Page 6

Five

M y hip is sore, as is my back from Knox’s touch. I try to ignore everything with Knox after he storms away, but the promise of his retribution hangs in the air. I’m not going to check a box that could cause me problems down the line all because he’s too uncomfortable to strip in front of me.

It’s not like…

No, I’m not letting myself go down that train of thought. I refuse. I just can’t allow it. I take a few deep breaths, then call for Jaxon. He smirks and nudges Dimitri .

Jaxon walks over to me, winks, then walks into the room without comment. He hops onto the exam table, then spreads his arms, grinning at me as he looks me over slowly. “Undo a few more buttons and I might be a little more willing to follow your rules.”

I sigh. “They’re the NFL rules,” I argue.

“Oh, so you don’t have a list of things I’m not allowed to do?” he asks, his dark eyes spearing through me.

He’s nearly as tall as Knox, but his light brown hair is almost blonde. He’s broad, muscled, and big, and he’s covered his skin with ink. One entire arm is covered, and I think that those are roses and barbed wire on the left side of his neck.

Even though he’s here to train, he still has his piercings in. The two snake bites, and when his tongue swipes over his top lip, I see he still has his tongue ring too.

I shudder and wonder if he still has his piercing… down there.

No. No. Stay focused . I don’t like Jaxon. I don’t want to be stuck in a room with him for longer than necessary, and I’m not about to give him the wrong idea about that.

“Those piercings will have to come out when you play,” I whisper.

“All of them, or just the ones you can see?” he asks.

I peek up from my checklist, expecting him to be taunting me, but it seems like a legitimate question. When I stare at him longer, he shrugs. “There’s one I’ve always left in.”

“Um… it’s smarter to take them all out so you don’t get hurt in a hard tackle,” I say.

He inclines his head and lets me take his vitals, but while I wrap a blood pressure cuff around his bicep, he flexes which means I have to start all over. I almost huff, but when I look at him, he’s staring right at me, studying my face intently.

My throat tightens as his dark eyes seem to deepen. They’re black holes trying to suck me into their gravity. Seems about right considering how Jaxon is.

I try to ignore the pull of his gaze, instead focusing on setting everything up. He doesn’t tease me, intimidate me, nothing, but considering I sense his eyes drinking me in constantly, he doesn’t need to.

It’s impossible to forget he’s right there, staring at me. My body heats wherever he looks. I hate it but can’t shake it.

Finally, I turn to face him. “I… I need you to strip.”

He makes a low sound and his face changes ever so slightly. He goes from passive and calm to heated and feral in a second. All his muscles tense as he watches me. He seems bigger, more overwhelming.

This is a man who could toss me wherever he wants me, who wouldn’t hesitate to be rough, who would snap me in half if he felt like it. I don’t stand a chance with him and that has never changed.

He takes off his shirt and drops it at my feet. His abs tighten as I look him over, but his hands drop to his workout shorts, revealing tight black boxers.

He has tattoos over his side too, dipping under the boxers. I take a step forward and shake my head as he reaches for the waistband of his spandex boxers. “No, just… this is fine. ”

Jaxon chuckles but his eyes focus on me.

I touch a scar on his side. “This?”

“Had my appendix removed two years ago. It’s fine,” he mumbles.

But as I move away, my eyes drop to his boxers again, staring just long enough to see how the outline of his cock changes. I take a breath and circle him slowly. “No other injuries?”

He scoffs. “I do the injuring, not the other way around,” he says, and I can’t stop the roll of my eyes.

I round back to his front. His fingers linger along my hip, slipping under my shirt to touch my skin. I suck in a breath as I step away from his touch. His touch makes my skin feel wrong, reminds me of his hard hands on me, the way all three of these assholes hurt me.

“Professionalism is important here, Jax.”

He continues watching me with mischief in his eyes. I swallow. “You can get dressed.”

“Do you want me to?”

The twitch in his boxers draw my eyes low, and I quickly turn around to check the last box. “As long as your drug test comes back clean, you’re good.”

I hear the rustling of his clothes but don’t turn around. I hate them. I have to hate them. For what they did, what they knew about and allowed when it came to my dad, the way they blamed me for it.

I clear my throat. “We’re done here. Feel free to go back to the gym.”

“It’s only a matter of time, Hope,” Jaxon says .

As I try to walk toward my desk, he grasps my wrist, spinning me around until he has me caged against the counter. My body heats, and as twisted as that is, I still don’t ever want him to touch me again.

His eyes dip over me and he shakes his head. “A matter of time.”

“Your time is up,” I grit. “Head back out there.”

He takes one step back, then another, but his fingers ghost over my wrist like a promise. When the door shuts, I rub the place on my hip that he touched. One little touch, his intense gaze, it shouldn’t rattle me.

Maybe when they… did what they did, they broke something in me. They screwed me up in a way I can’t undo. Because some part of me, some dirty, depraved part, wanted Jaxon to strip me, to force me on my knees and make me choke on his hard cock no matter how much I fought.

I wanted him to grab my wrists, slam me against a wall, and make me his. I know he can. I know he wouldn’t hesitate and… And that’s all the more reason to push these three away at every opportunity.

They’re predators, hunters, and if they smell any weakness on me or some lingering lust—even if it’s not for them, even if it’s the kind of lust that just gets me through the worst memories of my life, they’ll pounce.

I might not be able to find someone who will engage my kinks—they’re dark, so that’s understandable since most people only see me as ‘cute’—but that doesn’t mean I’m going to go to the three bullies who made me develop kinks to deal with the past.

Trauma bonding isn’t the same as a relationship, and I’m done settling for being a toy.

I’ll have a say in my next relationship.

I’ll have some kind of power, even if the power is just deciding yes or no.

And no amount of long, eager gazes, threats, or sex appeal is going to change my mind.

Especially not where these three animals are involved.