Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
“I’ll be ready,” I say firmly.
“Fynn, seriously,” Casso says, glancing at Mirella, clearly reading the discomfort on her face. “If you’re not up to it, you’re not doing it.”
“I agree. And I’ll be ready.” I push off the bookcase and hobble to the door. There’s no question in my mind that I’ll be able to handle twenty steps no matter what. I could do it now if I had to—the pain would be uncomfortable, but I can push through anything. I open it up and gesture for Mirella. “Shall we get to work then?”
She sighs. “We just did an hour.”
“Let’s do another.”
She gets to her feet, looking annoyed, but doesn’t argue. Casso smiles at her and goes around to sit behind his desk. “Nice meeting you,” he says as Mirella leaves with me.
In the hallway, she stops and glares like she wants to smash my face in with a rock. “You set me up.”
“Yes, I did.”
“You asshole. You’re not going to be ready to walk without an aid in a week. You realize that, right? Recovery is about time to heal as much as it is about doing the right work. You can’t just will yourself into health. You have to be patient and follow the process.”
I move close to her, forcing her back until she bumps against the wall. Her chin tilts up, her lips parting, and I think of that kiss, her moans, her ass beneath my palm. Fuck, I want this girl, this unruly, rebellious girl. Some insane part of me likes that she continually denies me and fights against my wishes. I want to dominate her, taste her, ruin her. I want to make her moan my name.
“Then you’d better work hard, princess,” I say, reaching up to pull her hair back.
She gasps in surprise and her mouth opens wider. I bury those lips with mine, my tongue lapping against hers, and she moans into my kiss. I hold her there tightly, controlling her intensely, until I finally let her go.
“I believe in you,” I say, releasing her hair, and step away.
I limp toward the gym. After a moment, she starts to follow.
Chapter 12
Fynn
I work hard the next couple days. My entire existence revolves around relearning all the shit I thought I knew: how to raise my knee, how to bend my ankles, how to basically walk without shuffling like an old man.
My strength is returning. I swear I can move around for longer than I could’ve even before working with Mirella. It’s starting to pay off, but not fast enough. I want to be out there fighting for my family again. I want to do what I was born to do. And each day I’m stuck inside, it feels like a piece of me breaks a little bit more.
I’m terrified that soon I’ll be left with nothing, a husk of the man I once was.
“Good work today,” Mirella says, a gleam of sweat on her forehead. I picture her naked breasts, my tongue lapping at them as she comes with my fingers buried between her legs. Almost as if she knows what’s going through my mind, she turns pink and looks away. “I will end this session the way I’ve ended the others by reminding you that there’s no way in hell you’re going to walk without an aid in a few days. Just so expectations are clearly set.”
“And I’ll end it by reminding you that I don’t give a damn what you think.” A sharp flare of anger. She’s always setting limits and telling me what I can and cannot do, and it drives me insane. She shouldn’t talk to me that way—I’m the one that sets the rules. I’m the one that knows my body. But I understand how that might contradict our relationship. She’s the PT and I’m the patient, and yet I refuse to give up control.
It makes things difficult, to say the least.
“I don’t even know why you bother with me,” she says, storming away toward the towels. She grabs one and uses it to wipe off her face. “You’re paying me an absurd amount of money for my expertise, but you barely listen to what I say. What’s the point of all this? Why not just do whatever you want? I’m sure there are a bunch of YouTube videos you can watch. I bet they’re better than ignoring me all the time.”
“I don’t know how to improve on my own,” I say, clutching the end of my cane. I hate the damn thing. It’s a symbol of my failings, that I’m not strong enough to magically heal myself. I understand human bodies are frail and often break down, but I’m having a hard time accepting my own limitations. I’m supposed to be stronger than this. I’m mafia, I’m a Bruno. “And don’t pretend like you’re more than a fresh college grad on her first assignment.”