Free Filthy for the Night (For The Night #3) by C.J. Fallowfield Page A

energy,’ he smiled. I laughed, still finding it
amazing that an ex-marine was scared of a couple of toddlers.
    Forty minutes later we arrived at The Royal London
Hospital and another three hours later I came out on crutches, in a plaster cast,
having sustained a simple fracture. I wasn’t best pleased, that was going to
fuck up my forthcoming appointments on the sexual front, for eight to twelve
weeks. I had a seriously busy day ahead of me in trying to reorganise all of
those. It had also been rather embarrassing explaining that I’d sustained my
injury dropping off a first floor balcony. I silently cursed Yasmin for ever
having suggested we go back to hers. I should have known better. James helped
me into my loft style apartment and made me laugh by insisting I immediately
take more painkillers and settled me into my large sofa with my foot raised on
a footstool and made me a black coffee, which he handed to me along with a
bottle of water and a glass, then went to prepare a large cooked breakfast for
me. I insisted he do it for the two of us, it was the least I could offer. We
sat on the sofa and ate together, before he cleared up for me.
    ‘Right, I’d better leave. Will you be ok today,
Sir?’
    ‘I’ll be fine, thanks. I just need to do some
reorganising then I’ll take some painkillers and get to bed for some well
overdue sleep.’
    ‘I’ll come and call on you daily. If you need any
food shopping done, just let me know and I can pick it up and bring it around.
Don’t get up,’ he warned as he saw me struggling to sit up properly. ‘I can see
myself out.’
    ‘James, what would I do without you?’ I smiled
sincerely. ‘You’re a life saver.’
    ‘Maybe you could award me another medal, Sir. No
weight on that ankle. I’ll come over tomorrow at about ten o’clock if that
suits?’
    ‘Perfect, thank you.’ I watched him leave and
sighed, rubbing my hands over my face. My stubble was already growing, but I
couldn’t even be bothered to get up to shave. I took out my phone and deleted Yasmin’s
file, then constructed a carefully worded email, in case tonight’s events had
left her husband feeling a little paranoid. Ian already had a personal training
website set up for me, to which the Logan Steele email address was linked, so
if he did find it and tried to trace me, it would look perfectly legitimate,
while making it quite clear to Yasmin that I wouldn’t be taking any further
requests from her.
    Dear Yasmin,
    I wanted to thank you for all your assistance
in helping me get my venture off the ground a few years ago. I’ve thoroughly
enjoyed getting to know you and helping improve your flexibility and stamina.
Sadly, as my client list is rapidly growing, I find that I’m in a position
where I need to prioritise those who are in need of the most assistance. Given
the last few years spent with you, we have pretty much covered all bases, so I
believe that you’ve reached your goal and you’re ready to go it alone, without
any further assistance from me. You’ve reached the pinnacle of what you were
trying to achieve when we first started and I’m happy that I was able to assist
with that in some small way, but I can’t see what more I can offer you. Keep
your sessions going, practice certainly does make perfect. With my eternal
gratitude and best wishes. Logan.
    I pressed send and blocked her email address, then
deleted it from my records. Yasmin was on her own moving forward with her
ventures into finding the ultimate filthy experience to satisfy her needs, I definitely
wasn’t the man for that job anymore. I sighed as I wondered how many times
she’d try and contact me to try and talk me out of my decision, or to book me
again, and wondered if Summer had tried to contact me since our booking last
week. I could never see myself getting tired of her. I wondered if I’d been too
rash blocking her email. Would seeing her again really hurt? I nearly laughed
as I heard myself ask that question in