Page 19 of Trained In Sin

Seb

I wake to sunlight streaming through the floor to ceiling windows of my penthouse bedroom, and for the first time in weeks, I feel something approaching calm.

Saturday morning. No business meetings, no urgent calls, no immediate fires to put out.

Just time to think, to plan, to let last night settle in my mind.

Saphy kissed me back.

I bathe in the memory, sending heat straight to my groin.

The way she tasted, the way she felt pressed against me, the small sounds she made when I touched her.

I close my eyes and let myself relive every second, her hands fisted in my shirt, her body arching into mine, the moment she stopped fighting and started participating.

My hand moves down my body almost without conscious thought, stroking myself as I replay the scene.

If Beth hadn't interrupted us, I would have taken her right there against that brick wall.

She would have let me, too. I could feel it in the way she responded, the way she kissed me like she was drowning and I was air.

I imagine pulling up that short dress, feeling her bare skin under my hands. Imagine the sounds she would make, the way she would say my name. The fantasy builds until I'm stroking myself harder, faster, lost in images of her beneath me, around me, completely mine.

When I come, it's with her name on my lips and the taste of her still in my memory.

The aftermath brings its usual cocktail of satisfaction and self-disgust. I'm thirty-four years old, not some horny teenager getting off to fantasies.

I run a multi-million pound empire, command respect and fear in equal measure.

Yet here I am, reduced to this mess over a woman who ran away from me.

I need to get out of my own head.

After a shower that does nothing to wash away thoughts of her, I call Matthew.

"Gym," I tell him when he answers. "Meet me at Elite Fitness in an hour."

"The public gym?" He sounds surprised. I usually prefer the private facility at Syren, where I can work out without curious eyes or potential interruptions.

"I need to be around people today. Normal people." What I don't say is that I need witnesses to my self control, external pressure to keep me from doing something stupid like driving to Saphy's flat.

"Fair enough. Everything all right?"

"Just need to clear my head."

Matthew doesn't push for details, which is one of the many reasons I keep him around. He understands that sometimes a man needs to do things without having to explain why.

*

Elite Fitness is exactly what I need, busy enough to provide distraction, public enough that I have to maintain my carefully constructed facade. No losing control here, no fantasizing about women who taste like… I shut down that train of thought immediately.

Matthew and I claim a section of free weights, falling into our usual routine without much conversation. The physical exertion helps, forcing my mind to focus on form and breathing rather than the way Saphy's hair felt between my fingers.

I'm halfway through my second set when I notice her.

Beth. Saphy's friend, the fierce protector who interrupted the best moment of my life. She's across the gym floor, setting up at a leg press machine, her movements sharp and efficient. She hasn't seen me yet, but it's only a matter of time. Seems I cannot escape Saphy and her life, even at the gym.

"Company," I murmur to Matthew, nodding in her direction.

He follows my gaze and tenses slightly. "Want to leave?"

"No." I'm curious about this encounter, about what Saphy might have told her best friend about last night. "Let's see what she has to say."

As if sensing my attention, Beth looks up. Our eyes meet across the gym, and her face immediately hardens with recognition. She finishes her set, wipes down the machine with deliberate precision, and walks straight toward us.

This should be interesting.

"Well, well," she says when she reaches us, her voice dripping with disdain. "If it isn't the Prick himself. "

Matthew raises an eyebrow at the nickname, but I just smile. "Beth, isn't it? Lovely to see you again."

"I wish I could say the same." She crosses her arms, positioning herself in a way that suggests she's ready for a fight. "We need to talk."

"Do we? About what?"

"About my friend. About what you did to her last night."

"I didn't do anything to her that she didn't want me to do." The words come out more smoothly than I feel. "In fact, I'd say she was quite enthusiastic about the whole thing."

Beth's eyes flash with anger. "She's confused, you manipulative bastard. She doesn't know what she wants right now."

Bingo. The word 'confused' settles in my chest. Confusion means doubt. Doubt means the cracks in her perfect little life are widening. Doubt means I'm winning.

"Confusion can be enlightening," I say mildly. "Sometimes it takes a shock to the system to make people realise what they've been missing."

"What she's missing is peace of mind, thanks to you." Beth steps closer, lowering her voice but not the intensity. "Listen to me very carefully. Saphy might be confused right now, but that doesn't give you the right to take advantage of her. She's vulnerable, and if you hurt her…."

"You'll what?" I can't help myself. The protective friend routine is almost amusing. "Send your boyfriend after me? Call the police? Write a strongly worded letter? "

The slap comes fast and hard, her palm connecting with my cheek with a sharp crack that echoes through our section of the gym. Several people turn to look, and I have to fight every instinct that's screaming at me to retaliate.

But she's Saphy's friend. The only reason Beth is still standing is because hurting her would hurt Saphy, and I won't do that.

Matthew moves instantly, stepping between us with the fluid grace of someone who's defused countless situations like this. "Easy," he says, his voice calm but authoritative. "Let's all take a step back."

Beth is breathing hard, her hand still raised like she's considering a second strike. "Stay away from her," she hisses at me over Matthew's shoulder. "She deserves better than whatever sick game you're playing."

"What she deserves," I say, ignoring my stinging cheek, instead cracking my neck before I say or do something that will push Saphy away forever "is honesty. Someone who doesn't hide behind safe choices and mediocrity."

"You mean someone like you? A stalker who breaks into women's homes?"

"Someone who knows what he wants and isn't afraid to pursue it." I meet her eyes steadily. "Someone who can make her feel alive instead of slowly suffocating in suburban mediocrity."

"You're delusional if you think…."

"Ladies and gentlemen," Matthew interrupts smoothly, "perhaps we could continue this conversation somewhere more private? We're attracting attention. "

He's right. Half the gym is watching our little drama unfold, phones discretely raised to capture whatever happens next. The last thing I need is videos of me getting slapped in public, circulating on social media.

"There's nothing more to say," Beth declares, but I notice she doesn't move away from Matthew immediately. Something flickers between them, a moment of recognition, of interest. Fascinating.

"I think there is," Matthew says quietly, his attention focused entirely on her. "Perhaps we could discuss this over coffee?"

Beth blinks, clearly caught off guard by the suggestion. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"I do." Matthew's voice carries that same calm authority he uses with me, but there's something softer underneath it. "One conversation. No agenda. Just two people who care about their friends."

The tension between them is palpable, and I have to admire Matthew's instincts. He's read the situation perfectly, turned a confrontation into an opportunity.

"I don't know..." Beth glances between us, clearly torn.

"Just coffee," Matthew repeats. "What's the harm?"

After a long moment, she nods reluctantly. "Fine. But not with him." She jerks her head toward me. "Just you."

"Agreed." Matthew turns to me. "I'll meet you back at yours later."

I want to argue, want to insert myself into whatever conversation they're about to have. But Matthew knows what he's doing, and sometimes the best strategy is to let other people fight your battles for you.

"Of course." I grab my towel and water bottle. "Enjoy your coffee."

As I walk away, I can feel Beth's eyes boring into my back. But I also hear Matthew's quiet voice as he introduces himself properly, the sound of Beth's surprised laughter at something he says. Good. Very good indeed.

*

The drive back to my penthouse gives me time to think about the encounter.

Beth's slap still stings, but her words sting more.

Not because they hurt, but because they confirm what I suspected.

Saphy is confused. Conflicted. Questioning everything she thought she knew about herself and what she wants.

Perfect.

I pour myself a glass of eighteen-year old Macallan and settle into my favourite chair, the one that faces the floor to ceiling windows overlooking the city. From here, London spreads out below me like a chessboard, full of moves and countermoves, strategies and endgames.

I was going to give Saphy space, but Beth's words have changed my mind. If Saphy is confused, if she's questioning everything, then this is exactly the wrong time to disappear. This is when I need to be present, to offer clarity in the chaos I've created .

I pull out my phone and stare at the blank message screen for a long time. What do you say to a woman who kissed you like her life depended on it, then ran away in shame? How do you reach someone who wants you desperately but won't admit it to herself?

Finally, I type: Thinking about last night. About you. About the way you felt in my arms.

Too much. I delete it and try again.

Thank you for last night. It was... illuminating.

Too formal. Delete.

I can still taste you.

Definitely too much. Delete.

In the end, I settle for something simple, something that will get under her skin without being overtly threatening:

Good morning, Saphy. I hope you slept well.

I hit send before I can second guess myself, then lean back in my chair to wait. She might not respond immediately. She might not respond at all. But she'll see it, and she'll think about me, and right now that's enough.

The afternoon sun slants through the windows, painting everything in shades of gold and amber.

Somewhere across the city, Saphy is probably trying to convince herself that last night was a mistake, that what she felt wasn't real.

Her friend will probably encourage her to choose safety over passion, comfort over truth .

But I've felt the way she responded to me. I've tasted her desire, felt her body's honest reaction to my touch. No amount of rationalisation can change that.

Let her try to choose the safe path. Let her cling to her predictable boyfriend and her comfortable life. It won't work. I've already shown her what she's missing, already planted the seeds of dissatisfaction that will grow until they choke out everything else.

She's mine. She just doesn't know it yet.

But she will. Soon enough, she will.