Chapter 42
Josephine
I’m weightless, like I’m walking on clouds, as I glide into the home gym. The moment I spot Decker Crusade, though, it’s as though a half ton weight has been dropped in my lap.
He’s straddling a bench, legs splayed wide, grunting through the extension of a bicep curl.
He’s absolutely dripping in sweat and red with exertion. The familiar signs of self-loathing and punishment are clear even from where I stand in the doorway.
“Decker,” I scold softly and pad toward him.
He sits upright, panting, when he catches sight of me in the mirror.
He’s still panting, scrutinizing me, as I lower myself to straddle the bench beside him. From the look of him and his silence, he’s too exhausted and wrung out from our conversation earlier to do anything but stare. Compromise isn’t hard for most people, but it’s fucking torture for him.
Yet he did it. For me.
Maybe he’s in here this late because he can’t believe it. Maybe it’s because he resents the necessity of it or because he just needs to get out of his head and experience a sensation other than worry. Regardless of his reason, I can’t help but feel responsible.
“How long have you been in here?” I ask, my fingertips brushing along the bulging veins of his forearms.
He’s still watching me, assessing me as if he’s trying to read a play on the field.
Fair.
But I didn’t come in here to fight or rile him up. Not tonight.
I gingerly pluck his fingers from the textured steel of the thirty-five-pound weight until he’s released it and it rests on the bench. I shift my gaze from the free weight to the floor and back again, willing him to understand.
When he eventually comprehends and sets it on the floor, I catch his hands in mine.
Then I interlace our fingers. Because I need him to truly comprehend what I’m about to say.
“What are you doing, Josephine?”
I swallow past my hesitation, then scoot forward on the bench until my knees graze his inner thighs.
“What I wanted to do earlier.”
I press my lips against his cheek, closer to his mouth than his temple, because I can’t ever seem to give him more than he’s willing to give me.
I’m willing to bend. But he has to learn how to bend, too.
To my relief, he doesn’t leave me hanging.
Capturing my lips in a real kiss, he cuffs the back of my neck with one big hand while he wraps the other around my body.
Grasping my low back, he pulls me into him. I spread my thighs as wide as they can possibly go, but it’s still not close enough.
Clambering to close the distance, I hitch my legs over of his, then lock my ankles around his back.
He’s shirtless and dripping in sweat, but I couldn’t care less.
I want it. I want it all. Every drop of sweat.
Every ounce of frustration. I want his fire to fuel me in a way I’ve never experienced before.
We’re perfectly matched. Combustible in the best way. If only we’d stop resisting the pull. So in tune with one another I can’t imagine ever not having his fire in my life, yet so similar I can’t imagine not fighting him at every turn.
Tonight, though, I don’t want to fight.
I want to thank him.
I want to show him that I see him—the full depth of what he did for me today, what he’s willing to give up and how far he’s willing to go to bring peace to my world.
I want to show him it wasn’t in vain. That I want to be his. That I would gladly spend a lifetime challenging him and pushing him, harboring him and lifting him up, if only he’d let me.
“Decker,” I pant into his mouth. Every stroke he gives, I match. Every kiss is a gift and an invitation I’m so damn eager to accept.
Grunting, he leans back, but he keeps our lower halves connected.
He drops his chin to his chest, focusing on where our bodies collide, on where the hem of my shorts is pushed up and the seam down the middle is stretched tight.
His erection is rock hard under his athletic shorts, pressing against the fabric enticingly.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “I want you so fucking bad.” With a roll of his hips, he presses up into me in the most delicious way.
“So have me,” I beg, chasing the friction and heat of him.
He sighs, wearing a defeated frown.
Tears prick the backs of my eyes at the impending rejection. Every time we get here, we get stuck. In limbo. Purgatory. Existing on a plane where what we both want is so clear, but who we are, what we’ve been through, and what we want in the future don’t mesh.
A less cautious man would just take it. Why he can’t just let us have this—
“Not tonight, Siren.”
I pull back, searching his gaze and finding all the fire and want I feel reflected back in his onyx irises.
“Not tonight?” I repeat. Of all the reasons he could provide for why we can’t take this further, I didn’t expect timing to be the issue.
He sighs again, but this time the sound is a stifled release of pent-up energy—not the exasperated disregard I’ve grown used to when we go toe to toe.
“I have to be at the field house in”—he cants to one side to look at the clock on the wall—“five and a half hours. It’s late.
And as much as I want this”—with another tilt of his hips, he rubs his erection against the soft fabric of my shorts—“as much as I want you, our first time isn’t going to be rushed or reckless.
When I make this pussy mine,” he grits out, rubbing a thumb along the seam of my crotch, “I need to take my time.”
My first reaction is to push back.
Test him.
At the very least, clarify that my pussy belongs to me and me alone, and that any claim he wants to make on it will be one of joint ownership. Team ownership? Discussed with the other shareholders? Brought in front of the board?
An image of Kylian in a suit with his charts and data, leading a meeting for the board of directors, pops into my head unbidden, causing mirth to bubble up inside me.
Before it can escape, though, Kylian’s warning slams into me, bursting that building sensation, and I bite back all the things I could say that would inevitably piss off Decker or dismiss his concerns.
“Okay,” I relent, peeking up through my lashes and reveling in the close-up view I have of his delicious lips. God, I hope he’ll at least kiss me again.
His eyes narrow. “Okay?” he asks. “Seriously?”
“What?” I may be fighting off a grin at his response.
“What’s the catch?”
Ducking my head, I laugh. “There’s no catch, Decker.”
“When have you ever just gone along with what I say?”
He’s got me there.
Rising from the bench, I trace one hand across his chest, taking my time to come around and kneel behind him. I stay propped up on my knees and hug his neck, resting my chin on his shoulder and meeting his gaze in the mirror in front of us.
“I want exactly what you want, Crusade. I can wait.” Cocking a brow at his reflection, I hold on to him just a little tighter. “And I can be agreeable when given the proper motivation.”
He watches me—always watching, always looking for the lie. The day he finally trusts me will be a day worth celebrating.
“You’re telling me I could have been using my dick to get my way this whole time?” His lips tilt up in a smirk, and his eyes dance with mischief.
Glee percolates through my body. It’s good to see him smile. To know we can still banter and tease. It makes everything feel lighter—hopeful, even.
“We’ll find out soon enough.” I stand up and kiss his neck. “Good luck at your game this weekend, Cap. I’ll be waiting for you to make good on your promise when you get home.”
And with that, I walk out of the weight room without a backward glance.
The house is dark as I make my way down the hall, past the living room and into the kitchen. A blue light illuminates Kylian’s face where he’s sitting at the bar, focus locked on the glowing device in his hand.
I approach quietly and sidle up next to him. He side-eyes me for an instant, and after a few seconds, he closes out of the chart he was analyzing, stifling a yawn.
“Ready for bed?” he asks, hopping off the barstool and reaching for my hand.
He’s wiped. He admitted as much before I went to find Decker.
“Why are you still up?” I ask, fully embracing the yawn he just inspired as we head toward the stairs together.
“I was waiting for you,” he offers matter-of-factly.
“Were you spying on me?” I ask, half-joking but also slightly indignant. Kylian has no problem sharing with Locke and Kendrick. I assumed that attitude extended to Decker as well, but maybe we should have discussed it first.
“Not exactly,” he hedges. He looks over his shoulder at me, then flicks his gaze toward the weight room.
“You were spying on him,” I guess.
“That would be an accurate assessment, yes.”
When we reach my bedroom door, Kylian stops, and I step into him, kissing his sternum and squeezing our joined hands.
“Don’t you trust Cap?”
He crowds my space, one arm propped on the doorjamb above my head, and leans close.
“I trust Decker with my life,” he declares. “But I don’t trust him with my heart. At least, not yet.” He kisses me softly, then, without another word, he turns to head up the next flight of stairs to the Nest.
Dumbfounded, I watch him go, brushing my fingertips against my lower lip and marveling at how I ever made it through my days without these men.