Marcus #3
For a split second, Chet’s shoulders square, his jawline tightening with the instinct to retaliate with violence to reassert his broken ego. His entire body is vibrating with tension, like a tightly coiled spring, and I feel my own muscles tense in preparation to pounce.
But then his eyes flicker past Alex, catching my reflection in one of the mirrors.
A bit of the violent color drains from his face as he realizes the gym owner has been standing there the whole time, listening to the entire exchange.
He twitches, but he doesn’t throw a punch, grabbing his bag off the bench instead and scowling at Alex with enough plain aggression that it’s clear he wanted to.
“Whatever,” he spits, circling Alex close enough that their shoulders brush. And then he has the gall to look to me for backup. “You hear the shit this guy is spouting in your gym, Marcus? It’s a fucking joke.”
My brain is short-circuiting. Alex’s words are still rattling around my skull, loud and unabashed, and my joints suddenly lock with an icy wave of panic. Imagine bending him over and fucking him ‘til he’s begging you to let him come. I suppress a shiver.
If I throw Chet out now, what questions will that lead to? Questions I’m not ready for. I’m certainly not ready for whatever the hell is waking up inside me.
So I falter, and I’m not proud of it. In fact, I already know I’m going to be beating myself up about this moment for weeks to come. But I step into the room fully, keeping my voice carefully neutral, the professional trainer mask slipping easily into place.
“I heard enough, Chet,” I say cooly. “Leave the trash talk at the door next time. Get out of here and go home. Cool off.”
Chet glowers, clearly expecting me to take his side, which makes my stomach twist with discomfort in and of itself.
He mutters a string of curse words under his breath and pushes past me out of the locker room, swiftly followed by his two silent henchmen.
The heavy door slams shut behind them with a metallic thud.
An uneasy silence falls in the locker room. Or at least, it feels uneasy to me—Alex is standing there still looking completely unfazed, one sculpted shoulder resting against the locker as he turns to face me, his eyes dragging over my tight posture.
“What a colorful, diverse clientele you have here, Marcus,” he says sardonically. “Although the colors were mostly various shades of magenta, and a ravishing purple when I confirmed his suspicions about my sexual preferences.”
My laugh is more of a short, sharp puff of air. I cut it short before it’s really even begun, shaking my head at myself in frustration. “Should have been black and blue, the way he was talking to you.”
Alex tilts his head, looking at me with a curiosity that makes sweat bead at my brow. “Don’t worry, I’m a big boy, Marcus.”
He signs the comment off with a wink that eases some of the tension in my muscles but makes my pulse quicken for a completely different reason.
I walk slowly to my locker, pulling off my own t-shirt and not missing the way Alex’s eyes rake over my bare chest with barely contained interest. It makes my skin prickle with awareness.
“Did you mean what you said?” I say as we both start changing into our casual clothes.
Seeing Alex pull on a pair of jeans feels strange, like seeing your teacher out of school when you’re a kid.
That’s not to say he doesn’t look incredible in them, though—I’m starting to think there’s probably nothing he doesn’t look good in. “About Chet being into alphas?”
He laughs brightly, his abs drawing my eye as they contract.
“God, no, I was just fucking with him. The only alpha he’d be interested in fucking is himself.
” I snort in agreement, and we both finish getting dressed and gathering our things.
Alex walks over to me slowly, his bag over one shoulder and his eyes locked on mine.
“I meant everything else I said, though. Including the part about being able to detect when an alpha wants to fuck other alphas. Especially if the alpha they want to fuck is me.”
One of his long, elegant fingers traces an agonizingly slow line from the collar of my tee all the way down to the hem, coming to rest on my belt buckle. I swallow thickly, his sharp scent flooding my senses.
His eyes flick down to my crotch playfully, and there’s no hiding the blush that creeps up my neck at the very obvious bulge there.
“I’ll see you next week, Marcus,” he whispers, tapping my belt lightly and flashing me one final, knowing smirk, before he steps back and slips out the door.
I stand there in the empty locker room, my blood thrumming in my ears, my pulse hammering, and my cock harder than it’s ever been. When the feeling comes back to my legs, I drop heavily to the bench, my throat tight as I finally allow myself to process what the fuck just happened.
I didn’t freeze because of Chet. I froze because when Alex described bending another alpha over, and the raw power of breaking apart another dominant man completely… I had envisioned myself doing it to him. And it was the most electric, terrifyingly turned on I’ve ever been in my life.