“This is just the beginning.”
Her eyes widened at my declaration, but I wouldn’t elaborate or take it back. Because the truth was, I had no fucking clue what this was the beginningof.And the expression on Grace’s face told me she was just as lost. But in that moment, I determined that being lost with her was a hell of a lot better than being safe and sound with anyone else.
“You should get home.”
Where I would’ve expected a protest from Grace, she dipped her head and said, “Yeah.”
I allowed my hands to drop away from her face and silently watched as she turned and headed out the back door of the club. My lower self was telling me that I should follow her to make sure she got home safely but I refrained. I had a feeling that there was going to be plenty of nights of me following her home in the near future.
****
I could’ve gone to the Underground that night to fight after I watched Grace leave the club. Any other night when I felt any sort of tension running through my veins, it was almost as if muscle memory took over and I found myself in the boxing ring burning off the excess energy that had become a familiar foe throughout my life.
But I hadn’t gone to fight after Grace left. Instead, I pivoted and headed out the front door and walked the few blocks to the building where I lived, back up to my condo. And on that night, once the door closed behind me, the sense of shutting the world out that often came wasn’t there. Instead, it reminded me that I was alone again. Typically, that was the way I liked it, the way I wanted it, but obviously not tonight.
Feeling frustrated and full of sexual tension that my cock was reminding me still needed to be released, I ripped the T-shirt I wore over my head and tossed it into the laundry bin by the bathroom door, before undoing my belt buckle and the button of my jeans, peeling out of them.
Turning on the water of my waterfall shower, I let the water run for a while until the stall became steamy, just the way I liked it. The hot water was a shock to my system as I stepped in, almost causing me to flinch back in pain, but I gritted my teeth and beared it. Eventually my skin and muscles surrendered to the feeling and adjusted to the temperature. However, the sexual tension flowing through me refused to ebb.
That was when, with one hand pressed against the black and silver tiles of my shower wall, I leaned my head against my forearm while my free hand went to my erect cock. As soon as it did, images of Grace as she sang onstage came flooding back. I gritted my teeth again as my hand tightened around my shaft and the memory of the fucking kiss on the dance floor had me stroking my cock like I was digging for gold.
My hips began moving on their own as the water continued to pelt against my back. My sweat began to mix with the water from the shower, and the grunting sounds coming from my mouth drowned out everything else. I rarely masturbated—I hated hand jobs from women even more—but I needed this release more than I needed my next breath.
I ran my thumb along the tip of my cock, feeling the droplets that were coming from it. And an image of having Grace bent over in this very shower while I pounded into her from behind, all while she screamed my name was what sent me over the edge. I tossed my head backward and let out an unfamiliar sound as the muscles of my ass tightened due to the orgasm coursing through my body. Semen spilled out of me onto the shower floor, only to be swept away down the drain. I stood, sagging against the wall until the last droplets fell from my body. Only then did my knees buckle and I fell to the granite bench in the shower to catch my breath.
I remained seated there for a long while, allowing the water that was starting to cool off, run over me. I waited for that sickening feeling I always got after orgasming to overtake me. Instead, my mind filled with Grace’s dimples as she smiled. It was the very opposite of disgust that filled me. It was that moment, I stood up and turned off the water.
Stepping out of the shower, I grabbed my navy blue towel from the wall mount, wrapped it around my body, and padded my way across the hall to my bedroom.
I stared at my bare mattress and plopped down on the edge of the bed after grabbing the remote from the nightstand. Turning on the TV, I pressed the button that would take me to the fight I recorded the previous night.
“Luke, what were your thoughts before going into this fight?” the commentator asked before thrusting the microphone in the fighter’s face.
He frowned, obviously annoyed by having to do one of these interviews right after a fight.
“To fucking win,” he grumbled.
“Yes, and some say that you weren’t looking as good as we’ve seen you in the past, in your practices for this match. What do you have to say to that?”
“Who the hell said that? My training’s private.”
I shook my head. Luke McConnell was obviously a hothead who didn’t like to be challenged.
Sounds like someone else I know,my mind quipped. I paid it no attention as I rewound the recording to watch the fight from the beginning. Luke had won this fight but it was close. Closer than it should’ve been. In fact, the fight was so close that during the third round I just cut the damn thing off. He had won, I guessed that was good enough. I didn’t need to watch him struggle through the fight to get the W.
I tossed the remote back on the nightstand and stood, removing the towel and pulling on a pair of boxer briefs to sleep in for the night. Turning on my back, I spread wide over the bed, feeling comforted by the fact that there was no bedding on the mattress. The kiss of the wind on my skin from the ceiling fan above me, aided in cooling me off just enough that I was able to drift off into a dreamless slumber.
Chapter Seven
Jacob
I felt lighter as my steps quickened through the front doors of the hospital toward the elevator bank. I thoroughly enjoyed my job but I wasnevercheery to get to it. However, as I pressed the button to the fifth floor, a sensation that might be described as pleasant overcame my mood. It had nothing to do with the two surgeries I had lined up for the day either. One was a rhinoplasty that I was assisting another plastic surgeon on to learn more about the procedure. And the first was the skin graft on Johnny Westbrook.
My disposition had everything to do with the woman I made sure would be in the OR for both of them, however.
“Morning, Dr. Reynolds,” a female voice purred from behind the desk.
I glowered at the smiling brunette. I couldn’t place her and I was familiar with all of the nurses on this floor. They all knew not to speak directly to me until I’ve had my morning coffee, which was still very much full in my right hand.
