In which Lacrosse Captain Fleur Delacour and recently certified Sports Chiropractor Harry Potter thirst after each other; a study
Harry Potter, 25, was an accomplished pediatric chiropractor, spending his days fixing various vertebral subluxations and other common childhood ailments that require a chiropractor. Recently, due to an uptick of athletes from the local college asking for chiropractic care due to hard hits, falls, sprains, and all other manners of sports-related aches and pains, he decided to branch out to sports chirotherapy.
Fleur Delacour, 22, was a star athlete, the pride and joy of her college, and in desperate need of a chiropractor, lest her lower back pain prevents her from making it to regionals with her team.
Walking into exam room number 7, she didn’t expect the doctor to be so young, and more importantly, so damn hot. Standing there with his too-green eyes, tousled black hair, and a buttoned-up shirt that’s just tight enough around his arms to show defined biceps. Knowing that his hands were going to be all over her in the name of Chirotherapy did nothing to ease the roiling heat settling below her stomach. His charming smile and shy demeanor didn’t help any either.
When he looked up from her file in exam room number 7, he didn’t expect her to be Aphrodite incarnate. Long, wavy blonde hair, crystal blue eyes, and It looked like she had just come in from practice, with too-short shorts and a simple mesh jersey over a sports bra all that she was wearing, showing off a sinful amount of skin. He couldn’t help but steal a glance at her long legs, what seemed like miles of creamy thigh that said shorts failed to even come close to covering up. Just thinking about putting his hands anywhere near her made him uncomfortably hot under the collar. Glancing at her hips, knowing he’d need to hold her there while realigning her lower third lumbar vertebrae made everything so much worse. But he could do this. He was a professional. It wasn’t like he was going to throw her down and have his wicked way with her on the exam table. That would throw her spine into all sorts of misalignment.
Feeling his hands on her hips, the constant adjustments, his hands sliding down her legs and he pushed them towards her chest, it was a wonder that her wetness hadn’t seeped through her shorts and onto the exam table. It was wrong, it was unethical, and it was oh so sinfully pleasurable. It was cute, in a way, watching his pupils dilate the more skin contact they had, watching his face flush with what was clearly arousal, the way his eyes couldn’t decide if they liked the look of her legs, chest, or eyes more, but If he didn’t get his hands off of her soon, she might end up flipping him onto the table and tearing off that slightly too tight button-up, among other articles of clothing.