Chapter Five
Juliet
I’m still glowing from last night.
Noah’s kiss is seared into me. His hands. His warmth. The way he looked at me afterward, so soft, so sure, so mine.
Tonight, I’ll cook for him. We’ll have dinner. I’ll make it perfect.
Everything is going exactly the way it should.
So, I should be focused on that.
But then I see him.
And suddenly, everything shifts.
I only come to the gym to stay soft.
Not to sweat. Not to strain.
I don’t run. I don’t lift. I stretch, I bend, I keep my body supple.
The right kind of men don’t want a woman with calloused hands, with roped muscle and sharp edges.
The right kind of men want softness.
Noah does.
So I only come here a few times a month. Just enough to stay flexible. Just enough to keep everything delicate.
And as I’m leaving I see him.
Him.
And suddenly, it’s like the air changes.
I feel him before I even process what I’m looking at, before my mind can name the strange, deep pull in my stomach.
He’s lifting.
Heavy weights. Brutal, unrelenting.
The plates clank together with each rep, but his body moves steady, controlled.
So strong. So precise.
He doesn’t tremble. Doesn’t shake.
Just powers through.
Thick, flexing muscle. Sweat-drenched skin.
Tattoos.
They coil around his biceps, wrap around his forearms, twist and shift with every movement.
God.
I can’t stop looking at him.
He is not like Noah.
He is not sweet.
He is something else entirely.
He doesn’t glance up between sets, doesn’t smile at the girl on the treadmill, doesn’t soften himself for the world.
A man like that wouldn’t be timid.
A man like that wouldn’t hesitate.
A man like that could ruin me.
And I think…
I might want him to.
The whole drive home I should be thinking about Noah.
About the dinner I’m cooking. About how easy this is going to be.
But instead, I’m thinking about him.
The man from the gym.
I don’t even know his name yet.
But I know his body.
Powerful muscle. Arms that flexed with every rep, strong and brutal. Tattoos that shifted over sweat-drenched skin, mesmerizing.
Noah’s hands were gentle.
I bet his wouldn’t be.
I bet he wouldn’t hesitate.
And now, I need to know more.
At home, I drop my gym bag by the door, head straight to my desk, and open a fresh notebook.
I don’t label it yet.
I just write.
Tuesday. 4:50 PM. Already at the gym when I arrived. Looks like he’d been there a while. Does he come every day? Same time? Need to check.
I tap my pen against the page.
I should stop here.
I have Noah. Noah is perfect. Sweet, romantic, and falling hard. I don’t need more.
But it’s not about need.
It’s about completion.
And I think I just found my missing piece.
But first, Noah.
I set the table with care.
Candles, soft lighting, a meal made just for him.
Noah’s the kind of man who appreciates effort. He likes sweet, romantic things. He’s not like most men.
And that’s why I need to secure him.
Because I have work to do.
And I can’t focus on learning about the man at the gym until Noah is where he belongs.
The doorbell rings, and when I open it, Noah is standing there, holding another bouquet of flowers.
My heart melts.
Pink and white again.
Because he pays attention. Because he cares.
Because he’s mine.
“You didn’t have to bring me more,” I murmur, taking them carefully.
He shrugs, smiling. “I wanted to.”
I beam up at him.
He is so fucking sweet. “You’re amazing,” I say. Because Noah, he needs the praise. Needs to know he’s getting this right and I am his as much as he is mine.
We eat together at my little table, candles flickering between us.
Noah is easy to talk to. He’s soft-spoken, thoughtful, warm.
Every time I refill his plate, he looks at me like I’m some kind of dream.
Good.
After we eat, He leans against the counter as I rinse the plates, watching me.
I turn, drying my hands, stepping closer.
His breath catches as I run my fingers down his arm.
“You want to stay a little longer?” I murmur.
His jaw tightens.
He does.
But he’s too polite. Too hesitant.
Not for long.
Because I push up on my toes, and I kiss him.
He groans into my mouth.
Like he’s been waiting for this.
Like he’s been holding back.
Not anymore.
His hands are on my waist, warm, strong, holding me like I might break.
Noah is sweet. Careful.
But I can feel him holding back.
And that? That won’t do.
I press closer, softer, deeper.
I roll my hips against him.
He makes a sound, half groan, half surrender.
Oh. Oh, I love that.
And fuck, I want him.
I guide him back to the couch, straddling his lap, feeling him exactly where I want him.
He’s hard. So fucking hard.
His fingers twitch against my thighs, gripping me tighter.
I feel his breath, heavy against my lips.
He looks at me like he’s never wanted anything more.
I smile.
Because he shouldn’t.
His hands slide under my sweater, fingers dragging over bare skin.
I shiver. Fuck. He feels good.
His mouth moves to my jaw, my neck, hot, desperate, wrecked.
I tilt my head, giving him more, feeling his teeth, his tongue, his need.
I grind against him, and his groan is damn near ruined.
My nails dig into his shoulders, and I’m seconds from pulling his shirt off.
I want him now.
I want him inside me, under me, mine.
I slow.
I pull back, watching his dazed, fucked-out expression.
His pupils are blown. His lips are swollen.
He looks ruined.
I brush my fingers over his jaw, leaning in, whispering against his lips. “Stay with me next time.”
His breath shudders. “Yeah,” he rasps. “Fuck. Yeah.”
I press one last kiss to his lips, slow, deep, lingering.
I already own him.
I just need him here.
With me. Always.
And then… I can move on.
The man at the gym will be next.
But first? I need to make sure Noah has nowhere else to go.
#
The next day, I know Noah goes to work at 8:30 a.m. He’s always on time.
I pack my bag, gloves, hoodie, a change of clothes, all the things I might need, and drive to his apartment.
I park a few blocks away and walk.
There are so many options.
A small fire? A gas leak? Flooding?
I’ve thought about them all.
But something nastier? Something total?
That’s better.
I know his neighbors’ schedules, I know everything.
I make my way to his apartment. The sliding glass door makes it easy. They are always the easiest way in. Most people are lax about making sure the bars that lock them in place are secure. Noah is no different.
Inside, it smells like him.
Warm. Clean. Comforting.
I breathe it in.
Then?
I destroy it.
It’s so easy.
I start with his closet. Clothes slashed, shirts torn, shoes ruined. I’ll help him replace it all.
Then, the living room. Sofa cushions ripped open, stuffing everywhere.
I tip over a lamp. Shatter it.
The bookshelf? Gutted. Pages torn from his favorite novels, spines snapped.
The bedroom?
The bed.
I take my knife, drag it across the mattress, slowly.
Precise. Deep.
I don’t stop until the stuffing is spilling onto the floor.
Then, the final touch.
I walk into the kitchen, pull out his milk, eggs, anything perishable.
Dump them on the floor. Leave them there to rot.
The apartment is a disaster.
His couch is gutted, white stuffing spilling out like entrails. The fridge is empty now, its contents soaking into the floor, the sour smell of milk already thick in the air.
I stand in the wreckage for a moment, inhaling the chaos I created, calm.
This will work.
Noah will have nowhere to go.
No furniture. No security. No safe place but me.
And that thought is warm and settling. Satisfying.
I don’t linger. There’s no reason to. My part is done.
I leave the door open, not hiding that someone forced their way in.
By the time I step outside, I’m already thinking about something else.
Someone else.
The gym isn’t far.
The drive is quick, smooth, uneventful, and I find myself glancing at the dashboard clock, memorizing the time. Noah won’t be home for hours.
There is plenty of time until his world collapses.
Until he calls me, voice shaky, lost, needing me.
Several hours to kill.
And I know exactly how to spend them.
It’s busy when I arrive. Not packed, but the steady hum of machines, music, and low conversation fills the air. The scent of rubber mats and sweat clings to the walls, mixing with the faint chemical tang of disinfectant.
I don’t look for him immediately.
Instead, I check in, grab a towel, and make my way toward the mats. I stretch, slow and deliberate, my movements fluid as I slide into positions designed to elongate, to soften, to keep my body exactly how I want it.
How men want it.
And then, as I rise from a seated stretch, I see him.
And oh.
He’s even bigger than I remember.
Sweat clings to his skin, tracing the lines of muscle that doesn’t belong to a sweet boy like Noah. No, this is something else entirely.
Heavy weights. Controlled, brutal movements.
The tattoos on his arms shift and flex, ink stretching over thick, powerful muscle.
I wonder how they’d feel beneath my hands.
I wonder how they’d feel beneath my teeth.
My stomach tightens.
I shouldn’t be here.
I should be home, waiting for Noah.
Instead, I can’t look away.
And then, just as I adjust into another stretch, he looks at me.
It’s brief, a flicker, a second too fast to be intentional.
But it’s enough.
Enough to tell me I have his attention.
And soon?
I’ll have all of it.
When I leave I don’t go straight to Noah’s apartment or home.
I stop at the coffee shop.
The bell chimes as I step inside, the warm scent of espresso and vanilla curling in the air. It’s comforting, familiar, safe.
Noah’s behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, apron tied snug around his waist.
He doesn’t see me at first, too focused on steaming milk, the sound of frothing filling the space.
I take my time.
I make sure I still look post-gym. A light sheen of sweat, leggings hugging my curves, my hair pulled up just enough to look casual.
Because Noah notices things.
Because he needs to know where I’ve been.
I wait until he turns, until he finally catches sight of me.
And when he does?
His whole face softens.
“Hey,” he calls, his voice warm, pleased.
Like I just made his whole day better.
Poor thing has no idea what’s about to happen.
He slides my cup across the counter, but I don’t reach for it immediately. Instead, I tilt my head, eyes drifting over him, soft, affectionate. “You look tired,” I murmur.
Noah exhales a quiet laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Long shift.”
I love how easy this is.
How much he already leans into me.
I sip my drink, watching the way he watches me. He made it perfect. Because he pays attention to what I like. “I was just at the gym.”
His lips curve. “Yeah?”
I nod, slow, like it’s just a casual detail. Not something I specifically made sure he knew.
“Didn’t overdo it, did you?” he teases, eyes soft with something sweeter.
I shake my head. “Just enough.”
Enough to have a reason to be out. Enough to get another eyeful of the beast with weights.
I linger, slowly nursing my drink at a back table, watching him work as I read through emails. His emails. There’s nothing exciting, it’s mostly junk. Something from his sister, I delete that.
Then, as his shift nears its end, I shove my phone in my bag, and flick my gaze up to his. “You heading home soon?” I ask.
He nods. “Yeah, about fifteen minutes.”
I smile. “Want some company?”
Noah doesn’t even hesitate. “Yeah,” he says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
And just like that?
I’m exactly where I need to be.
With him when his world falls apart.
So I can be the one to piece him back together.