Four

DAMON

I saw red the moment I spotted them.

That worthless asshole had his hand wrapped tightly around Cassy’s wrist. The girl I’d fucked senseless in Vegas just one week ago.

I pulled away from Lila without a word and strode straight toward them. The hallway went quiet. Players, coaches, and staff stepped aside, nodding at me with respect. As captain of the Los Angeles Kings, they always did.

“Get your fucking hands off her,” I said, voice cold and low.

Jake turned, still gripping her wrist. “Who the hell are you?”

I stopped right beside Cassy, towering over him. My jaw clenched as I chewed my gum slowly.

“Let her go before I break your arm.” I growled.

Jake’s face twisted. He finally released her wrist and stepped back. “What’s your problem, man?”

I gave him a dangerous smirk. “Touch her again and you’ll find out.”

Jake shot me a bitter look before walking away. Cassy rubbed her sore wrist, looking stunned by how aggressively I had intervened.

The rest of the day was filled with curious glances and whispers.

People were wondering why I was so protective of the new physiotherapist.

*****.

By afternoon, it was time for my scheduled recovery session.

I walked into the physio room and found Cassy already there, preparing the treatment table. She wore her team polo shirt and black slacks, looking professional but still ridiculously tempting. Her cheeks were slightly pink—probably from the earlier scene with Jake.

She didn’t look at me immediately.

“Take off your shirt and lie down,” she said in a clipped, professional tone.

I smirked, slowly pulling my compression shirt over my head, revealing my tattooed chest and shoulders. I caught her eyes flicking over my body for a second before she looked away.

“Something wrong, sis?” I asked mockingly as I lay face down on the table.

“Don’t call me that here,” she muttered under her breath.

I turned my head to the side, watching her. “Okay….Pinky.”

Cassy poured some oil onto her hands and approached me. The moment her warm, soft hands touched my injured shoulder, electricity shot through my body. Her fingers began working on the tight muscles with firm, skilled pressure.

I let out a low groan. “Fuck… that feels good.”

“Stay still,” she said sternly, trying to keep her voice steady.

Her hands moved expertly over my shoulder and upper back, pressing into the sore spots. Every touch sent heat straight to my cock. I was painfully aware of how close she was, how good she smelled, how perfectly her hands felt on my skin.

“You’re tense,” she whispered, almost to herself.

“No shit,” I replied, voice rough. “Hard not to be when the girl I want to fuck is touching me every day.”

“Damon,” she warned, pressing harder on a knot, making me hiss.

I chuckled darkly. “You promised my dad and your mom you’d help me recover. This is part of the job, right?”

She stayed quiet, focusing on her work, but I could feel her hands trembling slightly. The tension between us was thick enough to cut with a knife.

After a few minutes, she moved to my side, working on the front of my shoulder. I turned onto my back and stared up at her. Our eyes met. Her face was flushed, lips slightly parted.

“You’re good at this,” I said quietly, no longer mocking. “Your hands feel fucking perfect.”

She froze. “Stop it. Lila will see us and will beat me.”

I let out a low, arrogant laugh, but said nothing about who Lila really was. I let her keep assuming Lila was my girlfriend.

Cassy’s face turned even redder. She quickly pulled her wrist away and stepped back.

For a moment, neither of us moved. The physio room was silent except for our breathing.

Her eyes dropped to my lips, then back to my eyes. The same hunger I felt was mirrored in her gaze.

But then she pulled her wrist away and stepped back.

“Session’s over,” she said, voice slightly shaky. “You can put your shirt back on.”

I sat up slowly, muscles still buzzing from her touch. I didn’t put my shirt on immediately. Instead, I stood close to her, looking down at her flushed face.

“Thanks for the treatment… my pinky sister,” I whispered with a dark smirk.

She shot me a glare, but her cheeks turned even pinker.

She turned away quickly, pretending to organize her equipment.

I leaned back against the treatment table, watching her move around the room with exaggerated focus. Every motion seemed carefully controlled, as if she were determined not to look at me again. The problem was that her attempts to ignore me only made the situation more entertaining.

“You know,” I said casually, “most physiotherapists don’t look personally offended when their patients thank them.”

“I’m not offended,” she replied without turning around.

“Really? Because you sound offended.”

She let out a slow breath and finally faced me. “I sound annoyed.”

She checked a few notes on her tablet, clearly trying to regain control of the conversation. “How does your shoulder feel now?”

“Better.”

“Any pain during rotation?” she asked.

“A little.”

“Any instability?”

“Not really," I answered.

She nodded and typed something into the file.

“There,” she said. “That’s all I needed.”

I watched her for a moment before speaking. “What if I’m the one who needs you?”

Her fingers froze above the screen.

Slowly, she looked up. “That’s not funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to be funny.” The lie was obvious. The corner of my mouth twitched into a grin.

A week ago, she had been a stranger. Just a beautiful woman I met in Las Vegas, someone who turned an ordinary night into a memory I couldn't stop replaying in my head.

Now, because of a twist neither of us could have predicted, she was my stepsister.

That reality should have made things easier.

It should have been enough to shut down every dangerous thought the moment it appeared.

Instead, it only made them harder to ignore.