I head to the locker room, towel slung over my shoulder. The showers are empty this early—another perk of the 5 a.m. crew. I strip quickly, stepping under the hot spray with a grateful sigh. Water cascades over my shoulders, easing the muscle fatigue.
But as I lather up, my thoughts refused to settle.
Kirill’s face kept flashing behind my closed eyes. The low rumble of his voice sayingYou will train my nephew.The way he hadn’t asked—he’dtold.
A forbidden little thrill runs through me.
My hand slows on my stomach, then drifts lower without conscious permission. I bite my lip, glancing at the shower cubicle’s mostly opaque door even though I know I am alone.
This is ridiculous.
I don’t do this here. Not in the gym. Not over some random—okay, not random—guy who’d basically bossed me into a training gig.
Yet my fingers wrap around my stiff cock anyway and begin to pump. Slow at first but quickly ascending to a hard, fast, almost feverishly fast rhythm.
I picture him again. Those intense eyes watching me struggle through my last rep yesterday. The effortless power in his own lifts. The authoritative way he’d cut through small talk and laid down his expectation.Discipline and strength.The phrase echoes in my head, twisting into something hotter, something that makes my breath hitch.
What would it feel like if a man like that decided other things for me?
Not just training schedules, but…more?
My hand pumps faster, pressure building as steam fills the stall. I imagine his large hand guiding my form instead—firm, unyielding, correcting me with that calm Russian-lilted accent.
Again. Better.
The fantasy shifts darker, his voice dropping as he praises or scolds.
My knees weaken as I feel my body stiffening and tensing with the build of excitement.
“Oh…” A soft whimper escapes me. I press my forehead against the cool tile, chasing the rising wave. Thoughts of Kirill consume me—his size, his control, the dangerous edge I’d sensed.
My body responds eagerly, too eagerly, clenching around nothing as pleasure coils tight and then…
It hits me hard and fast.
I cum with a muffled gasp, quads tight, one hand braced against the wall while the other rides out the pulses and works my cock as it shoots a shockingly large amount of my hot cum over the tiling. Stars dance behind my eyelids. For a long moment, only the sound of running water and my ragged breathing fills the stall.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I mutter, doing my best to regain control of my body and mind.
Then when the aftershocks fade, reality crashes back in.
I straighten quickly, rinse off with shaky hands. Heat—embarrassment this time—floods my face again.
“Who the hell is this man?” I mutter, grabbing my towel. “And why did a two-minute conversation turn me into…this?”
I’ve never reacted to anyone like that. Not this intensely. Not this fast. Sure, he is older, gorgeous, and carries himself like he owns the world. But I am a professional. I have boundaries. Dreams. Not to mention Brando waiting at home for snuggles and a full day of clients and classes ahead.
Yet as I dry off and get dressed, a tiny, traitorous part of me wonders what tomorrow will bring when I meet Bobby. And whether Kirill would be there too.
I shake my head, slinging my gym bag over my shoulder.
“Get it together, Teddy,” I tell my reflection in the foggy mirror. “He’s just a pushy rich asshole with a nephew who needs training. Nothing more.”
But even as I say it, I’m not sure I believe my own words.
That dark energy lingers, wrapping around my thoughts like a promise—or a warning.
And deep down, in the part of me that still feels the echoes of that unexpected climax, I’m not entirely sure I want to run from it.
