Page 38 of Judging Duke

I punched and kicked at the bag, muscles straining and burning from the effort. I’d hurt tomorrow, but I didn’t care.

Thump, thump, thump-thump.

Hitting my rhythm, I got lost, the noise from my surroundings becoming a distant buzz. All I could feel was the blood pumping through my veins and my harsh breaths as I pushed myself.

Unsure how long I’d been hitting the bag, I finally stopped, becoming more aware of a few people staring.

Sweat dripped from me, and I ripped open the gloves with my teeth, throwing them to the floor. My eyes stung, and my vision blurred. Someone handed me a towel.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, wiping my face and neck.

“You might want this too.”

Hang on a minute. I recognised that voice.

I hesitated to look or take the offered bottle of water, knowing exactly who I’d see standing in front of me.

“Jesus Christ,” I said, finally looking into Duke’s cocky face.

“Not quite, but if the cap fits.”

CHAPTER NINE

DUKE

Istood watching Simon’s very fine form as he worked the bag. He was godlike in his appearance. Muscles rippling, sweat dripping, wearing barely a stitch of clothing. I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

“Is that the guy from the other night?” Marc asked.

Since moving back to Liverpool, Marc and I had been regular gym buddies. Ziggy hated it, so Marc was more than happy when he found out I loved the gym. Not as much as he did, but I joined him once or twice a week, when time allowed.

“Yeah,” I said quietly, transfixed.

“You’ll trip over your tongue if you’re not careful,” he said, nudging me lightly. “Come on, you’re supposed to be spotting me, not drooling over Mr Fantastic over there.”

Hewasfantastic. There was no denying it. A lot of others seemed to think so too. Men and women alike stopped and stared at the force of nature that was Simon Fletcher.

I refused to call him by his porn name. That was for a different time of day, one where I felt horny as hell. Usually nighttime, when I’d take my cock out, setting a punishing pace, wishing I was the man beneath him or, better still, the one handing him his arse.

I turned to face Marc, tutting at the smirk he wore. “He’s not that special.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Seriously? You’ve not taken your eyes off him since he walked in.”

“I know. I was just admiring his form.”

“Amongst other things.” He nudged me again, a little harder this time. “You can drool on your own time. Spot me.”

I tore my eyes away from Simon, only glancing momentarily to make sure he was still there.

Marc finished his reps and came to stand next to me.

“He’s not bad, I suppose.”

It was my turn to look at him. “Not bad? Not bad?”

“I mean, his form needs some improvement. Maybe I should go have a word.”

“Noooo,” I said, a little too loudly, hoping Simon hadn’t heard.

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