Chapter 4 Lennox
LENNOX
The next morning brought with it some reality checks. Day one proved The Three Bears Retreat was a place of relaxation and calm. I felt that immediately. But it wasn’t why I was here.
I wasn’t here to find myself. My father had made that clear.
I was here to assess, to report back, and to stay focused.
But fitness wasn't just a cover—it was a part of who I was. Before my dad turned into a ghost of himself after my mom died, before expectations became a straitjacket, I found solace in the gym. When the weight of grief and pressure became too heavy, lifting iron kept me steady. I might not have met my father’s definition of success, but I knew how to push my body, how to build strength when everything else felt weak.
After a quick shower and change, I found a folded note slipped under my door. Selena’s neat handwriting reminded me to find Naima for a tour. It was efficient, and direct—like everything about Selena so far. I appreciated it.
The retreat was quiet as I walked through it, the air cool with the promise of autumn coming soon. The cabins had names like “Harriet’s Haven” and “Zora’s Den,” a nod to powerful Black women.
Art lined the hallways, vibrant murals depicting Black joy, resilience, and history. The main lodge felt like stepping into a world where culture and comfort held hands. It was soft yet powerful—a place where you could breathe deeply and fully.
I turned a corner and found myself by the yoga pavilion.
Naima moved through poses with a grace that seemed to defy gravity.
Her body was fluid, her form controlled, and each movement sent a fresh wave of heat through me.
She wore a cropped yoga top that hugged every curve, and as she dipped into a downward dog, the sight of her ass made my pulse kick up a notch.
Her skin, a warm cinnamon, glistened with a fine sheen of sweat.
She moved like water, every shift of her body as natural as breathing.
In my mind, I was already bending her over, spreading her wide, finding new ways to bury myself deeper inside of her.
Heat pooled low in my belly, and I had to fight the urge to adjust my aching dick.
I wasn’t some untested teenager, but damn if this woman didn’t drag something primal out of me, a hunger I wasn’t sure I could keep at bay.
I cleared my throat. “You still have time for that tour?”
Her head snapped up, and for a second, vulnerability crossed her face before she slipped back into a calm smile. “Oh, yeah sure. I’ve got some time before my afternoon session. Let me show you around.”
She led me along the winding paths that connected the cabins and common areas.
As we walked, she shared the stories behind the art, the inspiration for the cabin names, and the intention woven into every part of the retreat.
It was more than just a job for her—this place was a heartbeat, and she moved in rhythm with it.
“The three of you seem to handle a lot,” I said as we passed a small garden filled with medicinal herbs. “How do you manage it all?”
“We stick to our roles and take care of what needs doing. Between us, the housekeeping staff, and the groundskeepers, we get it all done. It’s not always easy, but it’s worth it.”
Her honesty drew me in. She wasn’t trying to impress me—she was just telling it how it was. It was refreshing, a cold drink after years of swallowing the dry truth of corporate greed.
We ended the tour by the fitness studio I’d be doing my sessions out of. It was smaller than I expected, with worn mats and older equipment. But it had character, like everything else here.
“It’s not the latest and greatest, I know,” she said. “But it gets the job done. Selena ordered some new equipment that we'll help you set up before your sessions begin."
“It’s got character,” I said, meaning it. “Sometimes too much polish takes away from the real work. When it boils down to it, it’s all about you and the steel.”
She gave me a playful look. “I bet you’re all muscle, no flexibility. Most trainers are.”
“Is that a challenge?”
She shrugged. “Only if you’re up for it.”
I kicked off my shoes and rolled out a mat for us both. “Show me what you got.”
Naima flowed into a pose, her body stretching and bending, every move graceful and controlled.
I mirrored her, feeling the pull of muscles that weren’t used to moving this way.
I could only hope I didn’t pull a damn muscle trying to impress her.
She didn’t laugh at the obvious strain on my face.
Instead, she moved behind me, her hands brushing my hips as she adjusted my stance, and a spark shot straight through me and landed at my dick.
“Not bad,” she murmured, her breath warm against my ear. “For a rookie.”
Wanting to reveal something very real about me, I told her, “I’ve done this before. After my mom died, I started using yoga and weight lifting, most lifting, to clear my mind. My dad thought it was a waste of time, but it helped.”
Her hands stilled, resting against my sides. “I’m sorry. That must’ve been hard.” I tried my best not to think about how hard I would get if she kept touching me.
“It was. Still is. But the gym gave me a way to breathe when I couldn’t find air anywhere else.”
She shifted, moving around to face me. Her expression was soft and open and something else—intimate. “That’s why we started The Three Bears. To help people find that breath again.”
I wasn’t sure what passed between us, I only knew I wanted more. She made me feel a calm I hadn’t felt in years. Here, in this room with her, there was no expectation but to be who I was. And even if she didn’t entirely know who that was, the parts of me I loved the most, connected with her.