Lila's Rehab

This is a repost of one of my old stories. It's been cleaned up and changed a little, but the core of it is still the same. Enjoy!

-Radiodemon

* * *

Fuck. Lila tried not to grunt as Dean's elbow dug into the meaty spot under her shoulder blade. Whoever said massage was relaxing obviously had never been on Dean's table.

There were tiny, barely audible crunches as he wiggled the point back and forth, and finally the knot broke free. He moved his elbow up over her shoulder, pressing her farther into the table and pushing the air from her lungs.

"All right?" he murmured. At her gasped "Yes", he repeated the move, the muscles giving more easily this time. The strokes softened, but she braced herself, knowing what was coming.

Yup. Other side.

She was going to be sore in places tomorrow. He never left bruises, thank god, but the accident had screwed up her back pretty badly. She could endure the chiropractic manipulations without too much trouble, and the physical therapy made it so she could work without pain for several hours at a time. But the massages were the worst.

Part of it was her fault. She rarely remembered to stretch, and stretch properly, and the memories of the hardcore massage Dean gave her had her glossing over the recommended weekly session. If her back wasn't bothering her too much, she'd wait a month. If it was worse, she'd wait three weeks.

This time, though, a spasm right between her shoulder blades was making it painful to breathe, and she'd been desperate. A last minute trip to the chiropractor had only succeeded in making it worse, and she'd been forced to call the massage clinic and schedule an appointment.

When she'd walked in, wincing in pain and bent over, Dean told her to go home and ice the spot every few hours, then made her an appointment for the following day. The ice had dulled the sharp, bright pain, and his strong fingers had soothed the rest. She'd thought maybe she'd gotten lucky this time when he went to work on the rest of her back.

He adjusted the sheet covering her lower body and stroked over her lower back, fanning out over her pelvic bones. This was one of the embarrassing areas. His hands would always dip slightly below the sheet, just under the waistband of her underwear, working the tiny muscles at the base of her spine, out over her hips. But his hands never lingered, and the touch was never a light, teasing one, and any lustful thoughts were quickly blown away by the heel of his palm rubbing into the soft skin hanging over her hips.

Lila had tried ridding herself of those extra pounds for years before she'd finally learned to accept that maybe they weren't meant to go away. They weren't noticeable when she was dressed, and men didn't pay attention to them during sex, and they balanced out her full hips nicely. But then Dean had to go prodding at them to find her hip abductors and her insecurities flared up all over again.

"You haven't been stretching here properly, have you?" She emitted a tiny squeak of pain as his thumb came into contact with a sensitive spot.

"No," she admitted. Then bit her lip as he grabbed with both hands and rolled the muscles underneath.

She heard him sigh. "Your back is never going to get better if you don't follow all the doctor's instructions. All of them, Lila," he chastised. He pulled the sheet up and smoothed it over her upper body before uncovering her left leg, tucking the sheet up above her hip and between her legs.

Further conversation was discouraged by his forearm sliding over her hamstring.

He moved on to the part that made her the most uncomfortable. The accident had screwed up her whole back, but the most serious spot was her lower back and hips. Ostensibly the massage therapy was for the problems she had with her hips; she couldn't sit for long periods of time. In order to fully rehabilitate the muscle group, he had to put his hands on her ass. It wasn't sexy in any way, shape, or form. The sheet and her underwear stayed in place, his fingers never touching the skin. And he used his damn elbow. All. The. Time.

She couldn't stop the whimpers of pain. It was like the nerve endings radiating out toward her hip were super sensitive and on fire, and Dean's elbow found each and every one of them.

"Lila?" At the hand on her shoulder, she lifted her head from the cradle. "If it hurts, you need to tell me."

She nodded miserably. "Sorry. It's just...I know it's supposed to help, and afterward it does feel looser, but there's this shooting pain every time you work...there." Her cheeks heated and she dropped her gaze. It landed on his groin, and her cheeks flamed hotter.

He sighed, and she forced herself to look at him again. His brown eyes warmed with a small grin. "I can try something different. But if it hurts, say something, okay? I don't want to make your injuries worse." He hesitated. "Um. I'll have to use my hands, and I'll need to move the sheet out of the way. Your underwear stays on," he added hastily. "I'll be able to find the knots easier and use less pressure. Is that okay?"

If by less pressure he meant less painful for her, she was quite okay with it. And she trusted him. Whenever she'd watched him while he was working on her front, he was staring off into space. Never at her. They'd be fine. "Okay," she whispered.

She lowered her head to the cradle as Dean pushed the sheet farther out of the way. It still covered her crotch, exposing only part of her panty-covered butt. The first touch almost had her shifting away. His hands were warm, very warm, and her face flamed all over again as his fingers began kneading his way inward.

Then his thumbs pushed in to the ridge of muscle and she almost groaned. There was some discomfort, but no needle-sharp shards of pain shooting down the back of her leg. He continued working his way over the joint, careful to keep his fingers on top of her panties. Her embarrassment ebbed and flowed, until she resigned herself to it. It was easier to tolerate than the elbow. And he was a professional.

So why were his fingers suddenly soft and drifting over the curve of her ass?

The sensation quickly disappeared as he adjusted the sheet so it covered her butt completely and he moved on to her calf and foot. This was one of the few parts she enjoyed, having her feet rubbed. She never could quite get the stretches right when it came to her feet, and her physical therapist said it was important to keep them in good shape. She'd had to give up her heels until her back wasn't spazzing out on her any more.

He worked his way up the other side, repeating the gentler moves on her other hip joint. Again the brief touch of his hand skimming the curve. Then it was gone and he was holding up the sheet so she could turn over. Half an hour later the massage was over, and the spot between her shoulder blades was no longer spasming with each breath.

She emerged from the room, dressed and slightly flustered, and Dean grinned and handed her a paper cup of water. "You know you're allowed weekly visits. You want your back to get better, you should take advantage of them."

She eyed him with suspicion. It wasn't the upselling; her visits were covered by insurance, and the copay was negligible. But she couldn't dismiss the fleeting skim of his hand over her ass. Was he trying to cop another feel? Had he been doing that in the first place?

Stop it. Dean was committed to his job. He was often booked out weeks in advance, and from the strength of his hands and arms, she knew why. The tension and knots in the muscles didn't break apart without pressure. His was no pansy-ass "massage" that was little more than a soft rub against the skin.

And sure, he was cute, with that dimpled grin and warm brown eyes, but he wasn't drool-inducing sexy. Not the kind she usually went for. Not the kind who went for her, with her tits and ass. Nope, he was looking out for her best interest.

She smiled. "I know. I'll try to come in more regularly." Two weeks, she thought, stifling a sigh. She could do every two weeks. She was getting better at enduring the pain, anyway.

He gave her a mock frown, the serious expression at odds with the twinkle in his eyes. "Good. See that you do." It disappeared as his face sobered. "In all seriousness, Lila, if you want a full recovery, you need to commit to this. Weekly massage coupled with your chiropractic visits and your other therapy will help. Do your stretches. Epson salt baths. No more waiting until you're so uncomfortable you can't stand it anymore. Less time between visits means there's less stiffness to work out, and your body can heal itself properly."

Dammit, he was right. This time she did sigh. "What have you got next week?"

* * *

Ow. Ow ow ow ow ow. A tiny knot halfway between her hip and the fleshiest part of her butt was getting all of Dean's attention, his thumb pushing it back and forth in an attempt to get it to crack. "Sorry," he muttered. He let up, then pushed back in, and pain spiked and spread heat through her leg. But his hands were stroking softly, fingers careful over her panties, and the soothing touch helped.

Her body relaxed and her legs shifted apart. Drifting in the afterglow at having the troublesome spot dealt with (because it had been causing her all kinds of problems) she was only vaguely aware of Dean's hands encircling her thigh and rubbing firmly, thumbs digging into her hamstring on the downstroke, one hand coming dangerously close to her panty-covered pussy. The sheet was still tucked up around her, the fabric bunching and covering her crotch. No possibility of accidental contact. Unless she wiggled just a little more...

Like that.

His fingers slipped under the sheet as she shifted her hips, and his fingertips brushed, ever so lightly, over her. They both froze.

Dean recovered first and continued his downstroke, then reached up and gently pulled the sheet down. Then he continued like nothing had happened.

Lila berated herself as he made his way up her other leg. She couldn't afford to lose a good therapist like Dean. The last thing she wanted to do was get him in trouble. Horrified at what she'd done, she was unable to enjoy the foot rub, just willing the massage to be over.

So she didn't notice that his hands were clumsy and the sheet kept slipping as he pushed it up to work on her other hip.

"Ow!" She jerked as his thumb came down on a particularly sore spot close to her tailbone.

"Sorry!" She glanced back to see he'd stepped away from the table, hands at his sides. Worry made small creases around his eyes and mouth, his gaze darting between her face and the floor. "Sorry," he mumbled.

He was kind of adorable like that, all contrite. She couldn't stop the smile, but she did fight the urge to reach out and...do something. Squeeze his hand. Pull him in for a hug or a kiss on the cheek. "It's okay. Just caught me by surprise." He glanced up, and she widened her smile. "I think I'm okay, if you want to finish."

He nodded, and she adjusted her hips again, legs relaxing under his soothing touch. When his thumbs went for her ass again, she forced herself to remain relaxed and suppressed the urge to wriggle again.

Because the one thing that would be sure to embarrass him even more than his lapse in concentration would be finding her panties were damp.

He finished on her hip, but instead of holding the sheet so she could turn over, he came around to the side. Confused, she shifted so she was facing him, careful to keep the sheet covering her, one arm braced under her head. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah." He looked tired. No, more like worn out. He pulled up the rolling stool he used when he worked on her neck and sat. "Sorry. It's been a long day. I should have been paying closer attention. I know it's a difficult spot for you."

Get your hands on me! We're not done! How rude, that tiny voice. She told it to shut up. He looked like he needed a hug. She held out a hand to him, wanting to offer some sort of comfort or reassurance. "It's like...all the nerves there are on hair triggers. Not enough pressure and it's just this funny tingling feeling down the back of my legs. But you push too hard or in the wrong way, and it's like this neon sign lights up and says 'Pain!'"

He took her outstretched hand and started rubbing. It made her want to melt. Did anyone ever take care of him? Put him first? "Do you want another therapist? Maybe a different approach would work better," he said.

"No!" Shocked at the suggestion, she shot up into a sitting position and forgot about the sheet draped over her. It pooled around her waist as she stared at him in horror. "No, I don't want anyone else!"

He made a choked noise, and she realized he was staring at her exposed tits. She snatched up the sheet and clutched it to her chest, tears gathering in her eyes. She was making a worse mess of this than it was before. One slipped out and she dashed it away. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

He shook his head. "I think it would be best if we stopped. Get dressed and we can discuss it outside."

Outside in the reception area, where there was no privacy. Misery clung to her as she slid off the table and pulled on her clothes, gathering her shoulder length blond curls into a sloppy ponytail. She slipped on her shoes and picked up her bag.

She couldn't face him. Not just yet.

She clambered back up on the table and sat, brooding, legs swinging slightly. He was going to insist on another therapist. It was probably for the best, except that all the recommendations for this place insisted he was the best of their therapists. He was who she wanted.

In more ways than one, apparently.

She was startled out of her thoughts by the knock on the door. "Come in."

Dean poked his head inside. "Lila?"

She sighed. "Look, this is already a little embarrassing. Could we talk about it in here? You can leave the door open."

He walked in, the door wide open, and leaned against the wall opposite her. "I want to apologize—"

She cut him off. "Don't. You didn't do anything wrong. You've been nothing but professional every visit. I..." She couldn't admit she'd subconsciously manipulated him into touching her inappropriately.

"You what?" He stepped closer.

"I should have paid more attention to how I was moving," she murmured. "I don't want another therapist," she blurted.

"Lila." He moved even closer, close enough to lift a hand and trail his fingers over her cheek. "It's for the best."

"No, you're the best, and that's why I'm here. I'm sorry about what happened. I was thinking about what it'd feel like to have you touch me when you're not trying to cause me pain and my body overruled my brain and decided to find out. I promise I won't do it again. Please, just...don't switch me to someone else."

He stared at her, surprise bright in his eyes. Cold washed over her. That was not the look of someone who was attracted to her. She screwed her eyes shut. God. Could she make a bigger fool of herself? Now she would have to find a different massage therapist. Not only that, she'd need to find a different place to go. No way could she come back here. Mumbling an apology, she started to slide off the table when Dean stepped between her legs.

His kiss was a mere hint, a teasing, taunting brush of his lips over hers. He broke it before she could dive in, his breath whispering over her mouth. "Wanted to do that for a while," he admitted.

He tipped her chin up so she met his gaze. "I can't keep my professional distance, not with you on the table. I'll pair you with someone else. Rachel's good."

She sucked in a breath. "No. I mean it. I don't want a different therapist. I want you. And I want you," she leaned forward and nipped his lower lip, "over me. Naked." She wound her legs around his waist, drawing him closer. She was bursting with this newfound desire, and she didn't want to wait. She rarely did, when it came to sex, and while it had come back to bite her on the ass on more than one occasion, she didn't think it would this time.

He backed away once more, his eyes locked on hers. "You're asking a lot."

She was. And she really didn't want to get him into trouble. She sighed. "I can wait. Until the therapy's over with. I can wait until then." She'd likely be a puddle of need by then, barely cognizant, but if it meant she'd get to have Dean's talented hands fixing her back, she'd find a way to deal with it.

This time when she slipped off the table, he didn't stop her. She gathered her purse and headed for the door. "Same time next week?" Her cheeks trembled with the effort to keep the smile in place.

Something hot burned in his gaze. "Yeah."

* * *

The next few weeks were sheer torture. Dean's touch was as strong and sure as ever, drawing grunts of pain from her. Lila had no idea how he did it, but he managed to keep his hands from straying.

Well, except for that time when she spread her legs and lifted her hips, allowing his fingers to slide under the sheet.

Or the time she accidentally wriggled free and the sheet slipped off her breasts.

But they played their parts, and as tempting as it was, she kept her panties on, and as a reward she got feathery caresses over her ass before he'd smooth the sheet back into place.

The really distracting times were the gentle fingers threading through her hair at the end of the massage. They'd never ended on a scalp massage before, but once he was done with her neck, finding the hideous knots at the curve to her shoulder, he'd brush her hair away from her face, letting his fingers trail through the strands. It was the time when desire took a back seat to caring, and it was more than a little unsettling.

Finally she couldn't stand it anymore and, one day, when their session was coming to an end, she caught his wrists to still him. Seeing she had his attention, she stretched up, placed her hands on either side of his head, and drew him down to kiss him.

It was awkward and not nearly as sexy as it looked in the first Spiderman movie. But there was a sweetness to it she hadn't anticipated. Wanting more, she shifted onto her stomach and arched up, not paying attention to where the sheet was going.

Now she had a good angle. Now she could slip her tongue between his lips, swallow his moan as his hands dove into her hair, tongue dueling with hers. A kiss she'd intended to be cautious and testing spun out of control, and she tried to drag him closer.

Mmph. Perfect. His mouth was perfect, and just as skillful as his hands. Long, firm strokes into her mouth with his tongue, backing off to nibble at her lips, tiny kisses at the corners until she went after him, greedy for more. Wet, hot, and delicious. Those were Dean's kisses.

Oh. He moved on without prompting to her jaw, nibbling, sucking, licking his way over the delicate line, making her gasp as he suckled the spot under her ear. A spot. Her spot, the one that revved her faster than any other. Especially when he combined it with-

He jerked away, his hand still on her breast, ready to squeeze again. No. It had been good, fantastic, he'd been into it, she knew it, he couldn't stop now. Fuck waiting until she was done with rehab. "Dean?" she whispered.

He slid his hand from her breast down to her waist, kissed her softly. "Can't wait anymore, huh?"

Laughing was the last thing she expected to do, drowning in lust as she was, but laugh she did. "How have you done it all these weeks?"

"Cold showers. Lots of them. When that didn't work, well, my right hand has gotten more of a work out than my left." He tipped his head forward until his forehead rested on hers. "You're my last appointment of the day. Wanna go somewhere? Grab a beer?"