Page 4 of The Club

I did fuck men while he was still living, but it was always rushed, always in secret. I always paid and never let them look at me. One man I had to kill because he wouldn’t stop trying to catch a glimpse of my face. I’m sure he was a plant.

I try to shut all of that out of my head as I pound out the miles on the treadmill. I hate cardio, but the treadmills offer the best view and I’m less likely to be noticed here. Rafael hasn’t looked this way once. He’s too fixated on his insane workout. Jesus, he’s like a goddamn Border Collie.

He’s sweaty as hell. His dark, wavy hair is scraped back, and his white tank top is soaked. His black warmups hang low on his lean hips.

The annoying thing is, he still looks hot as fuck.

It didn’t surprise me last night. I know what Rafael looks like. He looks like a high-end model, dresses like he’s ready for a photoshoot at any fucking moment, and moves with a powerful, fluid, sexual elegance.

It didn’t bother me (much) that I got hard watching him at Lush, but it did bother me that he brought attention to it.

I want to punish him for that.

But I also want to watch him.

Eventually, however, I hit my limit on the treadmill. I’m not built for endless running.

Lifting weights is out of the question. It would put me too close to him. I decide to go take a shower. I can catch up my weight training at the gym in my building.

Besides, I need to get to work. One of the legit businesses I now run is a construction company. When you have bodies to dispose of, you need something like that. We’ve got a few projects going, and I have to time the pouring of foundations with the cleaning up I need to do of certain crews. I have to weed out any men not fully loyal to me. When my father died, a few cracks started to show.

An upscale gym like this has fully private showers with lockable doors, so I’m pretty relaxed as the warm water rains down on me. I’m semi-hard because my mind is kicking up images of Rafael’s workout. Sometimes, my thoughts wander back to the corset vest he was wearing last night and how I wanted to take my knife and slit the lacing where it pulled tight over his spine.

That’s not the only thing I wanted to cut. He asked what I was imagining for his death. I was imagining him in those intricate ropes with a thousand artful cuts and a beautiful pattern of blood dripping onto the floor. I was imagining my cock deep in his ass through the whole process.

When the door, which I know I locked, clicks and opens, it startles the shit out of me. Ihategetting startled. My father used to do it all the time, trying to catch me doing something gay. I’m pretty good at covering my surprise, so I doubt it shows much, but it still pisses me the hell off. Especially with my cock half hard.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I demand as Rafael closes and locks the door behind him.

When the hell did he spot me?

He drops his towel in the entry space, and steps into the shower. Bare, his body is everything I expected—well proportioned, beautifully lean and muscled. Tattoos climb over his shoulders from his back, slashing geometric designs interwoven with roses.

Last night, I could see that his chest was waxed or lasered or whatever, and now I see he’s bare everywhere. He’s clean tan skin over defined muscle all the way down his abdomen, even past the twisting, geometric tattoo on his lower abs, clear to his bare, hard cock.

Saliva pools under my tongue at the sight of that thick, stiff length. His tip is flared and flushed. Under the base, against his muscled thighs, his balls hang heavy and full.

I want to keep looking. In the two months since my father died, I’ve fucked one man, but habit made me stick to my old rules. Always from behind. No looking. No lingering.

This is actually the first time in my life that I’ve gotten to really look at another aroused man except on a screen. A man I wanted to look at, I mean.

But I can’t let Rafael see how hungry I am for him. No one gets to have that kind of power over me. So I lift my eyes to his face.

We stare at each other. There’s confidence in his stance—he couldn’t have walked in here without it—but no cockiness.Last night, there was plenty of cockiness, but right now his expression is one only of desire, as though he doesn’t mind me knowing that he wants me. His pupils are so dilated they nearly swallow the light gray of his irises. His throat is bruised where I choked him.

My own cock is now hard as fuck, and I have two choices. I can beat the shit out him, or …

“On your knees, bitch, if you want my dick so much.”

His body rocks at my words. His cock twitches upward. Fuck, I like that.

Rafael closes the distance. Without a word, he drops to his knees in front of me.

His head tilts back as he looks up. My body blocks most of the spray, but it still dews on his face. His hair is slicked back, baring every gorgeous inch. I touch his bruised throat.

“Purple looks good on you too.”

At that, the crazy asshole smiles. Then he opens his mouth and swallows me. My eyes roll back.

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