The Therapist's Secret Love

"Wait… sir, I can't…"

While I was performing physical therapy on a patient, the vest I was wearing accidentally tore. In front of the patient's guardian, it exposed my sweat-dampened body.

The man's gaze settled on the soft curves that had sprung free, his eyes dark and unreadable.

When he pressed me against the mirror and made me watch my own reflection—my body left in disarray under his relentless attention—I knew then that everything was about to spiral into an uncontrollable abyss.

My name is Sophia Bennett, and I work as a rehabilitation therapist at a physiotherapy hospital, mainly helping patients with limb issues regain strength and mobility. The city I live in has seen rapid economic growth, and families who can afford high-end rehab centers are usually wealthy, which makes my salary quite substantial.

It was Sunday afternoon. The sun hung high in the sky, and the heat was stifling. I planned to spend a romantic—and wildly passionate—weekend with my husband, so I requested the day off.

I had been married to Jason Mercer for three years. He began pursuing me back in our school days, and shortly after graduating from university, we moved in together and married.

During university, our love burned like wildfire. There were times when passion overtook reason, and we would steal away to empty classrooms, avoiding cameras, where he would wrap me in his arms, his fingers tracing the hem of my uniform, his hot breath pressing against my neck, pinning me against the wall and claiming me with his dominant strength…

But after marriage, our intimacy had dimmed. Today, with no work to occupy me, I slipped into a snug sports vest and ultra-short shorts—thin, sheer, and revealing every curve—and began stretching in the living room, my body outlined and tantalizing. I leaned toward Jason, who sat on the carpet scrolling through his phone.

"Honey… want some?" I teased softly, letting the scent of desire drift toward him. Below, my body had already betrayed me, secreting a sticky heat that had dampened my shorts.

He absentmindedly stroked my hair. "I'm too tired lately… let me rest today." Then he returned to his phone.

That excuse again. This was the fourth time this month he had refused me for the same reason.

Just then, my supervisor called. Vanessa Hart, who was scheduled for physiotherapy today, had to rush her mother to the hospital due to an emergency and couldn't make it. The rehab client she was supposed to see this afternoon had already arrived at the clinic. I needed to cover immediately.

I hesitated for a moment, thinking of my husband's cold indifference, then decided I had no choice but to deal with the day's work.

Time was tight. I threw on my white coat and rushed to the clinic. The heat made me sweat, and by the time I arrived, my back was soaked.

After greeting my supervisor, I hurried to Room 4.

"You must be Mr. Hayes. Sorry to keep you waiting." I panted as I spoke.

He nodded, and I began the session.

His son appeared a little stiff, both in body and movement. I knelt on the mat, gently mobilizing joints, massaging muscles, and guiding stretches to help open his body.

Because of the patient, the room was kept warmer than usual, and I worked with constant effort. In less than half an hour, I was drenched, my thin white coat clinging to every curve.

My vest stuck tightly to my skin, every movement making the fabric brush sensually against me. Overheated, I removed the coat, revealing the home workout outfit underneath.

Sweat had soaked the clothes, tracing every line of my body. More revealing than a bikini, the outfit emphasized my chest and hips. A hint of allure showed through the thin fabric, and on closer inspection, one could make out the dense, neat dark hair below.

"That's it for today's therapy. Your son's condition is improving, but more practice is needed."

I twisted on the mat, lifting my head to meet Mr. Hayes's gaze. My chest bounced with the motion.

His eyes locked on me, and the front of his pants had formed an unmistakable bulge. He cleared his throat, trying to hide it, but his heavy breathing and unrelenting stare betrayed him.

I felt a flush of embarrassment, but underneath it was a guilty thrill: even after years of marriage, my body still held the power to tempt—just like before. I dared not imagine what it would feel like if he were to claim me with that wild, overwhelming intensity…