The text was simple:Come to Dominion Hall when you're up. -S
Silas.
I stared at the message for a moment, then set the phone down and stood.
A workout. That's what I needed. Something to burn off the tension coiled in my muscles, the frustration simmering under my skin, the inconvenient arousal my body refused to let go of.
I changed quickly—shorts, tshirt, running shoes—and headed down to the gym.
The Palmetto Rose's gym was small but well-equipped. Weights. Treadmill. Rowing machine. Empty at this hour, which was exactly what I wanted.
I hit it hard.
Burpees until my lungs burned. Pull-ups until my arms shook. Deadlifts heavy enough that most men would've called it a day halfway through. I pushed until sweat soaked through my shirt, until my muscles screamed, until the only thing I could focus on was the next rep, the next breath, the next movement.
It didn't help.
Not really.
Because even when my body was occupied, my mind kept circling back to her.
The way she'd smiled before I'd ruined it. The way her voice had sharpened when she'd defended flowers like they were worth defending. The way she'd looked at me—not with fear, but with something I didn't deserve.
I finished the last set of push-ups and collapsed onto the mat, chest heaving, staring at the ceiling.
This was getting out of hand.
Back in the suite, I stripped and stepped into the shower, turning the water as hot as I could stand.
Steam filled the room, fogging the glass, and I stood under the spray with my head bowed, hands braced against the tile.
Don't think about her.
Don't.
But my hand was already moving, gripping my cock, the water slicking the way as I stroked once, twice, trying to make it quick, trying to get it over with so I could focus on something—anything—else.
Her face flashed behind my eyes. That soft mouth. Those wide eyes. The way her body moved, curves I had no right to notice but couldn't stop noticing.
I imagined her here. In this shower. Pressed against the tile, water running over her skin, blonde hair dark and slick as I?—
No.
I shoved the image away and finished fast, jaw clenched, release hitting like punishment instead of relief.
When it was over, I stood there under the spray, breathing hard, feeling nothing but shame.
Again.
I dried off, dressed in clean clothes, and called down to the lobby.
"I need a car," I said.
"Of course, Mr. Dane. Where are you headed?"
"Dominion Hall."
There was a brief pause. "It'll be ready in five minutes."
