Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
CALLAN
“You can get deeper,” I say with sweat dripping off of my forehead and my muscles burning.
“Fuck you,” Diego pants, but he squats a little deeper the next time I throw him the medicine ball anyway.
“What happened to all that ‘yes, Coach’ stuff?” I tease, catching the ball he lobs back to me and squatting low enough that my ass nearly touches the floor, then straightening back up and tossing it right back.
“I hate you,” he grunts, and I cackle in between heavy breaths.
“You won’t be saying that when your rock-hard glutes are powering you across the ice like a fucking rocket.” I catch the ball again and set it down at my feet so we can take a minute to rest and stretch.
“Fair enough.” He uncaps his water bottle, tilts his head back, and takes several deep gulps, his throat bobbing and sweat droplets running down the long column of his neck.
He pants again as he wipes the back of his hand across his damp mouth and re-caps his bottle.
“My ass has gotten soft and doughy from too many months spent planted on the couch.”
“Doesn’t look so bad to me.” I smirk and take a drink of my own water.
The look of surprise that flits across his face makes me go over what I just said in my head. Shit, was that too far? Don’t flirt with straight guys, how hard can it be to remember that?
“Are you hitting on me?” Diego looks amused.
“Nah, it’s just a reflex.”
He uses his towel to mop some of the sweat off of his face as he snorts a laugh. “You flirt with so many of your training clients that it’s a reflex?”
I chuckle and shake my head, pointing at the mat on the floor with as much authority as I can muster.
“Shut up and stretch. Start with the hip flexor stretches I showed you.”
Diego lowers himself to the floor and starts stretching.
“Have you hooked up with a lot of your clients?” he asks.
The question sounds casual, but I could swear there’s the tiniest hint of tension in his voice.
Is he worried I’m planning to make a move on him?
That I’m going to corner him after a workout one day, shove him up against a wall, and drag my tongue over the throbbing pulse point in his throat so I can taste the sweat glistening on his skin?
My cock gives an eager twitch that I ignore.
“Once or twice,” I answer honestly. I definitely don’t make a habit of it, but I’m not going to pretend it’s never happened.
He grunts and stretches a little lower, then gasps.
“Oh, shit,” he groans.
“Shit. Is it your hip? What does it feel like? Is it a sharp pain or more of an ache?” I drop to my knees and carefully help him out of his stretch position so I can assess what just happened.
“I think it’s just a cramp.” His voice is strained but controlled, just like I’d expect from an athlete who’s spent most of his life being trained not to complain about pain.
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that.
Try to relax.” I press my fingers carefully into his hip, then work them lower until I find the problem area.
He’s right, it’s a cramp, but I don’t blame him for his reaction, because it’s a major one.
His thigh muscle is still spasming, rock hard and clenched.
I glance up to see the tight, pained expression on his face as he carefully controls his breathing. “It’s a cramp,” I confirm.
He gives a jerky nod. “I’ll be fine, I just need to walk it off.”
“I’ve got a really nice muscle salve that should help. I can go grab it and put it on you right here, or if you can handle it, I’ll help you up and take you to the back where I have a massage table, and I can give this muscle a good rub down.”
“I’ll be fi—” He cuts himself off with a hiss. “Alright, yeah, let’s do the massage thing.”
I nod and guide his arm around my neck so he has somewhere to grab, then I get my arms around his waist for leverage.
“Ready?” I ask. Diego nods. “Alright, one, two, three.”
He grunts again as I help him get to his feet.
“Doing alright?” Butch jogs over to ask.
“We’re fine. Fergie can make it a couple dozen steps to the back, right?”
Diego jerks his head again in agreement and I help him hobble across the gym to the boxing door.
Fender is in the middle of a class, so at least I’m able to avoid any of his innuendos or quips as I guide Diego to the little-used massage room that doubles as a supply closet most of the time.
I open the door with my free hand, flip on the light, then help him inside and onto the massage table set up in the middle of the small room.
I double back to close the door and when I turn to face him again, he’s looking around the cramped room with skepticism warring with the pain on his face.
“We almost never use this room, but believe it or not, therapeutic massage was actually part of my education, so I’m fully qualified to help with this.”
“That’s what all my massage therapists say before they make me take my pants off next to a shelf full of towels and cleaning chemicals.”
“Good, then you already know how this works. Take your pants off.” I grin as I reach for the container of muscle salve on the one small shelf I have set aside.
DIEGO
I hesitate for just a second. Obviously, I’ve had a million massages, most of them done by men, so I don’t know why my stomach starts dancing nervously when Callan tells me to take my pants off.
It’s not because he’s gay. At least I don’t think that’s the reason.
My other massage therapists could have been gay, I would have no way of knowing. It’s not like I asked them.
My thigh muscle clenches painfully again, and all my hesitation melts away.
I don’t care if he does want to ogle me in my underwear, if he can end this goddamn Charlie horse, I’ll whip my dick out so he can get an eyeful.
I kick my shorts off and lie down on my back, staring up at the bare bulb hanging almost directly overhead.
“Great ambiance in here. I feel like I’m at a Swedish spa.”
“Hold on.” Callan pulls his phone out of his pocket and puts on music that’s no doubt on a playlist labeled “spa music,” with relaxing instrumentals and a babbling brook in the background.
“Perfect,” I mutter, slinging my arm over my eyes to block out the harsh light.
He uncaps the salve and the minty smell of it tickles my nose pleasantly.
I’m no stranger to pulled muscles or general soreness, so I know exactly what to expect from the firm feeling of strong fingers sliding under the waistband of my briefs and digging into my tightened thigh.
It’s all very professional, but for some reason, it feels different.
The same, but not the same. I don’t know how to explain it any other way.
Callan’s calloused fingers press firmly into my thigh, perfectly skilled and confident enough to assure me that he wasn’t lying—he’s fully trained and knows what he’s doing.
There’s something else though, a tingle that races along my skin and up my spine, a flutter in my gut that isn’t usually there when I get a massage.
I groan out loud as his thumbs target the clenched ball of muscle just below my hip joint.
The sound leaving my lips lets my body relax just a little more, and for some reason, that makes the heat under my skin spread.
“There you go.” Callan’s voice is a low growl as he sinks his fingers deeper into my slowly softening muscle.
The salve warms and tingles just like I expected it to, but it must be some special blend, because the feeling doesn’t stop at my thigh where he’s rubbing it in. My gut warms and tingles too… and after a few seconds, so does my cock.
“Don’t tense up on me again now, we were just getting somewhere,” Callan says with a gentle chuckle. “Deep breath.”
Shit. I do as he says, dragging in a steady, slow breath while simultaneously sliding my hands down as casually as I can manage to rest them over my slowly stiffening cock.
It’s because I haven’t gotten laid in ages, that’s why my body is reacting like this. I’m not horned up over Callan’s thick, manly fingers working the muscles just inches from my cock. I would react this way to anyone touching me right now.
“How does that feel?” he asks, his voice still low and deep. My cock twitches again under my hands, my cockhead bumping against my wrist.
“Good. Great.” My voice comes out high and nervous, and I clear my throat to try to steady it. “It’s better now. I think I just need to go home and ice it.”
I open my eyes and make a move to slide off the table.
“Whoa.” He chuckles and digs his fingers harder into my thigh to keep me in place, his fingertips dipping onto my inner thigh, an inch shy of my heavy, aching balls.
Something about the move reminds me of AJ’s hand on Slater’s leg at the bar a couple of days ago, which brings Slater’s words rushing right to the forefront of my mind.
“Getting a blowjob from a guy doesn’t make you gay.
” Is that true or was he just joking around?
Do guys do that? Get head from other guys just for the release when they haven’t gotten laid in too damn long and aren’t in a place to hook up with a woman?
I can’t be the only guy who’s ever been in this position, right? Would Callan be into it?
Fuck, what am I even thinking right now? I need to get his hands off me before I do something crazy.
I grab his hand and shove it away from me.
“Seriously, I think I’m good.” I swing my legs over the table. The Charlie horse has relaxed, but my muscles are still sore from it. The salve is doing its job though, warming and relaxing it.
“Hey, man, it’s no big deal,” he says. “Plenty of guys get an erection during a massage. It doesn’t mean—”
“Dude.” I cut him off, manic laughter bubbling up in my throat. I hop off the table and grab my shorts off the floor, quickly tugging them on with my back to him, doing my best to ignore my stiff, throbbing cock still standing at full attention, straining against my briefs.
“Heat, not ice. And take this and apply it again in a few hours.” He sets the container of salve down on the massage table, and I grab it without turning around or looking at him.
“Thanks,” I mutter, then I haul ass out of there.
I’m halfway home before I remember that I left my gym bag in a locker.
Fuck it, I’ll get it when I go back in for my next training session.
If I go back. I can’t believe he noticed that I was getting hard.
Isn’t that the kind of thing you’re supposed to politely ignore?
Fuck, that’s embarrassing. And yet somehow, I’m still fucking hard.
Luckily, I manage to catch someone else coming out of the building when I get there, and I have a spare key hidden under the mat in front of my door.
If I can’t work up the balls to go back to Sweat, I’ll have to ask the building manager for a new key to the front door, but that’s tomorrow’s problem.
As soon as my apartment door swings closed behind me, I lean against it and shove my hand into my shorts, groaning with relief as I wrap my fingers around my throbbing cock.
It’s the blood flow after a good workout and the fact that my dick hasn’t seen any action in almost nine months that has me so damn hard.
Precum drips down my shaft, slicking my fingers as I stroke myself with quick, furious tugs.
I’ve hardly even jerked off since Crystal left because every time I do, my mind wants to conjure images of her and ruin the whole damn thing.
My brain is on a different plan today though, and I can’t decide whether I’m relieved or not.
Instead of replaying highlights from the years we were together, of her bouncing tits and soft moans, my mind fills unexpectedly with the sound of Callan’s deep voice.
“There you go.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere.”
“Fuck,” I gasp, snapping my hips to fuck into the tight channel of my fingers, letting my head loll back to thunk against my door. “Fuck.”
My toes curl inside my shoes and all of my muscles start to tense again. The warm feeling that took up residence in the pit of my stomach when he started to massage me expands, filling my chest and wrapping itself around my cock and balls, tingling and pulsing as a groan builds in my throat.
“Your ass is mine, Fergie.”
I gasp and pleasure explodes through me, a hot spray of cum coating my fingers and the inside of my briefs, soaking through to my shorts as I stroke myself faster, panting through every ball-clenching pulse until my knees start to tremble and I’m forced to sink to the floor, completely spent and exhausted.
With my cum-soaked hand still down my shorts and my chest heaving, one question repeats on a loop inside my head.
What the fuck was that?