10. Levi
Chapter 10
Levi
Leg day is always a beast. Tapering the effort on my bad leg is the most difficult part. I would kill to feel the burn from a set of Hungarian split squats right about now. I don’t dare put that sort of isolated tension on my still-healing quad yet, so I’ve settled for elevated goblet squats instead.
“Can you handle more weight?” Locke catches my gaze in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors that line three of the walls of the in-home gym. The setup here is sick. They’ve got all the most up-to-date equipment, including a few selectorized machines I’ve never seen before. The space is clean and bright, and the sound system is chest-poundingly loud.
I give him a nod, then watch as he strides over to a shelf and picks up two pieces of fabric.
“Try these.” He stretches one of the bands.
I work my hand through the cuff at one end, and he adjusts it until it covers from wrist to elbow. When Locke releases the tension, the weight hits, and my entire arm sags.
“What the hell?” I marvel at the thin fabric that has to weigh at least twenty pounds.
“Cool, right?” He grins. “The metal in it is twice as heavy as lead.”
“Damn.” I hold out my other arm so he can sheath that one as well. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”
Locke straightens, his shoulders pulled back. “Kylian invented it.”
A sharp exhale escapes me. “He invented it?” I knew the guy was smart, but I thought he was computer smart. A gadget geek.
“Yes. He created them for me. I have rheumatoid arthritis. Sometimes, when it flares up, I can’t even grip a barbell or wrap my hand around a set of free weights. But I can wear these and at least get some semblance of a workout in.” His tone is casual, like rather than a hardship, his RA is just a fact of life. “Sometimes I use them to add weight to my regular routine. Try it.” He steps back, his hands on his hips, and dips his chin.
Heels repositioned, I squat low. Instantly, my thighs burn more deeply than before.
“Shit. That’s fantastic.”
“What’s fantastic?”
I whip around and momentarily lose my footing. Locke catches my elbow and steadies me. Once I’m sure I won’t topple, I properly turn to Spence, who’s sauntering across the gym.
Swallowing past the anger and frustration I’ve been harboring, I greet him with a nod. “These weighted sleeves Locke let me try. Apparently, Kylian made them.”
“Then of course they’re fantastic,” Spence remarks.
Right. I forgot about the affinity he has for all things Kylian Walsh.
Spence is dressed in matte navy blue athletic shorts and a fitted tech T-shirt on top. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen the man in anything but a three-piece suit or his birthday suit.
My balls zing as I drink in the sinewy, defined angles of his body. Every inch of his brown skin is flawless. Despite being here to work out, his hair is coifed and he’s perfectly put together.
“I’m hitting the showers.” Locke thumps me on the back. “Just hang those up over there when you’re done.”
I nod absentmindedly. I don’t have the wherewithal to be embarrassed that he caught me ogling the man across the room.
My focus stays fixed on Spence’s back. I’m jonesing for him to lift his head and meet my eyes in the mirror wall.
He doesn’t.
Instead, he selects his weights, carries them to a bench, and places them on the floor.
Only then does he give me his attention.
With a jut of his chin, he asks, “Are you well, Champ?”
His tone is too cool, the words too even.
He’s all business, wearing the facade of the unfazed CEO. Hiding behind the mask and the battle armor the world requires of him.
Until yesterday, he’d stopped wearing the mask with me.
Muscles tense, I shuck off the bands, then I stride toward him.
I lock eyes with him in the mirror before I slowly, deliberately, rest my chin on his shoulder and hug him from behind.
He goes stiff in my arms.
Rather than back off, I hold him closer, letting his warm, spicy scent overwhelm me.
“I’m still working through things,” I admit. “But I’ll be okay. Right now, I’m more concerned about how you are.”
His breath catches, his rich brown eyes wide and searching as he examines my reflection. I splay my palms against his abs and gently press my fingertips into the fabric of his shirt, pouring into him every ounce of support I can dredge up. He needs to know I’m here.
I’ve got you.
I’m not going anywhere.
We’ll be okay.
After a few breaths, he covers one of my hands with his and intertwines our fingers. We stay like that, breathing each other in, silently soothing the aches and fears.
“You’re not upset with me?” he eventually asks, his expression still puzzled.
I scoff. “Fuck yes, I’m upset with you.”
He jolts and shifts, as if to spin out of my arms.
I tighten my hold on him. When I’m sure he won’t dart away, I smooth my palms up his abs and rest them on his chest.
“I’m upset, but that doesn’t change how I feel about you. About… us.”
His throat dips with a long swallow. “And how do you feel about us?” he asks, tone low and husky.
I drag my hand up his sternum and over his pecs until my palm rests at the hollow of his throat. Gently, I tip his head to the side, then dust my lips over his neck.
“Like you’re one of the most important people in my life.”
He inhales sharply. The reaction shoots straight to my groin, all warm and heavy.
I kiss his neck again. “Like I want to keep exploring where this goes.”
He stifles a grunt. It’s the sexiest sound I think he’s ever made.
I lick the stubbled skin beneath his jaw. “Like if you feel the same way, I want to keep you forever.”
As I place a final kiss below his ear, his eyes flutter closed and he sighs.
“Spence.” I grasp his shoulders and turn him so we’re face to face. I’m painfully hard, aching for him. But before I can give in to the sensation, he needs to understand that this—us—is so much more than physical.
Swallowing, I frame his face with my hands. I need his attention. More importantly, I need him to really hear what I’m saying.
“Yesterday was awful, but it’s over now. It happened, and it was a success. I know you’re used to running the show, and most of the time, I’m okay with that. But know this: when it all feels too heavy, I’m here. We’re all here. You don’t have to fester in the heaviness of this on your own.”
“Did you just use the word fester ?” He arches a brow, his expression cocky.
I snort. “Guess Sione’s rubbing off on me.” Arms wrapped around him again, I pull him in until our chests are pressed together.
On his exhale, he sinks into my touch. The movement is minute, but it’s enough. He hears me. He feels me. And he’s absorbed at least some of what I’m saying.
“You don’t have to do any of this alone.”
He sinks into me further, leans on me more, and buries his face in the crook of my neck. “I’m sorry, Champ,” he mutters, his lips ghosting over my skin. “I was sure I had thought of everything in advance.”
Confusion threads through me. What does he mean by everything ?
“Your mother,” he clarifies, as if he’s read my mind. “I didn’t account for your mother.”
Talk about a boner killer.
Sighing, I pull back and stretch out my neck. “Yeah, she’s going to be a complication.”
He drops onto the bench and crosses one leg over his knee. “Perhaps we could eliminate that complication?”
My stomach twists painfully. “Spence, no.”
He looks up at me, brows furrowed and lips turned down.
“My mom… leave her be. I can deal with her. She’s not evil like Magnolia. She’s misguided and narrowminded, but she would never try to physically harm anyone.”
He straightens, his expression smoothing out. “You see the difference, then?”
I frown. “Yeah, of course I do. My mom…” I trail off. I’ve yet to delve into the complex, mostly negative relationship I share with my mother with Spence, and now is not the time. “Just—let me handle her. I can set and hold boundaries. She’s a nuisance—”
“But she’s not pure evil,” he finishes for me. “Fine.” He nods succinctly. “My sole focus will be Magnolia.”
Anxiety churns in my gut. Not because I care about Hunter’s mom, but because I care about the fallout of what he might be planning.
I focus on my feet, scuffing my sneaker against the matted floor. “Spence—”
He snatches my hand in his, startling me.
When I meet his eye, there’s nothing but unwavering determination there. “As long as Magnolia is breathing, Hunter is not safe. Until she’s handled, Hunter cannot be free.”
I tug my hand from his hold and run it through my hair. I don’t want him to get hurt or involve himself in a crime, or to be tied up in something he might regret someday.
He rises to his feet, slow, steady, and sure, and pulls me into his body, encasing me in his firm embrace until I relax and hug him in return.
“Shh,” he soothes. “I don’t want to talk anymore.”
I open my mouth, then snap it closed and inhale harshly, trying to breathe through the tightness in my chest. Whatever he’s planning… whatever he thinks he has to do to get rid of Magnolia…
“You don’t have to—”
They’re the only words I can choke out before he slams his mouth to mine.
The kiss is fierce from the start, his tongue pushing between my lips and demanding entrance. He licks and nips and devours me until I’m breathless.
Fuck . He’s intense.
Hands, tongue, and teeth claim me. Kneading, stroking, and clashing with an undeniably ferocious hunger.
“No more talking,” he grunts between kisses.
His stubble scratches against my face as he ravishes my neck, and though we’re separated by two thin layers of fabric, the heat emanating from him soaks into me. It takes all my willpower not to rip off both our shirts so I can feel him for real.
With his hands twisted in the hair at my nape, he backs me up toward the wall without mirrors.
“Where—”
“Cameras.” Without further explanation, he dives back in, kissing me like his life depends on it.
When I slam into the wall, he lines up with me and grinds his pelvis into mine.
“Fucking hell.” I close my eyes and let my head drop back. I can feel every inch of his erection dueling against mine.
“You like that, Champ?”
My only response is a whimper. It’s all I can muster.
He rolls his hips again and again until precum seeps from my tip.
Then he’s encasing my length with both hands. He doesn’t falter. Doesn’t ease me into it. He jerks me fast, hard—so fucking hard—then, abruptly, he stops.
“I want you on your knees. I want my cock to find its home in your throat as deep as you can take it.”
Fuck . I want that, too.
A surge of adrenaline shoots through me. The sensation is almost identical to the feeling that used to hit me when I made a perfect catch and tore down an empty field.
“Yes, sir.” With a teasing nip of his lips, I reverse our positions and press his back into the wall.
With my fingers trailing along the waistband of his athletic shorts, I bend my knees, ready to drop to the floor and take his pants and boxers with me.
Before I can, he grasps my wrist. “Wait.”
I still, and when I register the deep concern radiating from his blue-gray eyes, my heart constricts.
“Your leg.” That’s all the explanation I get before he tilts to one side, snags a short stack of yoga mats, and places them between us at his feet.
Warmth blooms in my chest and filters through my extremities. This man.
I can’t fight my grin as I lower myself, taking care to position my knee on the center of the mats and ensure my leg is in a decent lunge.
I’m so moved by his tenderness I’m almost embarrassed to look up and let him see how much he affects me.
Thankfully, Spence doesn’t let the moment linger.
With a hand buried in my hair, he tugs my head back. His irises have gone fierce, stormy when I finally make eye contact.
“You remember what Hunter taught you, Champ?”
Licking my lips, I tip my head back farther. Hell yeah, I do. I can’t wait to fucking rock his world.