Chapter 8: Examining The Injury

I was on edge for the next two days. But the disaster I'd been bracing for never came. Life went on as usual. I spent my days holed up at home, snooping on Marlee's phone and computer, or heading out to look for a job. Occasionally, I'd run into Ezra downstairs or in the neighborhood; he'd greet me with a smile. But whenever Marlee saw me, though, she looked like she'd seen a ghost, wouldn't say a word, and went out of her way to avoid me. I let out a breath. She hadn't told her husband about what happened between us, and she hadn't called the cops. Maybe Marlee was worried I'd spill her secrets, too. Still, the way she acted left me feeling pretty low. That night, I hacked into her computer again. No new diary entries. With nothing else to do, I poked around in her stash of erotic stories. Some were pretty good, others forgettable, but they all had one thing in common: the main characters were either single or divorced women. If there were married women, they only messed around with their husbands, never with anyone else. So even with her choice of stories, Marlee was pretty conservative. Same with her diary. Even after the assault, most of her writing was about her guilt over betraying her husband and her own misery. Her body had reacted, sure, but she was too ashamed to admit it, too afraid to face it. She saw those feelings as shameful and gross. If I wanted to get to Marlee physically and mentally, I had to change that mindset first. My desire started ramping up again. After thinking it over for ages, I came up with a plan. I downloaded a bunch of erotic stories online-first-person, from a woman's point of view. The leads were all married women who loved their husbands, but the plots were wild cheating scenarios: affairs with bosses, with students, with strangers, even with homeless men. Then I swapped out the stories in her downloads folder with these. It took hours, and I worked until dawn, replacing all the text in her files. On the surface, her books looked the same, but inside, I'd switched out every storyline. And I didn't need to worry about Marlee catching on. Erotic stories are just entertainment-nobody treats them like classics or remembers them word for word. You read one on a whim and forget it a couple of days later. Even if Marlee noticed something off, she'd never guess someone had tampered with her computer. When I finished, I let out a long breath. I'd pulled an all-nighter and was wiped out. But it was worth it. Now I'd just have to wait for these stories to spark something in Marlee. The next few days, we didn't interact at all. But around 11 p.m. on the third day, the computer I was watching came to life. She actually opened her novel folder and clicked on a short story called "Beautiful Times with My Husband." I got excited. I'd already swapped that one out for a story about a married woman hooking up with a taxi driver. But she closed the file after barely two minutes. She probably hadn't expected the content not to match the title at all. She opened a few more stories, closing each one within a couple of minutes. Clearly, Marlee wasn't ready for such hardcore plots. She shut down the computer. I sighed. This was going too slowly. I'd just have to let her get used to it. But then, at midnight, her computer came to life again. She quickly found the novel folder and opened "Beautiful Times with My Husband." Since I'm a night owl, I was watching a movie at the time, so I saw the whole thing. I was thrilled. This time, she was really reading. She left it open for ten minutes. I couldn't see Marlee's face or what she was doing, but I could picture it: at first, shocked by the wild content; then denial, shutting the computer, tossing and turning in bed; finally, giving in and reopening the story, trying to get used to it. Before I knew it, half an hour had passed. She still hadn't closed the file and kept scrolling down. When she finished that story, she immediately opened another. She read that one for a long time, finally finishing around 1 a.m. Then she shut down the computer. Inside, I was thrilled. At this rate, she'd be on board with these stories in no time. For the next few days, Marlee turned on her computer every night at the same time to read erotic stories, staying up late. She seemed hooked. I could tell her attitude was shifting. Time to think about my next move. I regretted going too fast that drunken night, not taking things slow. Because of that, Marlee hadn't said a word to me all week. I had to make it up to her and get back on her good side. Just when I was running out of ideas, I caught a lucky break. Monday evening, after dinner downstairs, I was heading home when, before I even got inside, a scream rang out from upstairs. "Ah!" A woman's voice. I looked up just in time for a bucket of cold water to come crashing down from above. Through the spray, I saw a graceful figure in pink. The icy deluge hit me like a flash flood, totally catching me off guard. Panicking, I tried to dodge, but I slipped and went down and ended up drenched like a drowned rat, slamming something sharp between my thighs. The pain made me yelp. "I'm sorry! Are you… are you okay?" the woman upstairs called down. Lying there, hurting, I recognized Marlee's voice right away. "I'm… fine," I said, craning my neck up to the third-floor balcony and gritting my teeth against the pain. "Wait for me, I'll be right down." Marlee hurried inside. I felt around and found a sharp rock. Some brat must've dumped a big rock by the building entrance. Weirdly, the water didn't smell bad at all-it smelled like body wash and perfume. My heart skipped. Was this Marlee's bathwater? But why would Marlee bathe with a bucket and dump the water outside? I was still puzzling over it when Marlee appeared in a pink dress with a little black cardigan over it. I scrambled to my feet. My groin hurt like hell, but luckily my junk was okay. Marlee came over to steady me, looking at my soaked clothes and apologizing nonstop. I'd been miserable about Marlee freezing me out, but this twist had her coming over, apologizing nonstop. I was secretly pleased. Sure, I was drenched, but it was worth it. "You didn't do it on purpose. It's fine, really," I said, wincing. "Let me help you upstairs." Marlee insisted on helping me, apparently forgetting all about my drunken assault. I ended up pressed against Marlee, feeling her warm, soft body. Her small, delicate hand gripped my arm. Even through my T-shirt, I could feel that cool, silky feel. Marlee didn't notice my face, too wrapped up in guilt as she helped me up the stairs. Once we got inside, she asked, "Where are you hurt? Let me see-I'm a nurse, I can take care of it." I started getting worked up. I'd be a fool to miss this chance. "I'm really fine," I said, but I put on a more pained look. Honestly, my groin did hurt. I was just exaggerating my expression a little, though. Seeing me wince, Marlee started blaming herself again, "It's all my fault for dumping water outside. I didn't want to. The bathroom drain's clogged, and I was worried the toilet would back up, so I had to dump my bathwater outside. I checked and thought nobody was there, but then I accidentally hit you. I'm so sorry." "So it was bathwater; no wonder it smelled nice," I blurted out. Privately, I thought: If I'd known it was your bathwater, I wouldn't have minded drinking it. My comment made Marlee's face turn bright red. She seemed to remember what I'd done to her, lowered her head, and hesitated. "Why don't you… shower first, then I'll check the injury?" "Sorry to put you out," I replied. "It's the least I can do." Then I limped into the bathroom, stripped down, and showered. That's when I saw the bruised and turning purple spot on my groin, with a long bloody scratch. My underwear was stained red. Even the slightest touch made me hiss in pain. I was pretty annoyed. If I'd known it was Marlee's bathwater, would I have been so eager that I got hurt? But with her waiting outside, about to check my injury, I started getting worked up again. I hurried through my shower, careful to avoid the wound, then came out wearing just my underwear. Marlee was waiting on the sofa. When she saw me, she jumped up, cheeks flushed. I faked embarrassment. "Marlee, sorry to put you out. If this is awkward, I can put on more clothes." "You're hurt on your leg. To treat it, you'll have to undress anyway. It's fine." I sat in the armchair next to her, spotting a medical kit on the coffee table. She must've grabbed it while I was showering. Sitting there in my underwear, even with a sofa between us, I could smell her subtle, elegant scent. Her skin was fair and delicate, legs pressed modestly together under her dress-very ladylike. But from what I'd seen on her computer, I knew what she craved. My body reacted, slowly tenting my underwear. Noticing, Marlee's face went even redder. She hesitated, clearly unsure whether to check my injury. I quickly put on a more pained look. "How are you feeling? Pull your pants up a bit so I can see," Marlee said, concerned as she stood up. "This… isn't really appropriate. Maybe I should just go to the hospital tomorrow," I said, pretending to resist. "I'm a nurse. It'd be the same as going to the hospital. I caused your injury-please, pull them up so I can see. It's fine." I nodded, watching her sit down next to me. Now we were just inches apart. Her elbow brushed my arm, cool, smooth, and it sent a jolt through me. I gingerly pulled my underwear up, not daring to go too far. When she saw the bruising and blood, she frowned. "A bit higher." "Higher?" I asked, feigning surprise, though inside, I was thrilled. So I pulled them up more. Marlee definitely noticed my physical response, surprise flickering in her eyes. I didn't know what her husband had going on, but mine was… sizable. Probably why she was surprised. "Why don't you… take off your underwear? The scratch is pretty long-I can't bandage it properly like this," Marlee said, after hesitating, face flushed. I could tell she'd been unsure before saying it. "You don't mind?" I looked at her. "I caused your injury. From a medical standpoint, you're just a patient. It's fine." "Alright then." I took a deep breath, trying to tamp down my excitement, and slipped off my underwear. My dick sprang free, rock hard. Her eyes were glued to it. She stared for several seconds until I cleared my throat and snapped her back to reality. Her face got even redder as she looked away, instinctively asking if it hurt. I grimaced and said I could manage. Marlee said, "Let me check first to make sure you didn't pull anything or crack a bone." Finally, she looked again, her pretty eyes fixed on my groin. It was like she'd made up her mind. She reached out, slowly moving her hand toward my thigh. My heart was pounding as her delicate hand touched the base of my thigh. The mix of pain and stimulation made me gasp. "I'm sorry," Marlee said, surprised at my reaction, and quickly pulled her hand back. "It's fine, really," I managed. "Can you… make it go down? I can't check the wound like this." Obviously, my hard-on, freed from my underwear, was blocking her view. "I can't control it." I hadn't expected her to say that. After a beat, I answered, embarrassed. Marlee looked again, her expression turning determined, like she'd made another big decision. She reached out again. I shivered as her cool, smooth, delicate hand gripped me. The sensation almost made me cry out. Then I realized her intent. She was moving my dick aside, lowering her head to check the injury. But I could feel her breathing quick and shallow, and her hand trembled slightly. Even though she kept a straight face, her tense posture showed she was just as nervous as I was. We were practically pressed together. Her smooth, pale thighs brushed my knees, and I could smell her scent mixed with body wash. Bent over, from my angle, I could see the swell of her chest and a stretch of pale skin-enough to make my head swim, stirring another powerful urge inside me…