Page 15 of Filthy and the Beast

CHAPTERSEVEN

ENZO

I’m in a gym,and it goes on forever. I’m moving like I never hurt my back, like I never got run off the road and crashed my car. I’m lifting weights and sweating, and when I turn, Damian is right there.

We’re naked, and his body is pressed to mine. He’s holding me like when he lifted me out of the shower. His scent is everywhere, fresh and earthy.

My dick is hard. We’re pressing our bodies together. I lift him in my arms, and we’re magically in the shower at the gym. I’m thrusting at the hips, and he’s biting my mouth. I’m warm everywhere. Hot.

My eyes fly open as my alarm rings out, pulling me from my sleep. I silence it. I’m flat on a blanket on the wooden floor of my bedroom, sleeping here for the hard surface. When I shove my hand down my sweats, my erection is as stiff as in the dream.

I squeeze my shaft, groaning with relief. The strange dream washes over me. I don’t think. I just pump my cock, feeling Damian’s warm, firm body against mine. My palm is hot on my shaft, friction dragging my skin as my dick pulses and leaks. With a few gruff breaths, I climax, spilling a fat load in my hand.

I gasp air, still flat on my back. After the orgasmic flood of pleasure, the pain creeps back in, and my brain starts working.

Fuck.

What was that about?

Then the second thought catches up. I set an alarm because Nat’s coming by this morning.

Gritting my teeth, I wipe the semen off my hand and struggle to my feet. I do the annoying little stretches Reggie taught me, sweating by the window. The girls lazily rouse themselves, and I walk them out the back way to the garden and the fall morning.

I think about the dream. My chest hurts, aching. A strange sensation, like someone has been punching my pecs over and over, but not very hard.

It’s new, too. I started hurting when Damian made me dinner the other night, but I don’t remember chest pains before.

Concerning.

He thought I was in my fifties. Fucker.

Right as I finish dressing, I hear Nat in the back. I told her to come straight around the rear and meet me at the gym so we wouldn’t risk Damian eyeing her, although he’s getting brunch with friends this afternoon, so we should be in the clear.

Damian doesn’t know shit about boxing, but my niece is one of the most talented fighters out there, and I’m not risking her career getting linked up with my reputation. No fucking way. If he recognized her, spilled the news, it could be over.

Can’t let my shit come back to hurt her.

I haul my ass into the gym. The overhead lights shine down, illuminating the center of the wide space. Nat’s on the floor by the ring, casually practicing her footwork.

My niece is like me. Tall and ripped, all lean muscle. I was known for being fast on my feet, surprisingly fast for my bulk. But Nat is a swarmer, taking speed and finesse to a whole new level. Her dark hair is tied back, and she’s dressed in basketball shorts and a t-shirt, exactly like her uncle.

I’m so damn proud of her.

“You didn’t have to come here,” I tell her as I turn on the stereo, Def Leppard pumping through the gym.

Usually, I head to Nat’s gym. Her tech genius wife installed one at their place years ago, before Nat hit it big. I show up Sunday mornings, we do our thing, and then I go have my private time at the lake.

Nat’s my only family, and I’m hers. I’ve been training her since she was a teen; she insisted on it. When she decided she wanted to compete, maybe go pro, I took pains to hide our connection from the boxing world. Enough people hold grudges against me; I’d never forgive myself if my old shit came back to bite Nat. But the way I figured, I could at least give her advice from the privacy of our homes, teach her what she needs to know to avoid the criminals.

Make sure she doesn’t end up like me—or worse, like her dad.

Now she’s at the top of her game. Doesn’t really need me anymore, but I appreciate the way she keeps me around. Helps me feel useful.

She winks. “I can’t go more than a week without you cursing at me. It will fuck up my flow.”

I grunt. “Get your left hook back up to standards, and I won’t have to curse so fucking much.” I straighten my shoulders. “Can’t do anything but stand here and watch.”

“All you ever do is stand there and tell me what I’m doing wrong. What’s new?” She nods toward the equipment splayed across the floor. “Aren’t you supposed to be resting?”

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