Page 95 of Billion Dollar Mistake

“So you’re going to watch me for the next ten minutes?”

“Yeah. Even though I don’t like the way guys keep looking at you.”

“They are?” I scan the gym but see no prying eyes.

“Yeah, and it’s bothering me. You look so sexy right now.”

I scrunch up my face. “You’re delusional. I’m all sweaty and gross.”

He softly shakes his head. “No. You're half naked and flushed. Like, I’ve just fucked you for hours.”

My mouth parts. “Oh.”

“Yeah. So all the guys here are looking at you. I can’t blame them, but it doesn't mean I don't want to gouge their eyes out. And fuck. This place is dodgy too.”

I hesitate. “What’s wrong with this place?”

It’s not like I don’t know, but I don’t want to say I can’t afford any better. I don’t want him offering to pay for a commercial gym. If I can’t afford it, I don’t need it.

His eyes survey the peeling cream paint, stains on the floor, and other signs of neglect.

“Definitely a few imperfections.”

“You mean a massive O H & S issue,” he grunts.

I peel off the wraps, wincing as the material clings to the re-opened wounds, forcing me to rip it off.

“Look at your hands,” he says, grabbing them to inspect the damage. “They’re worse than the night with Eddie.”

I shrug. “Yeah, happens every time.”

“It must hurt.”

“After a couple of hits on the bag, I can’t feel them.”

He looks up, holding my gaze. I see the wheels turning in his mind, but he remains silent.

“What?” I push, wanting to know his thoughts.

“It seems like you want the pain.” His voice is low and pained.

He’s right. It takes away from the pain my dad’s diagnosis causes. But I don’t want to ruin the moment by getting into the heavy details of it right now, so I shrug and then exhale heavily.

He unexpectedly pulls me into his chest, wrapping his arms around me and kissing the top of my head. “If you need to talk, I’m here.”

I absorb the slow, steady beat of his heart in my ear, my own heartbeat syncing with his after the workout.

I can never get enough of him. Every touch reaffirms how much I need him. How much I desire him.

“Thank you,” I mumble into his chest.

He understands me, offering what I need without me asking. He knows me better than I know myself.

“Let me walk you to your car,” he offers.

Crap…not again.

“Don’t judge it,” I warn.

---