3. Kyra

H e left so abruptly from the gym, and he never does that. If anything, it's me cutting my walk short, running to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water, and then heading to the back patio. I thought about walking or running on the beach, except I'm being paid to do a job and leaving my patient goes against every cell in my being.

The last time I was in Rhodes' bedroom, his spicy scent assaulted me. Looking at his massive king-size bed inspired a hell of a lot of time with me and my fingers. I wondered what side of the bed he slept on, what he wore to bed, and even what he looked like waking up in the morning. Sure, there's a small insecure part of me that wondered if he ever had someone in his bed with him. Then I shut my wayward thoughts down. I'm sure he has. Rhodes is twenty years older than me, and the last thing I want to think about is him with someone else. No freaking thanks. We're both adults and have a past. That doesn't mean I'd want him to dredge it up. Jesus, now I'm talking like a Looney Toon. We're not even together, except I've been envisioning so much of the future here with him. Which is dumb. The only relationship we have is in a working capacity.

Today isn't much better. Our moment in the gym has me spiraling. There's an ache between my legs, my heart is racing, and I have an overwhelming desire to slide my hand beneath my shorts to help relieve the desire Rhodes keeps building inside of me. His bed is once again in my sights, and I'm back to thinking what it would feel like to be with him between his black sheets. I glance out the sliding glass doors at the beauty of the ocean, the sun, and the sand. My room isn't bad. It's not Rhodes' with this view; mine is of the street. The neighborhood is starting to wake up. Some people are walking, usually with a partner or a dog. The golf carts are plentiful, which makes sense with narrow streets and alleyways here on the beachside of New Smyrna.

I don't find him in any other room in the house, and while I should leave him be, his bedroom door is open and so is the bathroom. My curiosity gets the best of me, so I turn the corner and remember the last time I stood in this very room, helping him get in and out of the shower. He'd groan and grumble, not in a demeaning way toward me. Lucky for me, Rhodes isn't a horrible patient. He might make a comment or curse an obscenity here and there under his breath, but the second he realizes he's not alone, he recovers quickly and acts as if nothing happened. I stay quiet, having never been in his position. The last thing I want to do is make him feel bad in case he's struggling in the shower.

"Oh my fucking god," I whisper the words, so Rhodes doesn't hear me. The outline of his body is on full display. The steam is doing me no favors, but I can make out his silhouette, ripped arm muscles, corded thighs, one hand holding him up in a prone position, and the other hand… well, let's just say I'm stopped dead in my tracks. My hand covers my mouth when I swear he utters my name. This is nothing like helping him in and out of the shower. Those days were so hard, literally and figuratively. I'd help him get in, turn around until he was situated, and then I'd wait in his room. My ear on alert in case of a fall, but no issue ever arose…except his cock.

I lick my lips, recalling when I'd helped him out of the shower. The only thing wrapped around his body would be a towel. There were more than a few times when I'd hope for the fabric to drop a smidge, wanting to see exactly what his happy trail led to. Hell, I'd have loved if it dropped to the floor. The shorts he wears do absolutely nothing to hide the fact of how nice and thick his cock is. I really should leave, let him finish taking care of himself, and run to my room to do similar. Instead, I stay as still and quiet as possible, wanting to watch as he lets go, wishing it were my hand around his dick.

My legs tremble, my body is burning up, and the flesh pebbling on my heated skin is an anomaly of its own. Hot yet cold to the touch. A small moan rolls through me. The noise is louder than I expected. My hand goes to my mouth, attempting to keep it together. Rhodes' movements slow, as if he's heard me, and I'm cussing myself up and down for staying as long as I have.

I should not be watching him. I should go to my room. I should do so many things, except I can't.

He re-doubles his efforts, going harder and faster, then his body locks up, and that's when I hear my name, loud and clear, tumbling off his lips in the most decadent way possible. The cadence is deep and powerful, almost like his prayers are answered with the two-word syllable.

"Fuck," I curse beneath my breath. My time is up. It's go-time, or I'm going to be caught for sure. And wouldn't that be hard to explain. Besides that, I think it's time I take a shower of my own.