Page 2 of The Trust (As Above)

Jordan

I’m harder than I’ve ever fucking been before.

Every move, every twist, every goddamn time I lean against the stool behind me, I feel it. The toy inside me, keeping my stretched open and making me sweat.

Hypersensitivity has set in at this point and even the vibrations of my phone in my pocket sends a shiver bowling down my spine.

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter through clenched teeth and grip the counter so hard it creaks.

Thank fuck it’s above my waist.

The phone vibrates again, and it takes everything in me not to groan out loud.

Or bust in my shorts.

Fuck .

Anchoring myself to the front desk of my gym, I suck in a breath. Run the pads of my fingers over the smooth surface. Let the ambient clink of metal-on-metal filter through the rush of blood in my ears.

There’s only two people in today, which I both hate and feel as a blessing after making this choice to test out a fucking plug in my ass.

“Terrible idea,” I grumble and clear my throat, as I fish the phone from my pocket with shaking fingers.

Mac: How’s your ass?

Snorting, I send back an eye roll emoji and set the device down on the wooden surface hiding my slowly deflating boner.

It lights back up almost immediately, illuminating the background image behind his text bubble.

It’s a new one of Mac that shows off the ink lining his torso and the deep lines he’s been working into his abs.

Some kind of mirror shot my boyfriend snuck onto my phone and I nibble the inside of my lip.

Boyfriend.

How did I get so lucky?

“Hey, bro.”

I look up just in time to catch the tail end of the bell above the entrance ringing and a new face saunter up to my desk.

“What can I do for you?”

“Was looking for a trail run of the gym? You do that kind of thing here?”

I nod. “For sure. One day, seven, or a month?”

“Seven.” He reaches for his wallet as I load up the program my employee designed for me and my phone lights up again.

“Sweet, is that you?”

I glance down, seeing only the section of Mac’s torso exposed from behind the notifications on the screen. “Uh, no—”

“Ah, so inspiration then.” The guy nods, a smile that doesn’t feel quite right settling on his face.

Inspiration?

“Something like that,” I mutter distractedly and input the info from his license into the system.

It’s less than thirty seconds that he’s—Craig, his license says Craig—at my desk and yet each one seems to last a mile.

But then Craig’s paid up and heading for the floor like he already knows where to go.

Scowling, I watch him settle in on the shoulder press with headphones on and zones out.

Who the fuck would use their own picture?

“Daddy Jay!” The slap on my ass is quick and stings and jostles shit I’m doing my best not to think about. “Where’s your mac and cheese?”

I drag my sight from the new patron to Lemon, my short raven-haired wingman, and shake off the encounter.

“Working,” I mutter. “Like you should be.”

“Ohhh,” he sighs dramatically. “To be that talented with the fingers.”

Lemon wiggles his digits at me and bounces his brows.

“Don’t forget the feet.”

He rears back with a curl to his glossy lip. “Ew. And I thought I liked some weird shit.”

My laugh is cut off too quick when the movement jostles my ass—and the toy—and I suck back a breath. Clear my throat.

Pray I don’t come in front of my friend and employee.

“I saw they’re working on a new album. Think you can sneak me in the studio?”

He’s not even looking at me and yet my eyes go wide on his back as he fiddles with the water bottle display on the desk.

“ Lemon ,” I half snap. “We talked about this.”

Don’t talk about Mac’s band when my gym is occupied.

It’s not that I’m hiding it. But Mac’s safety and security to come and go as he pleases here is short lived.

I don’t need the entire world knowing he’s here any sooner than they’ll figure it out on their own.

Which means that my friend has to keep his trap shut so my boyfriend can come home without issue.

He’s already gotten a few double takes when he struts through here like he owns the place.

I’m actually surprised we’ve gone this long without a mob taking over the gym with us still switching between staying here in my apartment on the third floor and his place.

But I’m not ready to break the streak.

Not ready to have crazed fans running down my door just to see him.

The false interest, and threat to patrons.

And I certainly don’t need the influx of gym signups only to realize Mac’s not here . Not for them.

For me.

And for them to drop the membership like a hot coal. It’s already quieter in here than I prefer.

“What, I can’t ask about your boy toy?” Lemon snaps back and spins on me with a wing to his brow. I growl. “Who pissed in your Lucky Charms, my boy? Jeez.”

I’m on edge and having Lemon run his mouth is making it worse.

“Just stop. Stop talking about him.”

He rears back and blinks at me, his face screaming all the attitude with just the lift of his brows.

“Uhm, unless there’s a breakup you need to tell me about, I don’t think I like your tone.”

“What? No. No .”

“Then the fuck?” He holds his hands out, his lips turned down deep.

Mac and I haven’t really talked it through yet, how to present in public.

It’s all been me making the call as his bodyguard.

I mean, I feel like I know how he’d want to be, and the people in our lives that matter know about us. We’re open in front of them.

But my business and his career.

Fans and the media.

People knocking down doors just to get info and pics of us?

It’s a security risk .

It’s not that I’m hiding.

The little flag in the pen holder winks at me as proof. It’s a Pride ally flag that was gifted by a patron, but still.

We’re safe here.

He’s safe here.

Everyone is.

And it’s my job to keep it that way.

“Just off today, Lem,” I offer and hope it’s enough to calm the mini attack dog of a friend.

He levels me with a look that has me sweating just a little bit more.

I am not hiding.

“Okay, sure,” he says as if hearing my inner thoughts and rolls his eyes.

I’m … not.

I just have to put Mac’s safety, his privacy, first.