2. Walt
TWO
Walt
The morning sun streams through Guardian’s training facility, catching the rough surface of the hundred-foot rock wall that dominates the space. Charlie team gathers at the base, checking harnesses and ropes while Ethan outlines today’s challenge.
“Listen up,” Charlie-One commands, his voice echoing off the walls. “Today’s about endurance and focus. We’re running the Serpentine Route—full traverse across all three overhangs, then up the chimney section. I want clean transitions and perfect form.”
I half-listen while checking my gear, my mind drifting to this morning’s failed coffee run. Third time this week Malia’s managed to be doing inventory right when I show up. Like she’s got some sixth sense for avoiding me. The way she practically sprinted into the back room, that curtain of dark hair swinging behind her…
“Walt!” Charlie-One’s sharp voice snaps me back. “You got all that?”
“Yeah, yeah. Traverse, overhangs, chimney. Got it.” I tug my harness straps tight, maybe a bit harder than necessary.
Blake raises an eyebrow as he walks up beside me. “You sure? Because that thousand-yard stare suggests otherwise.”
“I’m fine,” I growl, though fine is the last thing I am. Weeks of Malia’s silent treatment is making me crazy. And not the good kind of crazy that usually leads to mind-blowing sex. The frustrated, can’t-think-straight kind that’s starting to affect my performance.
Gabe and Hank are already roped in, running their safety checks with the easy synchronization of longtime partners. Rigel takes the route to my left, leaving me with the center line—usually my favorite position, right where everyone can see exactly why I’m considered the best.
Today though? Today I’m off my game before we even start.
I swear, I’m going to wrap my hands around Malia’s throat and throttle some sense into her. This silent treatment is the absolute worst, and I have no friggin’ idea what the fuck I did wrong.
Thinking about choking her brings to mind images of tossing her over my knee and paddling that sweet little ass of hers. Tossing her over my knee brings images of putting her on her knees, and that brings other images to mind.
I’m hard again.
Reaching down, I make an adjustment and hope none of the guys notice. I swear, I spend the majority of my time hard as a rock thinking about Malia.
Thinking about fucking her.
Like… All. The. Damn. Time.
And since the night Carter called and Jenna was taken, Malia went from cute little hottie to…
I don’t even know what to call it.
Indifferent?
No, I see the way she looks at me when she thinks I’m not watching. She’s hellfire wrapped up in the most demure and sexiest wrapping I can’t stop thinking about tearing open.
Fuck.
And I mean that.
I think about fucking her all the time.
I think about fucking her, spanking her, forcing her to her knees, and feeding her my cock. God, I can just imagine the way that pert little mouth of hers will wrap around my cock. It’s going to feel so damn good.
Especially after I redden her ass with a few well-placed swats.
She deserves that for keeping my cock hard and aching all damn day, all damn week. Fuck, it’s been well over a month.
I’m cagey. Raw. And growing more obsessed by the day.
I need to fuck.
Has it really been over a month?
Talk about torture. I haven’t experienced a dry spell like this ever, and I do mean ever. I lost my virginity at thirteen to a senior hotty. Talk about fucking like rabbits. That was probably one of the best years of my life, and she was a kinky bitch. Taught me all the things—the joy that comes with letting your freak flag fly, and I let mine fly freely.
And will again—once I can corner Malia and shove her against the wall, spin her around, turn that pretty ass of hers red, and fuck her like an animal.
Okay, the readjustment is doing absolutely nothing to ease my discomfort. I’m at the jerkoff stage. It’s the only relief that can ease this ache. Not that it does shit for getting my mind off Malia. All my fantasies center on her.
And that’s weird.
I’ve never been a one-woman man, and I’ve definitely never waited this long to fuck a woman I wanted. My dry spells last no longer than the length of the last mission because I love to fuck. I fuck before a mission, and I fuck as soon as we’re back. It’s the best way to cleanse my palate after a mission.
As far as that goes, finding women to fuck is easy. I’m a good fuck, and they love getting fucked by me.
That may make me sound a bit arrogant and cocky… Alright, I admit it’s exceptionally arrogant and way beyond cocky, but something’s changed in me.
Normally, I’d hit the bars and scratch that itch, except Malia did something to my head. From the day I met her, I haven’t found another woman who interests me. Not that I haven’t gone out with Gabe and Hank. We’re the last bachelors of Charlie team. Gabe and Hank have no problem picking up a chick, fucking her in the bathroom, the alley, or even fucking them up against a wall.
Hank is into that. The shithead is an exhibitionist. And not that I’m judging, but Gabe gets off on it too. Not the exhibitionist thing, but the watching thing.
I’ve always wondered if there was more going on between them, but they’re as straight as they come. They might share their women, but that’s where things end.
I don’t judge.
Or maybe that’s where things begin with them? Maybe they haven’t found the right woman who craves being dominated by two men.
Their kink is their kink, just as mine is mine.
Although, I have a feeling Gabe goes really dark with his, and Hank doesn’t mind following into that darkness.
And just like that, my raging erection is gone.
There’s nothing better than thinking about Gabe and Hank getting it on to lose a boner.
My dick deflates, and I snap back to attention as Ethan barks out another command.
Right. Training. Focus.
My mind’s been drifting all morning, and I can practically feel my teammates rolling their eyes. The massive rock wall of Guardian’s training facility looms before us, a hundred feet of sheer vertical challenge stretching the length of a football field.
“Walt! Get your head in the game!” Ethan’s voice cuts through my thoughts from his position twenty feet above me.
I adjust my harness, muscle memory taking over as I search for the next hold. Usually, I set the pace, showing Blake and Rigel how these drills are done. But today? Today, I’m off my game, and everyone knows it.
“Watch your anchor point!” Hank calls out as my hand slips slightly.
Damn it. This isn’t like me. I’m better than this—I’m the best, actually.
Just ask any of the women who’ve enjoyed my company. Well, anyone except Malia. She’s the only one who seems immune to my considerable charms, and it’s driving me absolutely crazy.
Sweat trickles down my neck as I push through the sequence. Below me, Gabe and Hank work in tandem, making the complex maneuvers look effortless. The familiar burn in my forearms is usually enough to keep my mind focused, but today, every handhold reminds me of curves I can’t touch.
Charlie-One’s whistle pierces the air. “Again! And this time, Walt, try to remember you’re supposed to be an elite Guardian, not a lovesick teenager.”
Rigel snorts from his position on the adjacent route. I shoot him my trademark grin, the one that usually has women falling all over themselves.
“Just giving you all a chance to catch up,” I call back, forcing myself to lock it down. Time to show them why I’m considered the best.
I launch myself into a complex traverse, my body moving with the fluid grace that’s made me one of Charlie team’s top climbers. The rock face becomes a blur as I navigate the overhanging section, each movement precise despite my wandering thoughts. Fifty feet up, hanging by my fingertips, this is where I should feel most alive.
I can deal with Malia later. Right now, I’ve got a reputation to maintain and five teammates counting on me to keep my head in the game.
The next series of holds leads to a brutal overhang, which I usually dominate. My fingers find the familiar pockets in the synthetic rock, but my mind drifts to darker places. Well, darker hair, specifically. I can almost see Malia’s long, dark tresses falling like a silk curtain, how it would feel wrapped around my fist… Yanking her head back while I fuck her from behind.
The image hits me like a physical blow, and suddenly, my grip isn’t as sure as it should be. Hank shouts something—probably another warning—but it’s lost in the rush of blood in my ears. All I can think about is how that hair would look splayed across my pillow or how it would feel brushing against my chest when she?—
“WALT!”
My fingers slip at exactly the wrong moment. One second, I’m reaching for the next hold, muscles coiled for a power move I could normally do in my sleep, and the next, I’m falling. The world spins, my stomach lurches, and there’s that sickening moment of pure freefall before my safety rope catches with a sharp jerk that knocks the wind out of me.
I dangle there like a rookie, spinning slowly forty feet above the padded floor while my teammates’ voices echo off the walls.
“You okay, brother?” Ethan calls down, already rappelling toward my position.
“The only thing bruised is his ego,” Gabe shouts from below, and I can hear the smirk in his voice.
The safety rope creaks as I hang there, my heart still pounding from the fall—and, if I’m honest, from those thoughts about Malia.
“You’re done for the day.” Ethan’s disappointed sigh carries across the entire facility.
“I’m fine,” I protest, already planning my next attempt. “Just lost focus for a second.”
“Exactly,” he cuts in. “You lost focus on a hundred-foot wall. That’s not like you, and we both know why. Hit the showers. Clear your head.”
I rappel down slowly, my muscles protesting the sudden strain from the fall. The guys try not to stare, but I can feel their concern.
Walt doesn’t fall.
Walt doesn’t lose focus.
Except, apparently, when a certain dark-haired woman gets stuck in his head like a song he can’t stop humming.
“Nice show of gravity there, hotshot,” Rigel quips as my boots hit the floor.
“Bite me,” I mutter, but there’s no heat. He’s right. We all know he’s right. I’m losing my edge, and over what? A woman who won’t give me the time of day?
The problem is, as I unclip my harness and head for the showers, I don’t care. Because even now, with my pride bruised and my team’s eyes on my back, all I can think about is that long, dark hair and what it would feel like running through my fingers.
I’m so screwed.