Page 19

CHAPTER 18

Alana

Hunter’s chest is hot beneath me.

Solid. Steady. My thighs straddle his waist. My breath comes out fast. Too fast. I try to slow it down, but it’s no use.

My pulse is already pounding in my ears.

He looks up at me with those maddening sapphire-blue eyes, jaw clenched, lips parted.

His canines catch the light and I swear, for a second, he looks more wolf than man.

All predator.

“Again,” he says, voice low and gravel-edged.

I shift my hips. “You sure you can handle it?”

His hands close around my wrists.

Firm. Controlling.

“I’m not the one who keeps getting pinned,” Hunter mutters, flipping us in one fluid motion until I’m flat on my back on the mat, his full weight braced just above me.

We’ve been at this for weeks now and I’ve grown to enjoy our morning training sessions.

I still haven’t been back to Pilates.

Been getting to the office earlier these days too, which is…

surprisingly productive.

Guess I’ve got a new routine now.

Go figure.

There’s something about putting your body through torture first thing in the morning that sets the tone for the rest of the day.

Like nothing can be worse than what I’ve already survived at 7 a.m., right?

I’m still not a morning person.

Let’s not get crazy.

I still plot my own death every time my alarm goes off.

But then I get up. And line up for my daily dose of pain.

Courtesy of my very own prison warden.

And weirdly? I feel damn good after.

“You hesitated,” he says, not bothering to get off me just yet.

“Again.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I snap.

“It’s hard to concentrate when your face is right there and you smell like testosterone and sin.” The words are out of my mouth before my brain can catch up.

He arches a brow. “You think sin has a smell?”

“I do now.”

Hunter lets out a sharp breath.

Half sigh, half something else.

“You’re distracted.”

“You’re distracting!”

My body aches, but I’ve gotten better.

Stronger. The inappropriate thoughts I have about Hunter?

Not getting better.

Worse.

So much worse.

I don’t think Trevor, can take much more.

He’s been pulling double shifts and he’s still not scratching the itch.

I need a real, warm-blooded man.

Just to clear this hormonal haze from my brain.

At this point? Honestly, any male might do.

God help me. As long as it keeps me from doing something reckless with Hunter and shattering our bubble.

Our routine. I feel like I just got my control back.

Hunter shifts slightly.

Just enough to remind me he’s still between my legs.

I groan internally.

“Then learn to focus,” he says.

Yeah. Sure. Easy for him to say.

My mind is scrambled.

Common sense has left the building.

And it’s entirely his fault.

I glare. “Maybe don’t use straddling as a training tactic next time.”

He smirks.

“You straddled me.”

I groan and cover my face with my hands.

“I hate you.”

“You’re improving,” he says, ignoring the insult.

“Your grip’s tighter. Your balance is better. And you only hesitated for two seconds this time.”

“Progress,” I mutter through my fingers.

“Yay.”

Hunter finally moves off me and offers a hand to pull me up.

I take it, because my pride is bruised enough for one day.

I peel off the wraps from my hands slowly, fingers stiff and sore.

The ache is good though.

Earned. A different kind of pain than I’m used to.

My body’s tired in a satisfying way.

My mind, for once, feels quiet.

Except for the cloud of lust I can’t seem to shake.

I grab my water bottle from the bench and take a long sip, letting the coolness cut through the sweat.

My phone lights up on the floor next to my towel.

Tristin:

Just landed.

You around tonight?

Could be nice to hang.

And how’s that for divine timing.

I throw up a silent praise to the heavens.

‘Hang’. Our usual euphemism.

It always means the same thing: dinner, drinks, sex, silence.

We’ll laugh over overpriced sushi, go back to my place (or his hotel, but I prefer my place), fall into bed and forget how empty it feels until it’s over.

Then we won’t speak again for weeks.

Sometimes months.

I pick up the phone and hesitate.

I don’t know why. I do know I need to let off this pent-up frustration, before I do something stupid.

Something I can’t take back.

My body aches for release and my brain aches for permission.

That’s a dangerous mix.

Tristin is safe. Predictable.

Controlled. He won’t mess with my new routine.

I’ve been doing so well.

No panic attacks. No close calls.

I’m finally in control again.

Me:

Of course!

Meet you at Dim Sum at 8?

Tristin:

It’s a date.

I’ll book us a table and reserve one spot at the bar.

Tessa mentioned your permanent plus one.

“Feel like overpriced sushi tonight?” I ask, grabbing my towel and water bottle.

“I’ve got a date. Tristin going to book a spot for you at the bar, so you don’t have to lurk.”

His hand flexes.

Just barely. But I catch it.

“Don’t worry,” I add breezily.

“I don’t plan on breaking any rules. I’ll bring Tristin back to my place after. I’ll hang a sock on the door, roomie.”

I smile, but it lands flat.

I turn to leave the gym, but when I glance back, Hunter’s still frozen in place.

Jaw locked. Hands curled into fists.

“You coming?” I ask.

“Of course,” he says and follows me out the door.

I need easy. Just for one night.

This is simple. This is safe.

This will stop me from climbing all over my bodyguard and torching the control I’ve only just started to rebuild.

I tell myself that as the elevator climbs to the top.