Font Size
Line Height

Page 36 of Gym Bros (Bay Area Bros #2)

“Shut the fuck up and let me do this.” I spent half my day lifting, the other half punching a bag, and the last hour wrestling Calyx on a mat, but I get my fourth wind.

Flexing my arms, I lift him and lower him.

He does his part, using the walls as leverage to keep himself level, but it’s a little like maneuvering the world’s most realistic, hundred and forty five pound fleshlight.

After a few curls, though, I realize this’ll be much easier if I’m the only one moving, instead of trying to coordinate. I’m determined to stay inside him, so turning him around isn’t an option, regardless of the fact that he’s totally right. That would have simplified this a lot.

Instead, I adjust his thighs on my arms, redistribute his weight, and say.

“You can let go.” He must feel the possibility of the new angle, too, because he lets go of the walls and locks his hands around my wrists, putting the exact perfect arch into his back.

“That’s it, angel. Oh, my fucking G od ,” I groan as I thrust enough to get him to bounce.

And then I’m fucking him. It’s a deep, intense fuck that’s all tight friction on the base of my cock.

My strokes are short and quick, but so, so goddamn good.

I’m lost in it. The water, the slick slapping sound of flesh on flesh, his breathy whimpers and the feel of my naked cock in his perfect, clenching hole.

“Oh shit,” he bursts suddenly, his head dropping back. “Only you could make me come like this. Fuck. Samuel…”

“I’d touch you if I could, baby.”

“I don’t need it. God, I’m so close. Fuck.”

Whatever I’m doing right, I intend to keep doing it. Without the condom, I feel the slight swell of his prostate on my shaft. It’s like the hint of a fingertip stroking me from the inside, or I’m just imagining things, and I’m really fucking sensitive right now.

“ Unhnnhh …oh…oh God…I’m… fuuuuccckk …” His body convulses in my arms, more than once.

I feel each wave of his pleasure wrench through him, buckling and breaking him.

I come quickly, shooting deep, the release like a punch to the reward center of my brain and cock.

I swear to God he’s still coming as I’m wrapping it up.

I stay inside him but lower his legs until his feet hit the floor.

I’m not sure where my shower shoes went, but they’re not on him anymore.

I wrap an arm around his chest and put my other one between his legs, finding his cock as I stroke mine into him slowly. He cries out as cum spills over my hand, and then he totally loses his feet.

I catch him before he drops and press my face to his neck. He leans his head on mine and breathes. Every now and then he’ll shudder, and I hold him like that until his breathing slows and his body settles.

“The fuck was that?” I ask .

“No idea. I don’t think I was even in my body for a few minutes.”

“Felt like you were.”

“Felt like you were,” he says stupidly. It’s the kind of joke he never would have attempted three weeks ago.

“I feel like I need to find you some hot chocolate.”

“With Kahlúa this time?”

“Yeah, baby, I’ll get you some Kahlúa. Whatever you want.”

“Mm…I wanna go home with you.”

“Then let’s go home.”

The doctor clears me for sparring Monday morning. I text my dad first to let him know because I have no doubt that when I tell Calyx, he’s gonna piss all over my parade.

My dad responds to my message with a thumbs up reaction emoji. Not even a text. I roll my eyes and email the medical clearance forms to the gym before I even start my car.

Once I’m on the road, headed toward the gym, my dad calls.

I answer the call on bluetooth. “Hey.”

“Sorry, I was on a call. So you’re good to go?”

“Yep.”

“How’s it feeling? You feel ready?”

“It feels great. Better than ever actually. I hate to say you were right about the yoga, but…”

“How is Calyx?”

I’m glad this isn’t a FaceTime call because I’m blushing. “Good,” I say and hope I don’t sound strained.

“Do you two get along?” he asks.

I glance at the car’s screen where the word “Dad” is currently displayed. “What kind of question is that? ”

“I’m just wondering if you enjoy working together. If you’re friendly with each other.”

I’m scowling and flinching and wincing all at once. “I don’t wanna punch him anymore,” I say. “Does that answer your weird ass questions?”

Dad chuckles. “I guess. I’m just asking…are you making friends?”

“Oh. Well, if we’re gonna act like this is the first day of seventh grade, then yes, I’d consider him a friend.”

“Yeah?”

I’m not loving his tone, but I can’t put my finger on why.

“Do you have any questions for me, Dad, or would you rather call and talk to Calyx?”

He clears his throat and winds up coughing. Eventually he says, “I assume this means you’ll be fighting in November.”

“I’m not sure. No one’s mentioned putting me on a card.”

“Well, you’ve been working hard to get back into shape. I hope they’re at least considering it.”

That means a lot coming from him.

“Me, too. I’m excited to spar again, though. You should see how flexible I am now. I can do shit I couldn’t do since I was ten.”

“That’s great, Sam. I just want you to pace yourself. Respect your limits.”

I want to tell him healed means what it says, but he’s a dad, so he has to be this way. “You got it,” I tell him.

“You sound great,” he says.

I smile. “Yeah, things are going good.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“How ‘bout you?”

“I’m in New York. Thirty-two clients wanted meetings, so it’s been hectic.”

“How long are you there for? ”

“One more day.”

“And then you’re going home, or what?”

“Probably. All the Christmas campaigns are in full force.”

“Seems kind of late for that,” I say.

“Hm,” he says, and then, “I need to let you go. I have a lunch to get ready for, but thanks for letting me know about the leg.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Tell Calyx I asked about him?”

I frown. “Sure.”

“Thanks, bud. Love you.”

“I love you too, Dad. Bye.”

“Bye.”

The call disconnects as I come to a stop at a light.

Thirty two clients in New York, and those are only the ones who wanted meetings with him.

If I’m not mistaken, he’s got like sixty something clients based in New York and probably more than that in LA.

So why is this one in San Francisco so critical to get back to work?

I mean—if anyone gets Calyx’s appeal, it’s me, but if he’s done with modeling, he’s done.

My dad’s not exactly hurting for a commission.

Let the dude be a yoga teacher or whatever.

It’s not like he sucks at it. Also, I get the strong feeling that if my dad approached Calyx with the right job on this coast, he’d probably do it just so he could sit in lotus position in peace for a little longer.

Or finish the Marvelverse. Whichever he’s in the mood for.

When I get to the gym, Javier, the owner and head coach, pulls me into his office.

He keeps his space very tidy and organized, a bookshelf full of self-improvement and workout texts behind him. He’s got a few photos of his family—his wife and two daughters—on his desk. “We got you into the expo,” he says with a half grin.

I lift my brows in surprise. That was fast .

“Don’t get too excited,” Javier says with a lift of his hand. “This guy isn’t much competition for you, but if you don’t get overconfident, should be an easy W for you.”

I’ll take an easy win any day. “Who is it?”

“Beck Cole. You can look up a few of his recent fights, and he posts sparring videos, too. He’s got no grappling game, and I think his coaches want him to learn a lesson.” Javier shrugs. “Part of the process.”

“I get it,” I say, ready to start watching Cole’s film and training right this second.

“I was glad to hear about your leg. I wanted this fight for you, kid. You’ve more than earned it.”

I try to keep a straight face, but it’s a struggle not to burst into a huge smile. My dad’s thumbs up and now this? There’s only one other thing that could make this day any better. Once I leave Javier’s office, I FaceTime him.

Calyx answers looking beyond gorgeous—more so than usual. I’m almost pissed because why does he look so pretty when I’m not there? “What are you doing?” I ask, and yeah, it sounds a little suspicious.

“I just got a haircut and highlights. What are you doing?”

Okay. Highlights. That makes sense. “You look incredible,” I tell him.

He scrunches his nose and smiles. “Shut up. Thank you.”

“Hey, what’s your favorite food?” I ask.

“Um…” He purses his lips and sits down on his couch. “Raw oysters.”

My mind is immediately jerked away from thoughts of mauling him on that couch. “Gross. Really?”

He bursts out laughing. “Yes. What’s yours? Let me guess. Meatloaf?”

“Fuck you. It’s spaghetti but only the way my mom makes it. ”

He laughs even harder. “What does she do to make it so special?”

“She uses the best sauce.”

“Wait— uses ? She doesn’t make her own?”

“We’re not Italian,” I inform him like this fact should be obvious.

His smile is cool but amused. “So, you’re telling me I could call your mom, ask her what the right brand of sauce is, and make your favorite meal in my very own kitchen in less than thirty minutes?”

“You can cook spaghetti?” I ask.

He laughs. “You like my eggs, don’t you?”

I do like his eggs. I also like watching him cook them.

“I’ll give you her number.”

When he stops laughing, which is abrupt, he asks, “Why do you want to know my favorite food?”

“I want to take you to dinner tonight. Before the movie. Instead of yoga.”

“Instead of yoga? Oh, I don’t know about that.”

“Just this once.”

“Where are you taking me?”

I have no idea, but I’ll take that as a yes. “Don’t worry about that. Just dress nice.”

“I can’t look like a slob tonight either?”

I smile at him—at his bright eyes and smirking, glossy lips. “Do your best.”

“Okay,” he says. “You’re lucky I feel pretty today.”

I have to take a deep breath so my thoughts don’t run away with themselves. I’d rather not walk into the weight room with a tent in my shorts.

Ad If ads affect your reading experience, click here to remove ads on this page.