Page 3 of Trained Royal
They went through their usual routine: a variety of punches and kicks, then working through a specific routine meant to get Patrick’s feet to obey his commands rather than do whatever the hell they wanted to in a fight. The session was more successful than the previous ones, and Kieren said as much.
“Thanks.” Patrick pulled his T-shirt away from his chest, desperately needing a shower but not wanting to share the space with his bodyguard for reasons he tried to hide, even from himself.
“Let’s shower, and I’ll rub some ointment onto your lower back. I can see you’ve been stiffening up on certain stances.” Kieren headed towards the bathroom area, and Patrick hesitated. “You won’t be able to reach it yourself.”
Patrick sighed, knowing he was right. It would be hell, but if he had to think about his brother or his cousins to stop himself from reacting to the sight of Kieren naked in the shower, he would do it. He followed in Kieren’s wake, shedding his clothes and throwing them in the hamper before entering the shower area. Kieren already stood under the spray, the water cascading down his muscled back, flexing with every movement of his arms, to his tight ass.
Patrick jerked his gaze away, choosing the shower one away from him. He stood underneath, letting the water wash away the grime and sweat and hiding his face. If the shower was spraying him with water, he wouldn’t be able to ogle his bodyguard. It was a cliché, after all—the lonely guardee falling for his guard. He could even pinpoint the moment it happened. A week after the problems Douglas had with the asshole Talon, who had assaulted several subs from their club, Kieren had been assigned to him permanently. A short while later, he’d heard Patrick playing the piano and had, uncharacteristically, started gushing about his talents. Patrick had been enamoured from that moment, that unguarded joy Kieren had shown.
“You’ll look like a prune if you stay under there much longer,” Kieren said, his words muffled by the water rushing over Patrick’s ears.
Kieren disappeared into the changing area with a towel around his waist, and an ache pressed on Patrick’s chest. He’d ignored Henry’s question about finding a partner because he knew who he wanted, and he knew he couldn’t have him. He didn’t want anyone else.
Sighing, he finished his shower and grabbed the other towel, drying off and securing it around his waist. Taking a deep breath, he entered the changing area, finding Kieren in shorts and nothing else.
Kieren glanced at him. “Lay on the bench. I’ll rub the cream in.”
Patrick peered at the bench, where two large towels lay to cushion him, and laid on his stomach, resting his arms beneath his head. Kieren came to stand beside him.
“Ready?”
No.“Yes.” He closed his eyes, not wanting to see how close, yet how far, Kieren was.
Warm, firm hands pressed against the skin of his lower back, just above his ass. They spread the cream around, and then Kieren used his thumbs to push a little harder. It felt amazing, and Patrick lost himself to the rhythm, not realising until too late that he’d started making noises. Every time Kieren pushed against his back, his cock pressed into the bench, and a moan left his mouth.
Kieren’s hand moved a little lower, sliding under the edge of the towel and working the top of his ass cheeks, and Patrick instinctively clenched, eliciting a chuckle from above.
“It’s supposed to relax you, not make you clench.”
Patrick let out a slow breath and relaxed. Kieren worked for a few minutes more, then his hands retreated.
“All done.”
Patrick wanted to think Kieren’s voice was hoarse because the act affected him as much as it did Patrick, but he was delusional. He knew he couldn’t move at that moment, though. Not unless he wanted to show Kieren exactly how much the massage had affected him.
“I’m staying here for a few minutes,” Patrick murmured, pretending to be completely boneless when, in fact, he was anything but.
When Kieren said nothing, Patrick opened his eyes and squinted at him. He stood, staring at Patrick’s back as if he’d seen something confusing, and Patrick took stock of his body. There shouldn’t be anything to make him look like that.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
Kieren flinched and stared at Patrick for a moment before nodding. “Yeah. Yes. Perfect. Okay. I’m going to wash…” He held up his hands before disappearing.
Patrick stayed where he was, frowning. What was that all about? Closing his eyes again, he thought about his brother, his parents, anything and everything that wasn’t Kieren and, finally, he felt able to sit up without poking someone in the eye. He dropped his head into his hands, resting his elbows on his knees, and exhaled. What the hell was he doing? He needed to get this infatuation out of his system so he could concentrate. It was too early to visit the club, but he could play again.
He stood and dressed quickly, wanting to be done before Kieren came back, but when he still hadn’t after he was ready to leave, he stuck his head around the corner. Kieren stood with his hands braced on the sink, his head lowered, and his eyes closed. That wasn’t what caught Patrick’s attention, though. It was the bulge in his shorts and the heaving of his chest.
Patrick licked his lips and opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Instead, he retreated to the bench and called out, “Thanks! I’m heading out.”
Kieren cleared his throat and said, “Okay.”
Not waiting to hear any more, Patrick left, heading straight for his music room. He had a feeling peace and harmony were not what would be coming from his fingers this time.
And he was right. Devastation, mourning and despair were the topics of his song, and he felt every note arrow through his body as if they were physical strikes making him bleed. He tried to tame the music coming from the strings of his violin, but the ebb and flow of the tide was unresponsive, his body undulating with the haunting piece.
He had no idea how long he played, but when the last note rang out, he sank to the floor, tears streaming down his face. This was the version of himself he wouldn’t allow anyone else to see. The weak, pain-filled man who only had the strength to pretend he was okay. To pretend everything was fine in his little corner of the world. To pretend he was of some help.
But he was none of those things. He wasn’t okay, things weren’t fine, and he was of no help. He was fooling himself with this need to train. Thinking he could become stronger, faster. That he could save them all from what was undoubtedly coming their way.
