The rehabilitation clinic was a sterile box of misery, all white walls and humming fluorescent lights that buzzed like a dying insect. The faint tang of antiseptic clung to the air, and the only view was a dreary parking lot through a smudged window, where a lone, sad sedan sat under a gray sky. Katya pushed through the glass door with her good hand, her left one cradled against her chest in a makeshift sling of spite and stubbornness. Her coccyx throbbed with every step—a cruel reminder of her graceless tumble down a flight of stairs two weeks ago. She was already pissed off, not just at the pain, but at the sheer indignity of needing someone to fix her. Katya didn’t do helpless. She did control. And right now, she was itching to claw it back.
The receptionist, a mousy woman with a clipboard, barely looked up as Katya announced herself with a curt, “Katya Volkov. Here to get my hand and ass back in working order. Let’s not waste my time.”
A few minutes later, she was ushered into a small treatment room that smelled like rubber gloves and broken dreams. She perched on the edge of the examination table, her sharp green eyes scanning the room for anything to distract from the ache in her lower back. That’s when he walked in.
Dr. Ivan—or so the name tag on his too-tight polo shirt declared—sauntered in with the kind of smug grin that screamed, *I’m God’s gift to physiotherapy and your panties.* He was tall, with slicked-back hair and a jawline that probably got him laid on weekends, but his eyes had a glint of something sleazy, like he was mentally undressing her before even saying hello. Katya’s lip curled. She’d dealt with men like him before. They were all bravado until you cut them down to size.
“Well, well, Miss Volkov,” Ivan drawled, flipping through her chart with an exaggerated flick of his wrist. “A fall, huh? Left hand sprained, possible coccyx fracture. That’s a delicate area to injure. Lucky for you, I’ve got very… skilled hands.”
Katya raised an eyebrow, her voice dripping with disdain. “Oh, I’m sure you do, Doctor. What’s next? You gonna tell me you’ve got a magic wand in your pants to fix me right up?”
Ivan chuckled, unfazed, setting the chart down and stepping closer. Too close. “Feisty. I like that. Makes the job more… entertaining. Let’s start with that hand. May I?”
She extended her injured hand with a sigh, her gaze locked on him like a hawk watching prey. “Touch me like a professional, not like you’re trying to cop a feel at a dive bar, got it?”
His fingers brushed over her wrist, lingering just a second too long as he tested her range of motion. “Relax, sweetheart. I’m just getting a feel for the damage. You’ve got some swelling here. How’s the pain?”
“Sweetheart?” Katya snorted, yanking her hand back just enough to make him pause. “Call me that again, and I’ll show you pain with my good hand straight to your pretty little face. It’s tolerable. Hurts when I move it too much. Can we skip the pet names and get to the part where you actually help me?”
Ivan smirked, his eyes glinting with something that wasn’t entirely professional. “Fair enough, Katya. I’ll behave. For now. Let’s move to the coccyx. I’ll need you to stand and turn around. I’ve got to palpate the area to assess the injury.”
She narrowed her eyes, sensing the shift in his tone. “Palpate. Right. That’s a fancy way of saying you’re gonna grope my ass, isn’t it? Fine. But if your hands wander anywhere they shouldn’t, I’ll make sure you’re the one needing rehab.”
Turning slowly, she braced herself against the table, her jaw tight. Ivan stepped behind her, his presence looming as his hands hovered near her lower back. “Just relax,” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave. “I’m a professional. I know exactly where to touch.”
His fingers pressed into the base of her spine, and while the initial contact was clinical, they soon drifted lower, lingering over the curve of her hip in a way that screamed anything but medical necessity. Katya’s spine stiffened, not from pain, but from the sheer audacity of this creep.
“Excuse me, Casanova,” she snapped, whipping her head around to glare at him. “Is my coccyx suddenly located on my left cheek, or are you just taking the scenic route? Because I’m pretty sure I didn’t sign up for a full-body massage.”
Ivan’s hands froze, but the smirk didn’t leave his face. “Just making sure I’m thorough, Katya. Wouldn’t want to miss anything. You’re a… complicated case.”
“Oh, I’m complicated, alright,” she shot back, stepping away from his touch and turning to face him, arms crossed. “But not in the way you’re hoping. Let’s get one thing straight, Doc. My ass isn’t your personal playground. You’re here to fix me, not feel me up. So, unless you’ve got a legitimate medical reason to be that handsy, keep your paws to yourself before I file a complaint with a side of knuckle sandwich.”
For a moment, Ivan looked caught off guard, his smug facade flickering. But then he recovered, leaning against the counter with a cocky tilt of his head. “Alright, alright. I hear you. No need to get hostile. I’m just trying to make this as… comfortable as possible. Some patients appreciate a personal touch.”
Katya laughed, a sharp, cutting sound. “Comfortable? The only thing getting personal here is how close my foot’s about to get to your crotch if you don’t cut the crap. Let’s try this again. You tell me what exercises I need to do for my hand and back, and I’ll decide if I need your ‘personal touch’ or if I can handle it solo. Deal?”
Ivan raised his hands in mock surrender, though the glint in his eye told her he wasn’t done testing her boundaries. “Deal. You’re the boss, Katya. For now. Let’s start with some basic hand stretches. I’ll show you, and I promise to keep my hands where you can see ‘em.”
She smirked, sitting back on the table with a predatory glint of her own. “Good boy. See? Wasn’t so hard to behave, was it? Now, dazzle me with your medical expertise before I decide to rehabilitate your ego instead.”
The rest of the session passed with a tense undercurrent, every instruction from Ivan met with a barbed quip from Katya. She wasn’t about to let him think he had the upper hand, not for a second. But beneath the sharp exchanges and her iron-clad control, there was a flicker of something else—a dangerous, electric charge that neither of them could quite ignore. Whether it was irritation or something more primal, Katya wasn’t sure. But one thing was certain: Dr. Ivan wasn’t going to get the better of her. Not today, not ever.
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