Harper
Iknow it’s time to be done at the punching bag when I can barely hold myself up, arms and lungs burning in equal measure. Boxing was suggested by Sadie as a way to let a little of my rage out in smaller doses, referring to it as Cirque’s safety protocol.
I rip my gloves off, feeling betrayed by the bag for the first time since I took up the sport.
The methodical thud of my fist against the heavyweight having done nothing to soothe the frustration and anger threatening to overflow.
Sweat drips from my forehead onto the mat, once, twice, before I grab the towel and run it across my forehead.
I don’t want to feel this way. I don’t want to feel.
I have never left a private event before it’s over.
Most things I trust my staff with implicitly to see through, but private events usually hold a different expectation of my personal involvement.
I close my eyes, working on box breathing that Sadie tried to teach me a few years ago, not getting very far before my exhale sounds more like a growl.
Her body leaning into his, one hand holding his arm while the other ran along his chest, toying with the buttons of his shirt like she was impatient to see it tossed aside.
The same chest I was pressed against only a few nights ago.
The same arms that wrapped around my body to tease and toy with me.
I check my phone as I walk out of the gym through the entrance back into the club, Wade standing at attention, patiently waiting for me.
“What’s the rundown for the night? Anything noteworthy happen after I left?
” I ask, trying to keep my face blank and tone neutral, but I can feel the petty curiosity bleeding into the words.
He’s only been here a day, but I feel like he’s already seen too much, observed too many indiscretions, paid too much attention.
He bites the inside of his cheek to stifle his grin, acutely aware of what I’m really asking.
Did she touch him again? Did he escort her to a private room?
Do you think people would notice if she disappeared?
Worse, did he leave with her for an after-party of two? Wade smiles ruefully but tells me there were no incidents following my departure.
“Colton made sure all the guests were safely tucked away in their private cars to take them home, security in tow. I believe only a few staff members are left here for the night, and the security team, other than myself, has moved on to outer perimeter detail,” he tells me.
He doesn’t clarify whether Colton is one of those staff members still at the club or if he went home, preferably alone.
My skin feels itchy and too tight, my muscles roaring at me for the soothing balm of my scorching hot shower.
I try to dismiss Wade for the night, asking him to walk the other staff members out to their cars.
He hesitates, getting ready to argue that he has strict orders to stay with me, both of us knowing he was watching me workout on the monitor the whole time.
Not willing to be lax in his duties, but wanting to let me work out my frustrations in pretend seclusion.
“I promise I will meet you at the door once I’m all cleaned up, but there isn’t much protection I’ll need in the shower. Please do a sweep before you meet me at the back entrance, and walk out any stragglers that linger. I don’t want anyone walking to their cars alone, even in the garage.”
He contemplates for a moment, brow furrowing as he weighs the risks of this deviation from his usual position of standing still.
He looks around the club as he assesses any possible threats if he leaves me alone, apparently deciding that the internal sweeps already completed in addition to the posted security at the entrances are enough to allow the shift in plan.
“Whatever the boss says.” He mock-salutes as I walk into my office, closing the door behind me.
I only make it a few steps in, tossing my gym bag onto the floor in the corner before I’m halted in place by a low, rough voice permeating through the space.
My first reaction, and probably the unhealthy one, is to grab one of the sample props where it leans against the wall.
The comically large fake mallet that doesn’t weigh more than five pounds, lifting too easily above my head as I walk further into the office towards the voice.
I wonder if Wade is too far away already to hear me if I scream.
I look around the office, trying to spot the source of the low timber, my scan halting when I see steam curl and flirt around the base of the bathroom door. A threat to my life probably isn’t stopping to moisturize and exfoliate.
I take tentative steps towards the bathroom door, dropping the fake mallet as the voice becomes clearer.
The same voice that holds my attention each morning and moaned his desire against my neck.
The same voice that slithers through my mind as we work through the day side by side, panting and needy.
I would recognize his voice anywhere, and the name spilling on repeat from the lips of an angel.
My name, panted over and over, accompanied by the rhythmic moans and grunts as skin slaps skin.
I lean my forehead against the still-closed door for a beat, weighing the depravity of the moment with my all-consuming need to see him lost to his own want. I can hear the little voice of reason telling me to turn around and leave getting softer and softer as his own grows more desperate.
He wanted me to find him, pushing back against my words to clean himself up from the caress of another’s hand. There is no coming back from this, and only one path forward, the same one I’ve been walking since he first dropped to his knees in front of me and breathed life into my world.
I slowly open the door, the steam rushing to greet me as I cross the threshold, my sweaty shirt soaking in the thick air and clinging to my chest and abdomen.
I take one tentative step into the room and close the door behind me.
Colton’s back is to me, the glass-caged walls bearing his weight as he braces himself with one arm to face the large vanity that sits opposite the entrance.
The water falls from the showerhead above, playing in the dips and curves of his back as it slides down his body. He’s stunning.
A quiet sigh escapes my lips as I watch a single drip slide between his shoulder blades, following the indent of his spine down to his ass.
I want to trace its path with my tongue.
His head tilts up, the sounds I did nothing to muffle alerting him to my presence, but he isn’t shocked or startled. This is where he wanted me to be.
He slowly turns away from the wall, standing directly under the spray of water as our eyes connect.
One heartbeat, then two. I break first, my gaze sliding from his shoulder to his arm that still moves leisurely, down to where his hand is gripped around the base of his hard cock.
He doesn’t stop his languid strokes, pausing when he reaches the crown to twist over the tip, dragging the beads of precum down with his thumb before he works back to his base.
He is unabashed in his stark form, standing tall and proud for me to take him all in. And there is a lot to take in.
I’m still staring at his hand gliding over his length when all too quickly, the movement halts.
His hand leaves his cock, reaching for the door to the shower and lightly pushing it open towards me.
I drag my gaze back up his body to find him staring at me, not with a smile or a playful smirk, but with hunger.
I know the look well, not needing the vanity mirror to know we are a matching pair.
I don’t say anything, just step further into the room, fingers brushing over the glass door to push it closed, my eyes never leaving Colton’s.
I rock my head side to side before walking towards the vanity, leaning forward to rest my palms against the cool marble.
He let another woman touch him tonight. Her hands stroked and caressed him. So now mine won’t.
He smiles before turning back to the position I found him in, arm braced against the glass above his head, his other hand wrapped around the base of his cock. He doesn’t pick up the tortured stroking as his eyes find mine in the mirror, letting me know the next move is mine to decide.
I could tell him to get out, but then how would he learn his lesson?
Eyes still locked on Colton’s, I reach down with both hands to snake my fingers into the waistband of my leggings, slowly pulling them over my ass to peel down the rest of my body, stepping out of them one leg at a time to lay discarded at my feet.
My black thong remains in place as I adjust the bands on either side of my hips, adding a little sway to highlight the way I know this set is swallowed by my ass.
Righting myself, I look back into the mirror to see Colton’s forehead resting against the glass just under his forearm, a pained expression creasing his brow as his eyes close.
When they open again, he lifts his hand from his cock to make a circular motion, asking me to turn around before his hand goes back to stroking, his grip rougher than when I first interrupted.
I turn around, back against the vanity, the coolness of the counter a balm to the fire coursing through me. My arms fall back, causing my chest to puff out, nipples pebbling through the thin fabric of my t-shirt, the sports bra useless where it pushes against me.
He grips the base of his hard cock, the tip glistening with precum as the wetness pools at the apex of my thighs. I lift one hand to pinch and roll my nipple through thin fabric, causing a moan to slip free, mingling with the sound of Colton’s strokes echoing off the walls around us.