Chapter Six Hot in Here #2
He looked carved from heat and tension. Long legs stretched out, towel slung low across his hips, every inch of him slick with sweat and barely contained power.
Ink marked his skin, dark and bold, curling down one arm in sharp lines Trent had only glimpsed in flashes at the cliffside hours earlier when Reece had hauled a child to safety.
Now, he looked half-asleep, head tipped back, throat exposed, eyes closed. The slow rise and fall of his chest made it feel like the whole room breathed with him. At ease. Dangerous. Striking .
Trent hesitated in the doorway, frozen. Not from shyness, but something sharper. Because this wasn’t heat. It was gravity. Reece was gravity.
Then, as if sensing him, Reece lifted his head and Trent forgot how to breathe.
“You gonna shut that door?” Reece snapped, gruff, as if smoke lived in his throat.
“Uh… yeah.” Trent should’ve stepped back out, pulled the door shut behind him, let the man have his peace. That was the smart thing. The safe thing.
Instead, he stepped inside.
The door clicked shut behind him with a finality making his skin prickle. He sat on the bottom bench, trying and failing not to feel the man’s gaze settle on him through the thick haze of heat.
“Trent?”
Trent dragged his eyes up. “Uh…yeah.”
Reece sat forward. Held his gaze. “Fancy seeing you again.” He then held out his hand.
Trent took it and Reece’s grip was firm, his palm rough and warm from the heat of the sauna. And the moment their hands met, a jolt shot straight through him, sharp and electric as if he’d grabbed a live wire. His body betrayed him. Heat pooling low, swelling his dick beneath the towel.
Fuck. Not now. Not here.
Trent pulled his hand back and cleared his throat, but it did nothing to temper the pulse thudding beneath his towel or ease the sharp, electric awareness prickling across every inch of his skin.
He turned away, eyes locked on some meaningless point ahead, trying to calculate how long he needed to sit here before it wouldn’t look obvious when he left. Before he could find somewhere to deal with the tension clawing through him and jerk himself off to a blissful release .
God, he was wound so tight he could’ve snapped in half. It had been… too long . And with Reece sitting there behind him, all sweat-slicked muscle and a body sculpted for sin, how the hell was he supposed to think straight, let alone talk himself down?
“You look tense.”
Trent didn’t need to turn around to know Reece had moved closer. Because he could feel his breath ghosting hot across the back of his neck. Then he touched his shoulder with his hand and Trent flinched.
Reece drew his hand back, holding it up in surrender. “Easy,” he said, that damned smirk audible in his voice. “Didn’t mean to spook you. Figured… although no masseuse, I could work that knot out for you. If you wanted. It’s been a tough night. You were a hero back there.”
Trent turned, his eyes finding Reece’s, and in that look, the offer was crystal clear. This wasn’t about muscle tension. It was about relief . A massage with a happy ending.
Simple. Physical. No strings attached.
Trent’s thoughts spiralled. Did this bloke do this all the time? Some unspoken agreement between emergency services? Had he stumbled into the frontline workers’ well-kept secret for burning off the worst of their nights?
Reece cocked his head, his gaze unwavering, full of quiet confidence. “No pressure.” He leant back again as if he wasn’t the living embodiment of temptation.
And that should’ve been the end.
But Trent was wired. Exhausted. Stupid. And so desperate he could taste it.
Before his mind could catch up with his body, he stood, let the towel drop. Decision made. Loud and clear .
Reece’s mouth curled into a slow, wicked smirk.
He ripped his own towel off his lap, revealing exactly what he had on offer.
Hard, thick, as big as the man himself, and unapologetically inviting.
Trent dropped to his knees before he had the chance to think better of it and his mind went blissfully blank the moment his lips closed around Reece’s cock, the thick weight of him filling his mouth and obliterating every thought that wasn’t this .
Above him, Reece groaned, the sound vibrating through Trent’s bones as he tipped his head back with a dull, helpless thud against the wall.
“ Fuck …” Reece rasped, voice little more than a breathy growl as he settled his big, calloused hands on Trent’s shoulders.
“Yeah… I can work your knot out real good like this.”
He didn’t guide or push. He kneaded Trent’s tense shoulders, tightening his grip when Trent took him deeper.
As if he couldn’t help responding to the devastating way Trent lost himself in the act.
It was messy and desperate, a brutal focus feeling more like self-destruction than pleasure.
But Trent didn’t care. He needed this. Needed something to cut through the noise in his head.
So Trent took him deep and fast, sucking on him, slurping on him, until Reece tightened, then growled and finally came apart with a low, broken curse, fingers digging into Trent’s shoulders as Trent drank him dry.
“Fuck, yeah …” Reece raked his fingers through Trent’s damp curls, voice rough with satisfaction. “Get up here.”
He tugged gently, not demanding but expectant, and Trent, still half-lost in the heady aftermath, slipped Reece’s cock from his mouth and rose to his feet.
Before his brain caught up, he climbed onto Reece’s lap, bracketing his hips with his thighs, cock flushed and aching, rubbing along Reece’s hard, sweat-slicked stomach .
Reece slid his hands onto Trent’s waist, palms hot and rough against overheated skin, then he leant in, his mouth barely a breath away, eyes dark and locked on Trent’s lips.
But Trent turned his face aside. “No kissing.”
Reece tilted his head. Curiosity, maybe?
A hint of disappointment? But he didn’t press.
Didn’t ask why . Instead, he adjusted his grip, wrapping one thick, calloused hand firmly around Trent’s cock, stroking him with easy confidence.
Trent groaned low in his throat, falling to rest his head on Reece’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around Reece’s neck to cling on as the pleasure built fast and hard.
Reece shifted beneath him, slipping his other hand lower, teasing gently behind Trent’s balls before finding his entrance.
He then circled a slick fingertip there, coaxing rather than pushing, as if he had all the time in the world to ruin him, and Trent sucked in a sharp breath, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip to keep from making a sound.
He didn’t stop him. Couldn’t . So when Reece eased that finger inside him while working his dick with rabid, relentless strokes, Trent eased himself down onto it.
And Reece pushed in deeper, angling just right, stroking his thumb under Trent’s taint as he searched for—
“There it is, sweetheart,” Reece rasped, a dark smirk curling his mouth.
Sweetheart rolled off Reece’s tongue like a fucking promise. Low and filthy and so devastatingly soft it broke through every last scrap of control Trent had.
It shattered him.
He shuddered, body locking tight as the devastating pleasure surged hot and merciless.
He jerked his hips helplessly, grinding his cock into Reece’s tunnelled fist while rocking back onto his finger to get him deeper, harder, chasing the edge.
And as he tossed his head back, widening his mouth on a gasp, every muscle pulled so tight he feared he could tear apart from the inside.
Reece worked him through it, dragging his thumb over the head of Trent’s cock in perfect rhythm, stroking his finger along the spot inside him again and again.
“That’s it,” Reece rasped into his ear, voice a rough, sinful whisper. “Let go for me, sweetheart. Just like that.”
With a low, desperate moan, Trent came hard, the release tearing through him, every nerve set alight.
His vision blurred, mind blanked out everything but the hot, slick pressure of Reece’s hands and the low, filthy rumble of his voice coaxing him through it.
“That’s it… there you are… so fucking pretty when you come. ”
When it was over, Trent slumped forward, chest heaving, heart pounding, with his come painted across Reece’s hand and chest, hot and messy and utterly wrecked.
Reece eased his finger out of him with a gentleness at odds with what they’d done, then let go of his cock to glide his hands on Trent’s waist, tracing absent circles over his damp, trembling skin.
Then Reece tilted his head, fluttering warm breath over Trent’s lips and his mouth was close. Too close. Offering something unspoken but impossible to miss.
Let me have this too.
A kiss.
Something simple but devastatingly intimate.
And Trent’s heart tripped over itself, body still humming, head a mess of everything he couldn’t afford to feel.
But he leant back before their mouths could meet.
He couldn’t even say, in that moment, why he was drawing the line there.
He’d had one-night stands before. Had flings.
Relationships. The messy fucked up situation with his mates.
He’d kissed every one of them. Sometimes before, sometimes during, sometimes after .
But this?
There was something about this , about Reece , that made him hold back.
Made him want to wait. Maybe it was instinct.
Maybe some part of him knew that if he let Reece kiss him right then, it would break down a wall he wasn’t ready to let crumble.
That it would mean more. Feel more. Or maybe it was the unconscious need to find out if Reece would fight for what he wasn’t willing to give away for free.
If he was worth it.
“Alright, sweetheart,” Reece said with a hazy smile. “We can keep to your rules. Cause you and me? We’re doing that again.”
Present day…
And he’d been right.
They had done it again.
And again.
And again. Until Trent stopped counting the times and started counting the days in between instead.
But then came the stories. The whispers.
Reece, ever the collector of conquests, gathering trophies as if they meant nothing at all.
Dev had seen him at the hotel once, draped over some tight-dressed woman as if he’d already moved on before Trent had even pulled up his pants.
And there was Freddie. The beat copper Trent had bumped into a few times on scene, who seemed to know Reece’s history a little too well.
So, really, the rule about no kissing had made perfect sense.
A boundary to keep him from falling hard and fast and crashing into the inevitable.
A flimsy shield to protect himself when he found out he wasn’t Reece’s only midnight escape.
When he’d discover he was one more in a long line of sauna encounters and nameless relief.
Because Reece Morgan? He didn’t do relationships. He did adrenaline and danger. Leathers and late nights. A hero complex wrapped in smoke and grit, with hands that could pin Trent down and still somehow make him feel like he was flying.
And Trent was weak. Na?ve. Aching. And kept going back.
Because Dev was right.
The feelings were there, whether Trent admitted them or not.
And now, as he sat alone in the gym sauna, the air thick and stifling, waiting and hoping Reece would show after the hell of the warehouse fire… and finding only empty silence…
That’s when it hit him.
How fucking fucked he really was.