Page 21 of Fallen Rook

“Well, la-di-da. I’m making us friendship bracelets tonight.”

“Go ahead. But if you give me one, I’ll probably try to choke you with it.” I flashed him one of those deep scowls that usually gave me headaches.

“I’ve always had a taste for violence.”

“You can’t handle my brand of brutality, kid.”

“Try me,” he challenged.

“I wouldn’t tempt me.”

Chuckling to himself, he swept his eyes over me, zoning in on my groin. I shifted, returning the favor. His quads were magnificent. Muscular, smooth, deeply tanned, and tastefully inked. The outline of his dick suggested either a semi or a monstrous flaccid cock. My gaze returned to him.

He swallowed visibly, wetting his lower lip. “Gotcha. Well, still… I just might call you.”

“I just might answer.”

He smirked. I didn’t.

Enzo sighed. “Do you ever smile, Agent Rothwell?”

The question caught me off guard. Not only because no one in my life gave a shit, other than my grandmother, but also because I’d never concerned myself with that question. I just…existed.

Some days, even that was more than I could handle.

“I smile.”

“I’m not gonna believe it until I see proof.”

“You’re exceptionally annoying.”

“Yeah, you mentioned earlier. But you know what? People like me.”

“People like cocaine, too. People are generally dumb.”

He put a hand on his chest. “Are you comparing me to coke right now? That’s the Rolls-Royce of drugs. I’m gonna take that as a compliment.”

I didn’t know what to do with myself. Didn’t know how to handle his brand of sweetness and honesty. Especially since I knew he harbored a dark side.

We spent the rest of the workout with him chattering nonstop and me trying to keep up, through chest presses, squats, and lunges. The entire time, my dick gave Enzo’s physique a standing ovation. His ass was a work of art, his abs a masterpiece. And when he bent down for a deep deadlift, the haze of unabashed lust made me all but suffocate. I didn’t recognize myself in this behavior. I wasn’t usually lustful. I was restrained, calculated, and generally disinterested.

Forming a bond to get him to talk to us was going to be a pain in the ass. Mainly because I couldn’t stop staring at his.

For all his sexual innuendos and thirst traps, Enzo seemed hyper focused when we worked out together. For some reason, training and eating clean mattered to him on a deeper level than aesthetics, and I wondered why.

We finished off with ten minutes of planks and sit-ups before he was satisfied. We walked to the lockers side by side, him blabbering about the supplements he was taking, me trying to regain control over my limbs. He was just finishing off prattling about his favorite creatine brands when he said, “You know what else I need to figure out? If I’m a top or a bottom.”

“Excuse me?” I stopped in front of my locker, tossing it open to retrieve my duffel bag. I’d shower at home. I knew my limits, and there was no universe in which I was going to see Enzo’s perfect, naked ass without plowing into it. And judging by his sunny, eager energy, he’d let me, too.

“Sex. It’s weird that I’m twenty-six, probably gay, and I don’t even know what my preference is.”

“You’re a bottom.” I slammed my locker shut, running my towel over the back of my head.

“How do you know?”

Because I’m a fucking top.

I’d never bottomed in my life, and this wet-behind-the-ears kid wasn’t going to change that.