Just then, the kitchen door pushed open, and Mason walked back in. He’d showered and put on a tight grey t-shirt that clung to his chest, and a pair of loose gym shorts. He leaned against the fridge and took a loud bite of a green apple.
“Apologies, but I overheard. You say he fell?” Mason said, swallowing a chunk of apple. “What exactly did he damage? I see a lot of trauma injuries with the players.”‘
I hesitated. I didn’t really want to discuss my husband’s broken body, but I couldn’t be rude. “It was his lower lumbar,” I explained, clipping another section of Elsa’s hair. “L4 and L5 compression, if you know what that means? Plus some nerve damage that just won’t heal.”
Mason nodded slowly, knowing exactly what I was talking about. “I dealt with a winger last season who had the same thing. Took a bad tackle and landed wrong.” He pushed off the fridge and walked closer, stopping just a few feet away. His presence was overwhelming. “Most doctors just prescribe rest and painkillers, but that causes the muscles to seize up. That is why the nerve issues don’t clear up. You need deep tissue manipulation to release the pressure.
“I could take a look at him if you want,” he offered casually. “I do private consultations when I’m not at the training ground. I bet I could get him moving properly again, but it will take time.”
My heart skipped a beat. If he could fix Ethan, I would get my husband back. “Really?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. “You would do that?”
Mason reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek smartphone. He unlocked it with his thumb and looked at me expectantly. “Give me your number,” he said. It wasn’t really a request. It was an instruction. I recited the digits, my voice sounding a little shaky in the quiet kitchen. He tapped them in with his large thumbs, his eyes flicking up to mine as he hit the call button.
A second later, my phone started buzzing in my back pocket. “That is me,” he said with a smile. He ended the call before I could answer. “Lock it in. Talk to your husband. If he is up for it, just give me a call or shoot me a text. We can set something up.” He slid his phone back into his pocket and crossed his arms again.
I nodded, feeling a strange heat rise in my neck. I now had his number stored in my phone, and he had mine. It felt like a dirty secret, even though we were talking about medical help. I tried to focus on Elsa’s hair, but my mind was spinning.
Elsa let out a throaty laugh and shook her finger at Mason. “Look at you,” she teased, checking her reflection in the hand mirror I gave her. “You are a fast worker, my son. The poor girl has been here less than 15 minutes, and you already have her number,” and she winked at me. “You better watch out, Natalie. He says it is for business, but he probably just wants a pretty girl in his phonebook.”
Mason shook his head and gave a polite, easy smile. He just took another crunch of his apple. “Just trying to help a neighbour out, mother.”
“It is very kind of him,” I stammered, trying to match his professional tone. “My husband will really appreciate the help.”
“No problem whatsoever,” he replied, smiling at me. He then excused himself and left, leaving Elsa and me alone in the kitchen.
While I worked, time flew. We talked about most things until the conversation got back to Mason. She told me his last girlfriend cheated on him while he was away with the team. “He has a big heart,” she told me quietly. “He just needs someone who appreciates him, not someone who messes him around.” Hearing that made my chest ache a little, and I felt sorry for him.
After a few more minutes of chatting, I handed Elsa the mirror to check the back. Her face lit up instantly. “Oh, Natalie, it is wonderful!” she beamed, patting the soft curls. “You have made me look human again.” She stood up and went to her purse on the counter. She dug through it for a moment, then frowned and tipped it upside down. Nothing fell out. “Oh, typical,” she sighed. “I have got absolutely no cash on me.” She turned to the door and shouted. “Mason! Come in here for a minute!”
Mason walked back into the kitchen. “Everything alright?” he asked, his deep voice filling the room.
Elsa gestured to me. “I need you to pay the girl, I am empty.”
Mason chuckled and shook his head. “I am basically your walking bank account, aren’t I?” He grinned at me and reached into his pocket, pulling out some cash. He stepped right into my personal space. “How much is it?”
“Forty pounds,” I told him, trying to keep my voice steady. My throat felt dry with him so close.
He looked at the cash in his wallet and clicked his tongue. “Forty? That is way too cheap for making my mum look this good,” he said with a smirk. He pulled out three crisp twenty-pound notes and held them out to me. “Here. Plus tip.”
“Thank you,” I said softly. I didn’t have my purse handy, so I folded the notes and slid them into the front pocket of my leather pants. The material was incredibly tight against my skin. As I pushed the cash deep into the pocket, right near my groin, I saw Mason’s dark eyes follow the movement of my hand. My skin burned under his attention. I quickly turned away and started packing up my gear, zipping up my equipment case to hide my shaking hands.
Elsa was still admiring her new look. She turned to Mason with a playful smirk. “To be honest, Mason, you could probably do with a cut too,” she joked, pointing at his head.
Mason ran a large hand over his short fade and chuckled. “It’s not that bad, Mum,” he said, looking over at me with a teasing glint in his dark eyes. “Natalie probably doesn’t do men’s hair.”
The words left my mouth before I could stop them. “Actually, I have cut men’s hair before,” I said, my voice echoing slightly in the hallway. I stopped walking and turned around to face him. My heart was pounding, but I pushed on. “I have some free time before my next appointment. If you have time now, I could do it for you.” As soon as I said it, a wave of heat washed over me. What was I doing? Was it a subconscious excuse to stay in his presence?
Elsa clapped her hands together in the kitchen. “Oh, wonderful! See, Mason? Sit down and let the professional sort you out.”
Mason looked surprised for a second, his dark eyebrows raised. Then, a slow, knowing smile spread across his face. “Well, if you have the time, Natalie, I would be a fool to say no,” he said, his deep voice dripping with satisfaction. “I guess I am your next client.”
I walked back to the table, and Mason pulled out the dining chair and sat down. He spread his knees wide and looked up at me, waiting for me to start.
Elsa announced she was going upstairs to get dressed for the day. Her footsteps faded away up the stairs, leaving the kitchen suddenly very quiet. “Hold on a sec,” Mason said, pulling at the hem of his grey t-shirt. “I don’t want to get itchy hair all over this.” In one smooth motion, he pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it onto the counter. I swallowed hard. I doubted the hair was the real reason, but looking at his massive, bare chest and defined abs, I was definitely not complaining.
I stood behind him, and I reached out. I ran my fingers through his short fade to check the texture. “You have great hair,” I said, my voice dropping a little lower than I intended. “Really thick.” The moment my fingertips brushed against his warm scalp, a shiver shot straight down my spine. The heat of his skin was intense.
I grabbed my clippers and turned them on to drown out the silence. I took a deep breath, trying to ignore the thoughts of this good-looking guy. We must not have said a word to each other for the best part of 10 minutes, and the buzz of the clippers was the only sound in the room. I worked carefully around his ears, watching the tiny dark hairs fall onto his broad, naked shoulders. The silence between us was thick and heavy. It wasn’t a peaceful silence. It was charged with electricity. I couldn’t take the quiet anymore. I needed to say something to distract myself from the wall of muscle in front of me.
“She is quite persistent, isn’t she?” I said, trying to keep my voice light. I moved around to his side to check the fade. “Your mum, I mean. She seems very keen for you to find someone. She practically gave me your whole dating resume before she went upstairs.” It was a bold thing to say, but I wanted to hear his answer. I wanted to know why a man who looked so good was single.
Mason let out a low, rumbling laugh that vibrated through the chair. He didn’t look up, but a smirk played on his lips. “Yeah, she is a nightmare for it,” he said. “She thinks just because I have a big house and a good job, I should have a wife and three kids by now. I’m just waiting for the right one to come along.”
I couldn’t resist. The question was burning on my tongue. “So, what exactly is your type then?” I asked, using the soft brush to sweep some loose hair off his neck. Was I fishing for a compliment, hoping he would describe someone who looked exactly like me, especially after his mother said he liked brunettes? My heart hammered against my ribs as I waited for his answer, feeling bold standing over him with his chest bare and vulnerable.
Mason leaned back in the chair, his abs stretching tight against his skin. He looked thoughtful for a second. “I need someone who shares my interests,” he said, his voice low and serious. “I’m an active guy. High energy. I need a woman who can keep up with me.” The way he said it felt heavy with double meaning. It didn’t sound like he was talking about going for a jog in the park.
I couldn’t resist asking for more information. “Keep up with you?” I repeated, pausing the clippers for a second. “What do you mean by that?” My imagination was starting to run wild.
Mason didn’t answer me. He just shifted in his chair and cleared his throat, completely ignoring my question about what he meant. “So, about your husband,” he said, his voice turning professional again. “Does he get any referred pain down his legs? Or is it just localised in the lower back?” The sudden change in topic felt like a bucket of cold water.
I wanted more info and for him to answer. Instead, I had to switch my brain back to being a dutiful wife. “He gets shooting pains down his left leg,” I said, clipping the hair around his ears. “Especially in the mornings. It stops him from moving much.”
Mason nodded slowly, his face serious. “Sciatica,” he muttered. “That is standard with compression. I can definitely help with that.” He looked like a doctor now, very professional.
“It is not just the legs,” Mason said quietly, his voice dropping to a low, serious tone. “Compression in that area, right at the base of the spine, can block nerve signals to the pelvic region. It can cause other issues, too.”
My hand froze holding the clippers. The words hung in the air between us. Was he talking about what I thought he was talking about? Was he talking about Ethan’s problems down below? A hot wave of embarrassment and realisation washed over me. Of course, he knew. He was a professional physiotherapist. He knew exactly what a damaged spine did to a man’s anatomy and his sex life.
He was staring at me while I tried to concentrate on finishing his hair. I knew he was searching my face for a reaction. He knew I was living with a man who couldn’t get hard. It made me feel incredibly exposed, like he could see right through my clothes and into the miserable reality of my marriage.
“When exactly did he have the accident?” he asked, his voice low. My face started to burn instantly. I knew exactly what he was doing. He was doing the math. He was trying to figure out exactly how long it had been since I last had sex.
“Four months ago,” I said quietly. My voice sounded weak in the quiet kitchen. I felt completely exposed.
I quickly ran the clippers over the final sections, my hands trembling. I turned them off and reached for the soft neck brush on the counter, but my fingers were too clumsy. The wooden brush slipped from my grip and clattered onto the kitchen floor. I didn’t bend down to pick it up. I was far too flustered. Instead, I just reached out with my bare hands to sweep the loose hair off his broad, naked shoulders.
The moment my palms touched his hot skin, a jolt of electricity shot straight to my groin. His muscles were rock hard under my fingertips. I slowly wiped the hair away, my hands lingering on the thick curve of his neck and the heavy slope of his shoulders. Mason didn’t move. He just looked at me over his shoulder, and our eyes locked. It didn’t look professional anymore. It was pure, raw desire, and my heart hammered against my ribs so hard I thought he could hear it.
“How much do I owe you for this one?” Mason asked, his voice a low rumble. I moved around to the front of the chair to brush the last few stray hairs off his collarbones. That meant stepping right between his spread knees. I was so close to him that I could feel the intense heat radiating off his body.
“Um, twenty,” I stuttered, my voice cracking. “Twenty pounds will be okay.”
He shifted his hips slightly and dug a hand into the pocket of his gym shorts. He pulled out a folded twenty-pound note. Then it happened. Without any warning, he reached out towards my hip. His thick fingers slid the note directly into the front pocket of my tight leather pants, and I watched his hand disappear.
The material was so stretched that his knuckles pressed hard against my skin as he pushed the money deep inside. The feel of his fingers brushed right against the top of my thigh, dangerously close to the centre of my heat. I gasped out loud, a small, helpless sound. My legs almost gave way.
I froze completely. I held my breath, paralysed by the heavy warmth of his hand resting right over my groin. I should have pushed him away. I should have slapped his wrist and reminded him that I was a married woman. But my arms refused to work. My brain was screaming at me to stop this, but my body was absolutely desperate to be touched.
“I can feel your frustration, Natalie,” he whispered, his voice vibrating right into my stomach.
He was right. Why wasn’t I removing his hand? It was a simple movement, just stepping back, but my feet were glued to the kitchen floor. The guilt of what I was doing was fighting a losing battle against four months of pure sexual starvation. His palm was so hot against the cool leather of my leggings. It was like I needed to finish what Ethan started earlier.
Then, he slowly pulled his hand away. I let out a shaky gasp and bit down hard on my bottom lip to stop myself from making any more noise. We locked eyes. The silence in the room was deafening, and the look on his face told me he knew exactly what he had just done to me. Suddenly, the kitchen door swung open, and Elsa breezed back into the room, completely oblivious to the electric atmosphere she had just walked into.
I snapped back to reality the second Elsa’s voice filled the room. I took a huge step backwards, my heart hammering against my ribs. “I really need to get going,” I blurted out, my voice sounding a pitch higher than normal. I practically threw my clippers into my case and zipped it up. “I’m running late for my next client. It was lovely meeting you both.” I didn’t even wait for a proper response. I grabbed the handle on my bag and rushed out of the front door, desperate for fresh air.
I walked fast, the wheels of my case clattering loudly behind me. My body was on fire, and I could still feel the exact shape of his heavy hand pressed against my thigh. The ghost of his touch lingered on my thigh with every step I took, sending little shockwaves of heat right up into my stomach.
By the time my own house came into view, my legs felt like jelly. I stopped at the end of my driveway and took a deep, shaky breath. I smoothed down my t-shirt, putting my brave face back on before I turned the key in the front door.
I walked quietly up the stairs and pushed the bedroom door open. Ethan was fast asleep, naked on the bed. A wave of intense, painful longing crashed over me. What I wouldn’t give for his hard cock right now. I wanted to climb onto the bed, straddle his hips, and sink onto his stiff cock. I wanted to ride him hard until all the pent-up heat and frustration from the morning vanished. I wanted my husband back so badly that my chest ached. But waking him up would only lead to another round of apologies, and I couldn’t put him through that humiliation again today.
I took a deep breath, backed out of the room, and clicked the door shut. I walked down the hall to the bathroom and locked myself in. I turned the taps on full blast, running the water as hot as I could stand. I needed the privacy of the warm water to finish what my body required.
I closed the bathroom door and stripped off my clothes as fast as my shaking hands would allow. I tossed my white t-shirt onto the tiled floor. Next, I unhooked my white lace bra and let it fall, my large breasts bouncing slightly as they were freed. The leather leggings were harder to get off. The tight material stuck to my skin, peeling away from my hips and thighs with a soft, sucking sound. Finally, I slid my panties down my legs. As the cool air hit my bare flesh, goosebumps erupted all over my skin. The lingering heat from where Mason had gripped my thigh was gone, leaving behind a desperate, aching throb right at the core of me.
I caught my reflection in the full-length mirror on the door. Mason kept fit, and so did I, especially with all the hours I spent in the gym. I turned slightly, admiring the smooth curve of my hips and my firm ass. My skin was glowing, and I would have fucked a tramp, I was that horny.
Before stepping into the tub, I opened the vanity drawer and reached for my rabbit vibrator. Ethan had bought it for me last year, specifically for sexy bathtime fun. It was made of slick, waterproof silicone and had a thick, curved 6-inch shaft. Looking at the toy, a very dirty thought suddenly popped into my head. I remembered the happy days when Ethan used to sit in the tub with me and use this exact toy on my body.
I clicked the button, turning the vibrations up to the highest setting, and climbed into the steaming water. I sank with a heavy groan, leaning my head back against the rim as the heat relaxed my tense muscles. I parted my legs under the water, giving myself complete access. Holding my breath, I guided the tip of the vibrating shaft to my aching pussy.
I pushed my hips up slightly and pressed the toy in. The sleek silicone slid easily into my wetness inch by inch. A wave of pure, absolute relief washed over me. The feeling in my pussy was so intense and so desperately needed that my eyes rolled back and a helpless moan escaped my lips. “Fuck yeah, finally!”
I pushed the toy into the hilt until the curved head hit my sweet spot. At the same time, the buzzing rabbit ears locked perfectly onto my swollen clit. I lay back in the hot water, my chest heaving, completely overwhelmed by the glorious feeling of being properly full again. I closed my eyes and let out a shaky breath as the intense vibrations took over. It was time to finally get the release I had been begging for since I woke up.
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried my hardest to keep Ethan’s face in my mind, but the physical sensation was just too much. The silicone shaft penetrating me was a constant, undeniable reminder of the man I had just left. The guilt washed away, and in Ethan’s place, Mason appeared. I pictured him sitting in that dining chair with his legs spread wide, his muscular chest glistening. I imagined climbing onto his lap and sinking onto his hard cock. I pushed my hips up into the vibrating toy, matching the rhythm of my dirty thoughts. His deep voice echoed in my head, reminding me that he needed a woman to keep up with his high energy. I imagined his massive hands gripping my arse, pulling me down hard against him, and the fantasy pushed me right to the absolute brink.
I was seconds away from the release I desperately needed when the bathroom door swung wide open. I had been in such a rush that I’d forgotten to lock the door. Ethan stood in the doorway, completely naked, holding onto the doorframe for support. My eyes snapped open in horror, and my hands flew up in shock. I let go of the toy completely. It slipped out of me, the heavy base dropping down onto the bottom of the tub between my thighs, as it continued to hum loudly under the water. The intense pleasure vanished instantly, replaced by a freezing wave of panic as the bathwater rippled violently around the buzzing machine.
I braced myself for the look of heartbreak on his face, but it never came. Instead, a slow, knowing smile spread across Ethan’s lips. His eyes dropped to the water, and then back up to my flushed cheeks. “I knew you would still be horny when you got back,” he said, his voice surprisingly calm and teasing. He took a slow step forward, ignoring his limp. “You left the bedroom practically shaking this morning, Nat. Why didn’t you just ask me for help? I told you I would sort you out.”
I was completely speechless. My brain could not process his reaction at all. I was lying naked in the bath with a toy vibrating between my legs, and my injured husband was standing over me, smiling. “I… I didn’t want to wake you,” I stammered, my heart thumping wildly against my ribs. Ethan just shook his head, a dark spark of interest lighting up his eyes that I had not seen in months. He moved right to the edge of the tub and looked down at my legs. I realised with a jolt that he was not upset or ashamed. He was actually turned on by what he was seeing.
“That is such a turn-on, Nat,” Ethan whispered. He stepped right up to the edge of the tub. My eyes went straight to his groin. Despite the hunger in his voice and the dark interest in his eyes, his cock was completely soft. It just hung there, pale and lifeless. It was so weird and confusing to see him so mentally aroused but completely unresponsive physically.
He leaned over the edge of the bath, his knees resting against the cold tiles. He plunged his hand into the hot water, his rough fingers brushing against my sensitive inner thighs. He grabbed the heavy base of the toy, which was still buzzing furiously. With a slow, deliberate movement, he pushed the thick shaft all the way back inside me. The sudden invasion sent a jolt of electricity right through my spine, and I gasped out loud as he took complete control of my pleasure.
I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the cold tiles, letting Ethan take over. But the second my eyes shut, my husband completely vanished from my mind. All I could see was Mason. He was sitting in that kitchen chair again, his thick thighs spread wide, his chiselled chest so defined. Every time Ethan thrust the toy deep into me, I imagined it was Mason pulling me down onto his lap, his huge hands gripping my hips and taking exactly what he wanted.
“Oh god, yes,” I panted, my voice echoing loudly in the steamy room. Ethan picked up the pace, pumping the thick shaft in and out of me with desperate speed. “Faster, please, just like that!” I moaned, my hips bucking wildly off the bottom of the tub to meet every single thrust. Hot water sloshed over the rim, splashing loudly onto the tiled floor and completely soaking Ethan’s naked legs, but neither of us cared. The vivid fantasy of the giant physio combined with the intense buzzing on my clit was pushing me right over the edge.
“Ah! Oh fuck! Yes!” I cried out, my voice rising to a breathless scream. My fingers gripped the sides of the tub so hard my knuckles turned white. The pressure inside me hit the boiling point. “I’m coming! God, I’m coming! Don’t stop!” I screamed, totally abandoning any attempt to be quiet. A massive, shuddering orgasm ripped through my body, blindingly intense. “OH GOD! FUCK, YEAH!” I shrieked, screaming the house down. My back arched violently out of the water, my entire body convulsing as wave after wave of absolute, toe-curling release finally washed away the morning’s frustration.
I collapsed back against the porcelain, my chest heaving as I tried to catch my breath. He turned off the toy, and it slipped from my body and sank to the bottom of the tub. Ethan sat back on his heels, completely soaked from the waist down. He looked at the massive puddle of hot water spreading across the tiled floor and let out a soft chuckle. “Well,” he joked, a fond smile on his face, “I guess you really needed that, didn’t you?”
I was so completely drained that I couldn’t even speak. I just nodded weakly, my eyelids fluttering shut. Seeing how exhausted I was, Ethan reached over and grabbed the soapy sponge from the side. With slow, tender movements, he gently washed my body. His rough hands traced over my shoulders, down my chest, and across my stomach, cleaning away the tension. It was incredibly sweet, but feeling his loving touch after using his face to fantasise about another man made a sharp pang of guilt pierce through my chest.
Once I was clean, he placed the vibrator on the side and helped me stand up on shaky legs. He wrapped a large, fluffy towel around my shoulders, and he guided me slowly out of the wet bathroom and down the hall into our bedroom. I dried off as much as I could and got into bed, while he climbed in behind me. He wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling my back against his chest so we could cuddle. I was physically satisfied and wrapped in my husband’s arms, but as the room fell quiet, my mind drifted back to the phone number saved in my pocket.
The room was quiet. I listened to Ethan’s steady breathing against my neck. My mind was racing, so I decided to rip the plaster off. I shifted in his arms so I could look at his face. “I had a new client today,” I started, keeping my voice casual. “An older lady named Elsa. We got chatting, and it turns out her son is a sports physiotherapist. He lives with her, and I told him about your back, and he said he could help.”
Ethan frowned slightly, his pride instantly flaring up. I shook my head and placed my hand on his chest. “He works for a professional football club. He said he has dealt with this exact trauma before with players. He knows all about the compression and the nerve damage. He offered to come over and take a look at you, to see if he can sort you out.” I held my breath, leaving out the part where the son was actually standing half-naked in the kitchen with his hand on my thigh.
Ethan was quiet for a long moment. He looked down at the bedsheets, thinking it over. The stubbornness in him was fighting with the desperate need to get his life back. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh and pulled me closer against his chest. “I don’t know, Nat,” he mumbled, his voice tight with pride. “I will think about it, okay?”
Ethan didn’t say another word. His heavy breathing soon turned into soft snores. The strong painkillers he had taken earlier had kicked in, knocking him out completely. I carefully slipped out of his arms, making sure not to wake him, and grabbed my phone off the bedside table. The bedroom was silent, but my heart was beating fast. I looked at the screen, staring at the missed call notification from Elsa’s house.
I sat on the edge of the mattress and tapped the screen. I added the unknown number to my contacts, typing in ‘Mason’. The moment I saved it, his WhatsApp profile popped up. His picture was a casual shot of him by a football pitch, wearing a tight training top, smiling at the camera.
I opened a new chat and stared at the blinking cursor. My thumbs hovered over the keypad. I wanted to sound casual, like a professional neighbour, and didn’t want to mention what happened in his kitchen. I typed out a message and hit send before I could change my mind. ‘Hi, Mason, it’s Natalie. Just checking you’re happy with the new haircut? Also, I spoke to Ethan. He is contemplating your offer, but he’s very stubborn.’ I locked the screen immediately and tossed the phone onto the duvet, my stomach doing nervous flips as I waited for his reply.
The phone buzzed against the duvet, making me jump. I snatched it up quickly before the noise could wake Ethan. It was Mason. The message started perfectly normal. He said the haircut was top class and his mum was still raving about hers. He also said not to worry about Ethan, as guys with that kind of injury are always proud and need time to accept help. It was a sensible, polite response that made my shoulders relax for a split second.
Then I scrolled down and read the second part of the message. The professional tone completely vanished. ‘By the way, those black leather leggings looked absolutely incredible on you,’ he wrote. My breath hitched in my throat. Another text bubble popped up immediately underneath it. ‘And I want to apologise for crossing the line when I gave you that tip. I am not normally like that, but I couldn’t resist.’
My face burned as I read the words. He was apologising, but acknowledging what happened made the memory of his heavy hand on my thigh come rushing back. It proved it was not just in my head. I looked over at Ethan, who was still dead to the world, snoring softly into his pillow. I was holding a message from a man who had just admitted that I turned him on so much he lost control, and I had absolutely no idea how to reply.
I knew the smart thing to do was to ignore it or send a boring, professional reply. Instead, my fingers started moving across the screen on their own. I typed out a response before my conscience could stop me. ‘You don’t need to apologise, Mason. It’s fine, honestly.’ My thumb hovered over the send button. Sending this meant I was fine with him touching me.
I took a deep breath, pressed send, and immediately switched my phone to silent. I slid the device under my pillow, my whole body buzzing with a terrifying mix of guilt and sheer excitement. Mason had the power to fix my husband’s body, but as I lay there listening to Ethan breathe, I knew the giant physio could definitely fix mine too.
