Page 41 of Encounter

“Want me to touch you?” His honeyed tone and bedroom eyes made my cock twitch. Panicking, I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. “Fight back, and I’ll do it,” Chast whispered into my ear with complete, utter control—he knew what he was doing. He knew what he was doing to me. “You’re not feelin’ fear right now, so use it and fight back. Come on!”

A jolt of energy came shooting through my chest, and I used it to push myself away from the wall.

He released his grip and I stumbled backwards, nearly falling over. Catching my breath, I stared at him, a few steps away from me as he gave me a devilish smile. My face ached, and my wrists pulsed with pain, his touch still lingering. All I could think about was the heat, the burning in my face as if he was still next to me, breathing it in.

“Well, well. Youcando it,” he noted and lifted his chin as he rolled his lips together.He’s enjoying this!“Was about to lose my patience with you.” I sat for a moment, still trying to get over what happened—and praying for my boner to go away. Seemingly finally noticing how shaken up I was, Chast drew his brows together and stepped toward me with a sigh. “Come on, I only wanted to show you. What you felt just now, in that split second, that’s what you gotta bring for this to work.”

He held his arm out to help me get up.

I hesitated, unsure if I was ready to meet his skin again. My cheeks still burned—I must’ve looked like an idiot. Instead of taking his hand, I managed to get myself back on my feet by myself, to Chast’s amusement.

As I straightened my back and glanced at him, I felt like an even bigger idiot. He was standing there, probably laughing at me in his head, while I barely managed to calm myself down... down there. “I don’t want you to do th-that again.” Clearing my throat to try and at least sound a little more confident, I hoped he wasn’t going to hit me with ‘there won’t be any next time’ or something like that.

“I won’t,” he said firmly, lifting his palms to me. Still, the way he was so chipper and calm about it still made my stomach twirl. “Was apparently the only way to pull you out of your head, though.”

More and more confused, I frowned. “You’re... not gay.”

“‘Course I’m not,” Chast scoffed with a confused frown, like me acknowledging the unreal sexual tension he seemed to enjoy seconds ago was completely unreasonable. “This is nothin’ but some friendly support,” he said, raising one of his brows.

That doesn’t help me understand anything.

“Doesn’t matter. I— I’ll try more. Without fear,” I added, nodding to reaffirm to myself.

Right away, Chast walked back to the heavy bag and turned to me with a satisfied grin, ready to continue like nothing happened. He wasn’t in his right mind. But neither was I—I called him.

Even though my wrist still ached as I made slow, shaky steps toward the bag and my heart hadn't eased back into its normal tempo, there was a strange, fuzzy sensation lingering on the bottom of my stomach. Whatever he did, whatever his unorthodox, uncomfortable practices, it... somehow worked.

I was ready to try and give it my all this time.

?

So, our training continued.

One evening after another, I pushed myself and went. Even when my strength didn’t improve much between them, even when Chast seemed to be running out of patience. Time and time again, he corrected me, fixed my form and stood there even when my blows were hurting me more than the bag.

I hoped I was improving, and only couldn’t see it because of how close I was.My excessive self-criticism probably didn’t help, either.

The dinner with my grandparents got postponed—thank god. I knew how crappy I was going to feel after it, so not having to worry about it and only focusing on studying and our little sessions was exactly what I needed.

Chast kept pushing me further and further. When I couldn’t go anymore and wanted the session to end, he sat me down, and while I caught my breath, he showed me some more of the techniques himself. I almost suspected he enjoyed the attention—the way I looked at him when he stood above me, flexing his muscles and showing his skills, only for our eyes to meet and me to face away in shame.

Then, we would always get back to work, making me hit the bag again and again and again, until my lungs burned. Sometimes, I even enjoyed the sensation...

Every time Chast did a job the same day or right before our training, it seemed like no matter what I did, he would lose his patience much quicker. There was always something cold coming out of his eyes—something dangerous and unpredictable that unsettled me. Those days, he would always raise his voice and make me worry he’d step over my boundaries.

One time, after skipping a session, I sat in his car as he was about to take us to the gym, and I saw the dried blood on his shirt. Hostile, unpleasant energy radiated out of him.

I wanted to back off. I wanted to run away. My instincts told me to be terrified of him, and I was, wondering what sorts of things he did. Who he killed, maimed, or tortured. But I was getting better—mentally, physically… For the first time in forever, I had some semblance of growth, and things were going well, so I stayed.

What I got was being pinned to the ground after the first ten minutes, when Chast didn’t like my improper stance. We ended early, and the next time we saw each other, he was milder again. Apologetic. Genuine. Back to his regular, sarcastic old self—playful, fleeting innuendos and all.

Nothing nice ever lasts, though... I learned that a long time ago.

Having to finish an assignment for Blake and two of his friends on top of that—and trying to do my own in a way for it to be clear they weren’t all done by the same person—the exam the next day slipped my mind. As a result, my grade wasn’t satisfactory to the standard my father held me to.

Being more than attentive to one and only thing—my achievements, or lack thereof—when I came home that day, he was already waiting for me in the dining room. Seeing him sit there, fingers tapping against the glass table, made my heart sink.

He left office for this? Shit.

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