Page 6 of Kiss-Fist (Deaf Hearts #1)

But before I can pass out from it all, he grabs my phone, holds it up to my face to unlock it, and then gets to typing.

It’s a major invasion of privacy, and I’m so taken aback by it I just stand there and let it happen.

It has nothing to do with his nipples or the fact that I am watching them get hard as he stands in front of me.

Thom: ur bk

He holds it up to my face so I can read it, and fuck, I’m glad it’s a short note because my brain isn’t functioning right now. All blood flow has traveled down to my penis.

Thom: why u her? wrkot agan?

He holds it up for me to read, and I manage a small nod before pulling the phone away and typing that I’m sore and looking for a recovery.

Thom seems to know exactly what I mean and grabs onto my wrist, pulling me forward. I nearly drop my phone as he hauls me over to a place in the gym where they have mats on the floor and foam rollers.

He points to a mat, and I stare at it before getting the hint.

Right, he wants me to sit down.

He shakes his head and then fingerspells lay .

Oh god, no. I shouldn’t do it, and yet I am.

And he’s falling to his knees, right between my spread legs.

He can for sure see my dick imprint. At least today I wore a jockstrap to keep my unruly dick in line. Thank fuck for that. He grabs my phone again, and his thick fingers type something out.

Thom: Wht hrts?

I don’t even bother writing. Just point to my shoulders, my arms, and my legs.

I almost point to my crotch but refrain.

Thom’s eyes sparkle as he watches me. Damn him.

But he’s not making fun of me at all, just nods and grabs two rollers and holds them up, putting them together and then pushing me onto my back once more.

The roller ends up near my shoulders, and he knee walks up between my legs, and grabs onto my hips .

Oh, this is terrible. Rhett knew what would happen when he suggested this, and yet he did it anyway.

I’m going to murder him. Literally. I can train a new interpreter to be as good as him. Who needs that buttface!

The foam roller digs into my shoulders, my sore muscles screaming at me, but what makes this worse is the way Thom looks hovering over me, like he’s fucking into me.

That damn backward baseball cap. It’s a terror.

I close my eyes, shutting him out, but I can still feel him, the way he gently and slowly rocks me against the roller. And my imagination soars, picturing all sorts of filthy things. Thom naked, his body glistening with sweat, his muscles flexing as he slides that dick in and out of my hole.

My eyes pop open, and Thom is staring down at me, his cheeks red, his mouth parted slightly.

‘Better?’ he fingerspells. I was not expecting him to use any sort of ASL, but I decide not to think too hard about it.

Or I’ll get harder.

I begin to shake my head and then change my mind and nod. What the hell am I doing?

‘Good.’

Then he manhandles me into another position, one where I’m on my stomach, my knee bent up near my chest as the roller moves up and down the back of my thigh.

This is even worse because his fingers are on my legs, so close to my ass.

And I happen to love this position when being fucked. It goes so damn deep this way.

I groan, knowing he heard it because he stutters slightly before continuing on with the movements, working one leg and then the other, all while I’m biting my lip and trying not to come in my pants.

Me, Robert J. Austen, doctor of ancient history, is on the floor of a gym, trying not to pre-ejaculate into his jockstrap.

I need help. Seriously. This is a disaster.

Someone save me from myself!

Thom suddenly stops, and I peer over my shoulder at him.

His eyes meet mine, and he winks before circling his finger in the air, and I reluctantly turn over and tuck my knees into my chest to keep myself from possibly, most likely actually, showing him my hard dick.

My pants better not have made a wet spot on my crotch, or I will slink away like a gothic creature, never to return.

He holds up my phone, and I see a note asking if I want to do one more.

I almost whimper, wanting so badly to shake my head no, but I end up nodding and letting him put me on my hands and knees as he moves in front of me, pulling each arm down onto the foam roller and dragging me forward.

My face goes right into his crotch, and I can smell him: musky, manly.

My mouth is now drooling just as much as my dick. I can’t stand this. This is too much. He has to know what he’s doing. He has to have some kind of clue. A man that hot doesn’t not know these things.

This must be a game to him. There’s no other explanation.

He switches my arms, and my hand accidentally brushes against his groin, and I feel something shift inside of me .

I peer up at him, and he grins shyly.

Sorry , he mouths and then gets back to work.

By the time he’s done, I should be angry, should be upset that he could, maybe, possibly be making fun of me, but I can’t. Not when he grins at me and winks, helping me stand and bringing me over to a treadmill.

While we walk, I look down at my crotch and thank whoever is in the sky that it’s not wet. That I didn’t leak through like some broken fountain.

When we come to a stop, he holds up my phone again and tells me to get on.

I shake my head, making him laugh, those eyes lighting up.

Thom: I help u

I don’t know what he can do to help me. Well, I do know.

He could sink to his knees and suck my cock and give me some relief, but of course he doesn’t do that.

Instead, he grabs onto my hips and helps me stand on the treadmill before pushing a few buttons.

It turns on with a long lag, the machine moving almost insultingly slow.

I turn to look at him as my hands grasp onto the handles beside me.

‘Walk. Slow.’

Two signs he must have been practicing since yesterday. My heart thumps in my chest, and I force myself to ignore it. It’s one thing to be turned on by this man and another thing entirely to actually like him.

He stands next to me for a few minutes before slowly increasing the speed, and I find that this is much easier to use than the elliptical. And my muscles, while still aching, have loosened up. By the time I’ve walked for fifteen minutes, Thom has turned off the machine and has helped me step off.

It’s an awkward transition, my legs not used to an unmoving floor, and I end up tripping into him. My hands meet his chest, and his strong arms wrap around me, holding me.

This is just—it’s too much. The feel of him, the scent coming off his body of soap and sweat.

I can’t take it anymore. This entire impromptu session has been a lesson in restraint. If I stay here one more minute, I’m going to rut against him like an animal and come all over myself.

Pushing back, I ask if we’re done, and he nods before I sign thank you and hurry toward the locker room. The further from him I get, the better I can breathe, and the more sanity I have returned to me.

It’s only when I’m in my car, the palm of my hand pressing down on my aching dick, that I realize I don’t have my phone.

Fuck. I have to go back and get it, don’t I? I can’t just leave it.

Damn it all to hell.

I sit there for a moment, debating whether or not to get out of the car and get my phone or just leave it to rot in the gym’s lost and found.

But damn it, what if Rhett messages me something inappropriate about Thom and he sees it? I never did disable messages appearing on my home screen. Fuck it all.

I’m about to push open the car door when Thom appears, his smiling face slightly flushed as he approaches. Like he ran here.

Lord have mercy, of course he’s gorgeous after a run.

I roll down my window, just a few inches, because I’m afraid that if it’s any further, I will reach out and touch him.

Right on his dick, which is right there in front of my face.

He stares at the small opening and cocks his head, pointing down to let me know that I should lower it some more. If only he knew the nasty thoughts going through my head. He’d never ask me to do this if he knew.

I lower it another inch.

He grins, and I can tell he’s laughing, thinking I’m being funny.

His hand moves in through the small space, and I sit on my own to stop myself from groping him.

He holds the phone in front of my face and then pulls it back, typing on it. It takes him a minute, that thick bottom lip pulled between his slightly crooked teeth, and oh god, hurry .

I can’t take it anymore. I’m this close to doing something illegal. In public.

Finally, he slides his hand back in and lets the phone topple to my lap, hitting my hard dick, making me regret taking off the jockstrap before I left. But instead of hurting, my cock perks up even more. Something he’d been touching is now touching it, and it’s thrilled .

I glance down at my phone and use a finger to flip it over, seeing a note there telling me he gave me his number and to text him anytime.

What the fuck? Is he flirting with me? Is Thom gay? Oh, that’s so much worse if he is.

It means I have a chance.

I look up at him, and he gives me a thumbs-up. Okay, maybe not. He’s definitely not flirting. Right? He’s just being nice. Probably worried I’ll expire from any sort of exertion. Thing is, I’m very good at sex. Very good. He’d be impressed at my stamina if he knew.

Not that he’d ever. Because he’s not gay.

I nod at him, and he waves, jogging back toward the gym, ass bouncing.

I will not text him. I won’t.

I’m a doctor of ancient history. I know how these things end. It’s a tale as old as time. I’ll probably end up stabbed through the heart or impaled on the end of a pole.

And not the dick kind either.

I won’t do this. I will not message him.

I refuse.