31 - Jess
Jess
The cool fabric of the bench press pressed into my shoulder blades as twenty-five pounds of solid iron hovered directly over my collarbone.
Capitol Fitness at eleven o'clock at night meant zero audiences, zero distractions, and a distinct lack of the usual daytime preening.
The overhead fluorescent tubes buzzed a dry, monotonous hum that harmonized perfectly with the metallic clink of the weight stacks across the room.
Giving myself permission to feel the full, chaotic spectrum of my feelings felt like letting a structural beam crack inside my chest—terrifying, but long overdue.
"Keep those elbows tucked, Jess. You're flaring," Brock’s voice drifted down from behind the bench press setup. His massive palms hovered an inch underneath the barbell, his presence a comforting, solid safety net. "Push from the chest, not the shoulders. Three more reps."
"My pectoral muscles are about to detach from the bone, Brock," the complaint left my lips in a breathless grunt as the iron rose toward the ceiling. "You're trying to kill me before the wedding so you don't have to watch me choose a date."
"Fewer complaints, more execution," Brock grunted, his hand gently tapping the center of my sternum to guide my focus. "Two more. Drive through the heels."
The bar touched my shirt, the cold steel grounding the burn in my muscles. Another hard press locked out the elbows.
"I like it," the confession tumbled out into the empty space between us before the bar even cleared the iron hooks of the rack.
Sitting up required a massive effort from my core, my thighs swinging over the edge of the vinyl bench as I looked up into his broad, sweat-sheened face.
"Dating the three of you. The whole absurd arrangement.
I stopped trying to rationalize the math, and it turns out I actually enjoy it. "
Brock grabbed a grey hand towel from his shoulder, wiping the moisture from his knuckles with a steady, unhurried precision.
His green eyes searched mine, the casual gym instructor mask dropping away to reveal the simple, honest man underneath.
"Figured you did. You haven't bolted for the exit yet, and you're a flight risk on a good day. "
"Dane made his position pretty clear after the dance class," my fingers traced the knurling on a nearby dumbbell, the rough pattern biting into my skin. "He is looking for total asset management. I need to know where you stand on the ledger, big guy."
"Lie down on the mat. Hamstring stretches," he gestured toward the blue foam padding nearby, bypassing the opportunity to panic.
The transition to the floor felt like melting into the foam.
Brock knelt at the foot of the mat, his hand capturing my right sneaker and lifting my leg toward the ceiling.
The stretch hit the back of my thigh with a dull ache.
He leaned his weight into the move, his torso creating a wall of heat over my shins.
"Dane and Hunter are my brothers, Jess. We've been through enough dirt together that a bit of shared territory isn't going to break the foundation," Brock murmured, his chest expanding with a deep breath as he deepened the stretch. "Hold that position. Breathe into the muscle."
"That's a very diplomatic answer for a guy who usually speaks in monosyllables," I panted, my hands flat on the floorboards to stabilize my pelvis.
"I'm serious," he downshifted his weight, shifting his grip to my calf muscle to rotate the hip joint.
His fingers sank into my skin, the firm, callus-rough texture of his palm sending a wave of familiarity straight to my stomach.
"Never thought about a situation like this before you showed up.
The boutique fitting room with Hunter? That was a whole different ballpark.
But it was the most fun I had in years."
"Fun?"
"Fun," he repeated, a slow, handsome grin splitting his features as he lowered my right leg and picked up the left. "You think I let just any client drag me into a luxury curtained box to ruin an expensive dress? You're a menace, Jess. But you're our menace."
The left leg reached the apex of the stretch, the tension radiating down to my calf.
Brock leaned closer, his broad shoulders blocking out the view of the squat racks behind him.
The scent of his cedarwood deodorant and clean sweat enveloped me, a visceral weight that made the cynical voice in my head go quiet for once.
"Is that all this is? A fun project to keep the fitness metrics interesting?" The question carried a tiny sliver of the vulnerability I spent weeks trying to bury under sarcasm.
Brock stopped the movement. He lowered my leg to the foam mat with meticulous care, his hulking weight shifting forward until he sat cross-legged right beside my hip.
He leaned over my torso, his face inches from mine, his eyes devoid of the usual playful teasing.
His hand came up to wrap around the back of my neck, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw with a pressure that felt heavy with intent.
"I'll do anything to keep you around a little longer, Jess," his voice dropped into a rough, quiet cadence that echoed off the metal lockers nearby. "I... really... really... really, really like you. The whole package. The smart mouth, the attitude, the works."
A startled, breathless laugh escaped my throat at the repetition. "Four 'reallys', Brock? That sounds like a statistical anomaly."
"Shut up and take the compliment," he muttered.
My hands hooked into the collar of his grey t-shirt, pulling his head down before he could formulate another sentence.
Our lips met in a deep, unhurried kiss that tasted of the water bottle he consumed earlier and the raw honesty of the empty gym.
His tongue slid into my mouth with a broad, flat pressure, claiming space with a relaxed confidence that contrasted beautifully with Dane’s strategic takeover or Hunter’s athletic heat.
Brock moved like a mountain—slow, inevitable, and entirely solid.
He shifted over me on the blue mat, his weight settling between my thighs with a heavy, grounding warmth that made my pussy ache with an immediate, familiar pulse. The thin cotton of my leggings offered little protection against the hard ridge of his erection pressing against my pelvic bone.
"We still have two sets of core work to finish, Jess," he whispered against my lips, his hand sliding underneath the hem of my tank top to cup the bare skin of my waist.
"The core can wait," my fingers dug into the thick muscles of his upper arms, feeling the iron strength he built through decades of discipline. "Show me how much you really, really, really, really like me."
The frosted glass door of the locker room annex groaned on its hinges, giving way to a dense wall of white cloud that swallowed us whole within three steps.
The steam room functioned like a tropical pressure cooker, the thick moisture coating the slate tiles and immediately turning the cotton of my tank top into a translucent second skin.
Eucalyptus oil infused the vapor, biting the back of my throat with a medicinal crispness that made my lungs expand.
Brock’s hands found the hem of my tank top in the whiteout, his fingers hot and slick as he peeled the fabric over my head and tossed it into the dim void of the bench.
My sneakers and leggings came off in a clumsy, breathless tangle on the wet slate. Shoes clattered. Elastic snapped. Brock dropped his gym shorts with a single, unbothered downward shove, stepping out of it until we stood naked in the billowing heat.
The condensation gathered into fat droplets on his chest, rolling down the thick channels of his abs to drip from the dark hair at his groin.
Seeing him naked always required a mental recalculation of scale.
Hunter and Dane possessed elite athletic frames, but Brock was built from a different kind of architecture.
He was big in a way that required physical preparation—a long, exceptionally thick, solid pillar of muscle that stood fully erect, the dark purple head weeping a steady bead of pre-cum into the fog.
He stepped closer, pinning my back against the smooth tile wall. The stone felt icy against my shoulder blades, but the front of my body melted into the absolute furnace of his hair-roughened skin.
"You're shaking, Jess," he murmured against my mouth, his breath a humid gust that mingled with the vapor.
"The tile’s cold," the defense sounded weak, even to me. "And you occupy a ridiculous amount of space."
His lips crushed mine to silence the commentary.
The kiss tasted of condensation and salt, his tongue driving deep with a slow, heavy pressure that made my hips tilt forward by instinct.
Brock’s right hand slid between our bellies, his thick fingers wrapping around the base of his shaft to guide the length up against my stomach.
The sheer width of the steel-hard skin rubbing against my lower abdomen sent a hot, liquid ache straight down to my core.
My left hand reached down, mirroring his grip, my fingers barely meeting around the thick circumference of his cock.
Sliding my palm up and down required a full, open-handed stroke.
The friction produced a sensuous sound that echoed off the walls, competing with the steady hiss of the steam nozzle in the corner.
Brock groaned into my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin above my collarbone as his free hand slid down between my thighs.
His fingers found my soaking pussy lips, parting the swollen flesh to submerge two thick knuckles straight into my tight, cream-drenched canal.
The sudden stretch made my breath catch, my inner walls clenching hard around his intrusive width.
He kept his fingers stationary, letting my body adjust to the bulk while his thumb found my engorged clit, flicking the slick nub with a firm, relentless rhythm.
We stood locked together in the white cloud, a mutual, standing masturbation that turned the environment into a blur of friction and liquid heat.
My hand picked up speed on his shaft, pumping the thick length until the vein under the skin throbbed against my palm, his pre-cum lubricating the stroke into a slippery, frantic rhythm.
Brock pumped his fingers inside me, matching the pace, his thumb working my clit until my thighs began to tremble against his hips.
"Brock, fuck, I'm close," the words panted out against his shoulder, my fingers digging into the dense muscle of his back.
"Come on my hand, Jess. Let me feel it," he grunted, his upper body bracing as he increased the depth of his penetration, stretching my walls to their absolute limit.
A sharp click cut through the hiss of the steam and our hands stopped moving.
The door swung open, cutting a brief, rectangular hole through the white mist. A tall silhouette stepped in, the door closing behind him to seal the perimeter once more. Dane’s eyes cut straight through the vapor to lock onto us.
“Just who I was looking for.”