Page 12 of Price of Victory (The Saints of Westmont U #5)
The words sent heat shooting through my entire body, my heart hammering so hard I was sure he could hear it. My face was burning, and I knew my reaction was giving me away completely. “You’re unbelievable.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” His voice had dropped lower, rough around the edges in a way that made my pulse quicken and my mouth go dry. “Tell me something, Morrison. When’s the last time you got laid?”
The question caught me so off guard that I actually choked on my water. “Excuse me?”
“Simple question. When’s the last time you had sex?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“I’m thinking it’s been a while. Months, maybe. You’ve got that wound-up, frustrated energy that comes from not getting enough attention.” His eyes swept over my face, cataloging every reaction. “Are you a virgin, Rhett? Is that what this is about?”
“No, I’m not a fucking virgin,” I snapped, louder than I’d intended. A couple of the other gym users looked over, and I lowered my voice. “My sex life is just fine, thanks.”
“Is it? Because from where I’m standing, you seem pretty tense. I could help with that, you know.”
The suggestion sent a bolt of heat straight to my cock, making it pulse lazily, and I had to grip my water bottle tighter to keep my hands from shaking. “In your dreams, Whitmore.”
“Oh, you’re definitely in my dreams.” The smile that spread across his face was pure sin. “Don’t worry, though. I know I’m pretty big, but I can be gentle when the situation calls for it.”
I wanted to come back with something cutting, something that would wipe that smug expression off his face, but my brain seemed to have short-circuited. All I could think about was the way he’d said “gentle,” like he was making me a promise.
“My sex life was perfectly fine until you showed up,” I said before I could stop myself.
The words hung in the air between us, and I immediately knew I’d made a mistake. Aiden’s eyes lit up like I’d just handed him the keys to the kingdom.
“Was it now?” He leaned against the wall, clearly settling in for a longer conversation. “So what you’re telling me is that my presence has somehow disrupted your ability to get laid. That’s interesting.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Isn’t it? Because it sounds like you’re admitting that you want me so badly it’s ruined every other guy for you.”
“It’s because you’re a walking turnoff,” I said, but even as the words left my mouth, I knew they sounded weak. My voice came out breathy and flustered, completely failing to deliver the message I’d intended.
“Right. A turnoff. That’s why you’ve been eye-fucking me for the past hour.”
“I haven’t been?—”
“That’s why you can’t seem to stay away from wherever I am in this gym. That’s why you’re breathing like you’ve been running a marathon, even though you’ve been standing still for the past five minutes.”
He was right, and we both knew it. My heart was pounding, my skin felt too tight, and every word out of his mouth was making it worse. This was dangerous territory, the kind of attraction that could destroy everything I’d worked for.
But God, I wanted him. I wanted him so badly it was making me dizzy, making me forget every reason this was a terrible idea. I wanted to get back at him.
“You’re impossible,” I muttered, turning away from him and heading toward the locker room. I needed space, needed to get away from his presence before I did something I’d regret.
Of course, he followed me.
The locker room was empty except for us, fluorescent lights humming overhead and the sound of water running in one of the shower stalls.
The air was thick with humidity and the lingering scent of soap and sweat.
I went to my locker and started gathering my things, trying to ignore the way Aiden moved to the bench behind me, trying not to listen to the soft sounds he made as he started to undress.
The rustle of fabric, the soft thud of his shoes hitting the floor, the metallic clink of his belt buckle. Each sound seemed amplified in the empty space, making my skin prickle with awareness.
“Running away again, Morrison?”
“I’m going home. Some of us have early classes tomorrow.”
“It’s barely midnight. The night’s still young.”
I turned around to find him much closer than I’d expected, close enough to see the sweat still beading on his forehead, close enough to catch the scent of his skin. He was starting to undress, pulling his shirt over his head in one smooth motion that revealed the lean lines of his torso.
I tried not to look, but it was impossible. He was beautiful in a way that made me furious, all smooth skin and defined muscle and confident movement. When he started working on his shorts, I had to force myself to look away.
“Do I bother you that much?” he asked, and there was amusement in his voice.
When I glanced back, he was standing in just his boxer briefs.
Black ones with little eggplants printed all over them, which was so ridiculous it should have killed the mood entirely.
Instead, it somehow made him more appealing, more human.
The fabric clung to his hips, and I had to force my eyes back to his face before I did something embarrassing like stare.
My mouth had gone completely dry, and my heart was beating so fast I felt lightheaded.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked.
“Because you like it. Admit it.”
“Even if I did, why would you do anything I like?” The words came out rougher than I’d intended, and I had to clear my throat. “And I don’t. Like it.”
“You should see yourself right now. You’re completely red.” His voice was low, intimate, and I could hear the satisfaction in it. “I love making things red.”
The words conjured images I didn’t want in my head, thoughts of skin flushed with heat and exertion, of marks left behind by hands and mouths, of what it would feel like to have those long fingers wrapped around my throat again.
My grip on the locker door was so tight my knuckles had gone white, and I could feel sweat beading along my hairline despite the cool air.
“To answer your question,” Aiden continued, moving closer, “I might not be particularly altruistic, but I am solutions oriented. If there’s tension here, I’d like to resolve it. I happen to be very good at taking the edge off.”
He was close enough now that I could feel the heat radiating off his skin, close enough that I could count the water droplets still clinging to his collarbone, close enough to smell the clean scent of his soap mixing with something uniquely him.
When he lifted his arm to lean against the locker next to mine, his body was barely an inch from mine, and I could see the fine line of dark hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of his underwear.
For a moment, I was tempted to close that distance, to press against him and see what would happen.
The want was so strong it made my knees weak, made me forget every rational thought I’d ever had.
I could imagine the feeling of his skin against mine, warm and slightly damp from sweat, could imagine what those hands would feel like mapping the planes of my body.
But then reality crashed back in, and I pulled away.
“You stink of sweat,” I said, knowing it sounded childish even as the words left my mouth.
Aiden’s grin only widened. “Nature’s aphrodisiac.”
“I need to shower,” I muttered, grabbing my towel and heading for the shower stalls.
The individual stalls had doors that locked, thank God, because I needed a barrier between us. I slammed the door harder than I strictly needed to and hung my clothes on the hook, my hands shaking slightly as I stripped off my shirt and shorts.
I was painfully hard, and the cool tiles felt good against my back when I leaned against the wall. The water wasn’t even on yet, but I was breathing hard, my skin so taut I thought it might tear.
This was insane. I was losing my mind over Aiden Whitmore, of all people. The same guy who’d threatened me in the library, who’d spent years pushing my buttons just to see me react. The same guy whose family had tried to destroy mine.
I heard his bare feet on the tiles outside my stall, the soft sound of him moving around the locker room, the quiet splash of water as he stepped into his own shower.
For a moment, I held my breath, my heart pounding so loud it seemed to echo off the tile walls, waiting to see if he would say something, if he would try the door.
The sound of his shower turning on came through the thin wall between us, and I could hear him moving under the spray, could imagine the water running down his body the way I’d seen it in the team showers.
My imagination supplied details I didn’t want, images of his hands running over slick skin, of the way he’d look with water streaming down his chest and darkening his hair.
But he didn’t try my door, and somewhere deep in my chest, beneath the relief, I felt the tiniest flicker of disappointment.
I turned on the water and let it cascade over my overheated skin, trying to wash away the memory of his proximity, the scent of his cologne, the way he’d looked at me like he could see straight through every defense I’d built.
But even under the hot spray, with the sound of water drowning out everything else, I couldn’t stop thinking about what might have happened if I hadn’t pulled away.
What it would have felt like to close that last inch between us, to finally give in to the attraction that had been building between us since the moment he’d walked back into my life.
The thought terrified me and thrilled me in equal measure, and I knew that no matter how hard I tried to fight it, this thing between us was far from over.