Page 103 of 4th Degree

Finally, he sighs and lets me into his thoughts. “Okay, fine, probably not today. I need to figure out the best way to tell Tristan and Jax. But…do I want to stop hiding you in my house and sneaking around the gym? Yes.” He gives me a possessive look. “Do I want to hold your hand in public and make it clear that you’re mine? Also, yes.”

The warmth of love entwines with the heat of passion, filling every corner of my body and turning into an overwhelming need for this man. In every sense. Physically, emotionally, spiritually, all of it.

I place my mug on the nightstand so I can slide my leg over Dominic’s and settle in his lap, my arms winding around his neck to pull myself as close as possible. I want everything he’s saying, but I also know there are enough things at risk and that we need to be careful. “Are you sure?” I ask quietly. “This will change a lot.”

His hands settle on my waist, and I’m relieved when he takes a few moments to think about the question again. But I’m not surprised when he says, “I’m sure. Because I realized yesterday that it killed me when I couldn’t pull you into my arms when you got hurt, or kiss you when they put the gold medal around your neck. I hate hiding you away, Skylar—you don’t deserve it, but also, I don’t want to. I want you with me. I want you as mine. I don’t care about what anyone else thinks.”

I can only stare at him. This is huge, and he’s making the first step, because he feels this too.

“We don’t need to decide anything today, I just wanted to put it out there,” he interrupts my thoughts. And I realize I haven’t given him an answer, I’ve just been staring at him.

“I want that too,” I rush to tell him. “I want to tell people. I want to tell everyone.”

The smile that stretches across his face is blinding. And then he’s kissing me, showing me every ounce of his happiness, his adoration—maybe even his love.

34

DOMINIC

When Monday morning comes around, I’m still stuck in the haze of the weekend. Normally, I’m up early so I can get to the weightlifting gym for a session before I have to teach the pros class at noon. I’ve always made sure I start my week off on a proactive, productive tract, so Mondays have always been busy.

Looking back, I think part of me was running from the loneliness of the weekend.

Today, though, I don’t want to rush to the gym. I want to spend the last few hours before the week starts remembering my time with Skylar. I even slept in this morning just so I could spend a few extra moments soaking in her scent that she left on my sheets.

She wants me. She wants more.

I feel the millionth smile lift my lips at the thought. The usual terror—at the thought of a relationship, or at the thought of making this a relationship—doesn’t come.

By 10 a.m., I can’t keep procrastinating with memories of Skylar’s taste, or the look on her face when I said I wanted to tell people about us. I have to get to the gym and be a functioning human being again.

I’m grabbing my keys and donning my coat when I realize I never took my phone off Do Not Disturb after Skylar left.

The second I switch off the setting, my phone starts pinging with alerts. Calls, text messages, notifications across multiple social media sites… My phone blows up.

I don’t even know where to start. I rarely get texts, and my social media presence for the gym is meager. I have no idea what could spur notifications like these.

I settle on my text messages. I see Tristan’s and Jax’s names at the top, so I click on Tristan’s first.

Tristan: Call me ASAP

Jax’s is slightly wordier.

Jax: Coach, call me AS SOON as you get this. Don’t check socials, just call me or Tristan. It’s an emergency.

So, of course, I click over to Instagram.

It’s riddled with comment notifications and tags. My stomach had already started filling with dread, but the second before I click the first notification, it eats up my whole body, too.

The gym is tagged in a picture of Skylar winning her gold medal over the weekend by the tournament organization. Underneath it, there are over twenty comments already.

Is this the gym that’s run by that creepy instructor?

I heard she’s one of his older girls. He probably likes them underage.

So do you think he fucked her before or after she won the gold medal?

Bile fills my throat. My head spins, and I have to grab onto the back of the couch to keep from collapsing.

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