Page 29 of Beautifully Conflicted

“There’s like twelve other stalls in here. Pick one that isn’t right next to me.”

“Then I’d have to shout over all the noise and that’s just stupid.”

Bennet shakes his head, flinging excess water from the spiky strands of his damp hair, and sending a few stray drops flowing down his chiseled jaw. “Not as stupid as trying to get my girlfriend to cheat on me so I’d sleep with you.”

“Is that why you’re so angry today?”

“That, the fact I’m stuck working out with you every other day, and oh yeah, you got me kicked out of practice, asshole.”

“I didn’t throw any punches.” I dip my head into the water and run my hand through my hair to wash out the shampoo, noting that Bennet’s eyes seem fixated on my arm as I do. Testing a theory, I flex my bicep, and he seems to snap out of it, turning his back to me as he soaps his torso.

“You groped my ass,” he grumbles.

“I slapped your butt, same as I do everyone else’s.”

“Yeah, not buying that considering you keep telling me how much you want my butt.” He glares at me over his shoulder, and while it’s hard to tell with all the steam, I have the sense his gaze isn’t focused on my eyes.

“I’d take your dick too. I’m not picky.”

Despite my best efforts, my eyes roam down his naked torso—as much as I can see with the half-wall between us—and a warm shiver races up my spine, like there’s molten lava coursing through my veins. When my gaze finally reaches his face, I’d swear there’s a trace of smug satisfaction in Bennet’s expression, though it morphs to fury when my tongue traces over my lip.

“Get your fucking eyes off me.”

“Whoa, sorry.” I hold my hands up in surrender.

“Sorry?” He shuts the water off and stomps into my stall, jabbing his finger in my chest like he did on the field. “You’re the one who said it’s wrong to check your teammates out inthe locker room, so what the fuck are you doing? And don’t say it’s different since we’re in the shower. I’m not in the mood for semantics.”

“It’s not different because of the shower, it’s different because ofyou.”

“What did I just say about semantics?”

“You said not to make a big deal about the shower versus the locker room. You didn’t say anything about differentiating between you and everyone else.” Though my lips are already damp from the shower, my tongue darts out to wet them, an action he tracks carefully, and even mirrors before he seems to catch himself, brows pulling together menacingly.

“I don’t get the same courtesy as the rest of the guys?” He inches closer, seething, and it takes all my restraint not to close the distance between us and attack his mouth.

He’s so damn beautiful.

The water dripping off his hair. Those thick, damp lashes that make his indigo eyes even more vivid. The way his chest nearly brushes against mine as he heaves.

Fantasy Bennet has nothing on reality, and my cock is fascinated by all of it. But when it brushes against something equally hard…

“No, you don’t,” I whisper.

Bennet’s hand shoots out and wraps around my throat. “Why?” he snarls.

I rock my hips forward slightly, verifying, and try not to groan when my rigid length brushes against his. But I can’t stop my eyes from fluttering as the friction creates tiny little shockwaves along my length. “I don’t make them hard.”

“You don’t—” Bennet’s eyes narrow as he tries to stare me down, but when my words, or our kissing cocks, register, they triple in size.

A mix of fear and panic—though not revulsion—ghosts across his features, and I can tell he’s readying to pull away. Despite what I told myself earlier about not crossing any lines, I trap both our dicks in my fist and hold on tight, so he has nowhere to go.

Bennet sucks in a lungful of air and holds it as his eyes darken, the rigid set of his jaw suggesting he’s about to blow a gasket. Yet he doesn’t move. He holds utterly still, not even moving his lips as he rasps, “Let go of my cock.”

I try to shake my head, and he increases the pressure on my neck.

“I said, let go.” His fingers dig into my soft flesh.

“Not while you’re this hard.” I slide my fist over our lengths, aided by the soap and water sluicing off my body. I try not to gloat when I hear a startled little gasp pass between Bennet’s slightly parted lips. Right before the glare returns.

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