Hammer (Regulators MC 2)

What does all of this do for me? It makes me hard. What does getting hard do for me? Not a damn thing because the only pussy in this condo is untouchable.

I fuck around a lot, but I don’t mix business with pleasure. As she is on my payroll, I don’t need to get either of us into something we can’t untangle ourselves from without collateral damage. Since I can’t pound out my aggression on a pussy, I work out.

This is my newfound past time: working out. It is probably not good to go beyond what Desirae has laid out, but in the seven days she has been here, I have worked out my hand far more than I should. After enough of giving in to my body’s cravings for her in the only way I can, I will push the rest of my body and mind until I can sleep away the days.

I have tried drinking for a distraction, but it only makes me want to go out to my living room and do dirty things to her. If I keep letting myself slip into a drunken stupor, I may give in to my thoughts one night … and I’m not sure Desirae has the same desires as me.

Parking my wheelchair in the middle of the open space in my bedroom, I lock the wheels before dragging my metal walker closer. I positioned it just a while ago in preparation for one of the new exercises Drill Sergeant Bust My Balls has introduced to me. It is supposed to slowly build my muscles, but it also teaches me to be aware of my movements.

A sardonic laugh escapes me at the thought that I now have to “exercise” just to get out of a chair. Some tough guy I am.

Staring at the dull metal in my hands, anger washes through me. Never in my life did I think I would have to use one of these stupid things. Now here I sit with one that has those little yellow tennis balls on the front legs. If anyone saw me with this damn thing, they would probably laugh their ass off.

Using my anger as fuel, I place my hands on the edge of my chair’s arms and grip them tightly. Then I scoot my butt forward to the edge of the seat and slowly lean forward until my nose goes over my toes before I push myself up with my arms and thigh muscles.

Once I am unsteadily on my own two feet, I take one hand off my wheelchair and move it to my walker. Then I follow with my other hand. After standing there for about thirty seconds on my own, I slowly reverse the steps until I am safely seated again.

Shaking my head at the thought of my being reduced to this, I blow out a frustrated breath then do the exercise again. And again.

Somewhere around my eighth repetition, which is where Desirae had me stop yesterday, my legs start to shake, my arms start to burn, and sweat starts dotting my forehead. I refuse to stop, though. I passed Army boot camp, Green Beret training, and war. A wheelchair and the lower half of my body are not going to get the best of me.

I force my body to do six more repetitions before my arms start shaking so badly they can barely hold me up, and my legs feel like overcooked spaghetti.

The logical part of my brain is telling me I should have stopped three repetitions ago. Who the fuck listens to logic, though? Therefore, I force my body to scoot to the end of my seat again. Leaning forward, I once again push up with my arms, and with a grunt and what little strength I have left in my legs, I manage to get one hand on the walker as I stand.

A thrill of victory shoots through me. I told Drill Sergeant Bust My Balls I could do more repetitions yesterday, and she didn’t listen. She just primly told me that I couldn’t push myself too hard, or I might accidentally hurt myself, setting my progress back. Well, good ol’ Bust My Balls can kiss my ass, because here I am, proving her wrong.

Or, at least that’s what I thought until my legs give out from under me, and I lose my balance, tipping the walker over and falling with it. I can’t even get my hands out in front of me to help catch my fall, because they are still wrapped around the handles of the walker. Talk about an epic face plant.

It hurts like hell, too. My muscles are screaming in agony, and there is a sharp pain shooting across my hips and down my left leg. As the pain radiates through my body, a scream of frustration pours out of me, and I punch the floor. About the time I pull back to punch the floor for the second time, my bedroom door flies open, and Desirae rushes to my side.