1: The Look That Hit Me Hard

I stepped into the locker room after my set, muscles still pumped and hot from squats. Sweat ran down my back, soaking into the waistband of my shorts. The place smelled like iron, rubber, and guys pushing their limits. I liked it here late at night quiet, empty, just me and the echo of weights clanging earlier.

Then he walked in.

Jaxon.

He owned every inch of space he took. Tall, built like he lived for the gym, black shirt stuck to his chest from his own sweat. His arms flexed when he dropped his bag, veins popping along his forearms. I hated how my eyes went straight to him. Hated even more how my body noticed every detail—the way his shorts hugged his thighs, the dark stubble on his jaw, the slow roll of his shoulders like he knew I was watching.

Our eyes met in the mirror across the room.

He didn't smile. Just held the stare. Long. Heavy. Like he was daring me to look away first. I didn't. My heart started pounding harder than it did during my last rep. Heat crawled up my neck. I turned to my locker, pretending to dig for my towel, but I felt him moving closer. Steps slow, boots on tile. The air got thicker.

He stopped right behind me. Close enough I could feel the warmth coming off his body. Not touching. Just there. His breath brushed the back of my neck when he reached up for something on the shelf above my head. His arm stretched, shirt riding up. I saw smooth skin, the cut of his abs, a faint trail of hair disappearing into his shorts.

My mouth went dry. My cock twitched in my shorts, thickening against the fabric. Fuck. Not now. Not with him.

"You always take the rack I want," he said low, voice rough from his workout.

I gripped the locker edge tighter. "You always act like everything's yours."

He laughed soft, dark. The sound vibrated through me. "Maybe I like seeing you mad. Your jaw gets tight. Veins pop in your neck. Looks fucking hot."

My breath caught. I spun around fast. We were inches apart now. His chest rose and fell quick. Sweat gleamed on his collarbone. I could smell him—clean sweat mixed with that woodsy cologne he always wore. It hit me low in the gut, made my balls tighten.

His eyes dropped to my mouth, then lower. Slow. He saw the bulge starting in my shorts. No hiding it. His lips curved just a little, not a full smirk, more like he won something.

"You gonna pretend you don't feel this?" he asked, voice dropping even lower. "Weeks now. You watch me lift. I watch you. Every time I bend over the bar, I know you're staring at my ass."

I swallowed hard. My throat clicked. "I don't stare."

"Liar." He stepped closer. Our bodies almost brushed. I felt the hard line of his dick pressing against my thigh through his shorts. Thick. Ready. Same as mine. "You adjust yourself when I walk by. Think I don't notice?"

Heat flooded my face. My cock throbbed, leaking a little already. I wanted to shove him away. Wanted to grab him and pull him in. My hands flexed at my sides.

He leaned in slow. Gave me time to stop him. I didn't. His forehead almost touched mine. Breath hot on my lips. "Tell me to back off," he whispered. "Say it, and I'm gone."

I couldn't speak. My heart hammered so loud I thought he could hear it. Every inch of me screamed for him. Skin buzzing. Cock aching. I hated him for making me want this. Hated how bad I wanted to taste the salt on his neck.

My hand moved on its own. Fingers curled into the front of his shirt. Damp fabric under my palm. I yanked him closer. Our mouths hovered. Lips brushed just a ghost of contact. Enough to feel the heat, the softness, the promise. His breath hitched. A low groan rumbled in his chest.

I felt his dick jump against me. Mine answered, pressing harder. We stood like that, frozen, breathing each other's air. My free hand slid to his hip, thumb brushing bare skin where his shirt rode up. Hot. Firm. I dug my fingers in a little. He hissed soft.

Then the door banged open. Two guys laughing, walking in, clueless.

We jumped apart. Chest heaving. Eyes locked. His were dark, pupils huge. Lips wet like he'd licked them.

"This isn't done," he said quiet, voice wrecked. "Not even close."

He turned, grabbed his towel, walked toward the showers. His back flexed with each step. Ass tight in those shorts. I watched every move, cock still hard and throbbing.

I pressed my forehead to the cold locker. Breathed deep. Tried to calm down. Didn't work. My mind kept replaying it—his smell, his heat, the way he almost kissed me. The way I almost let him.

I stripped off my shirt, tossed it in my bag. My nipples were hard from the cool air and from thinking about his mouth on them. Cock strained against my shorts, tip slick. I adjusted myself, groaned low when my hand brushed over it.

Shower. Cold one. Now.

But as I walked to the stalls, I heard the water running in the one at the end. Steam already rising. I knew it was him.

I stopped at the entrance. Heart racing again. Part of me wanted to turn around, leave. The bigger part—the part that had me leaking in my shorts—wanted to step in.

I pushed the curtain aside just a crack. Saw him under the spray. Water running over broad shoulders, down his back, over the curve of his ass. He had one hand braced on the tile, head bowed. The other... fuck. Wrapped around his thick cock. Slow strokes. Eyes closed. Lips parted.

He was thinking about me. I knew it. Same way I was thinking about him.

My hand went to my own dick without thinking. Squeezed through the fabric. Pleasure shot up my spine. I bit my lip to stay quiet.

He turned his head a little. Like he sensed me. Our eyes met through the steam.

He didn't stop stroking. Just slowed. Made it teasing. Mouth curved into that half-smirk again.

"Come in," he mouthed. No sound. Just the shape of the words.

I froze. Water pounded. Steam curled. My cock pulsed hard in my hand.

I wanted to. God, I wanted to step under that spray, press against him, feel his wet skin slide on mine. Feel his mouth finally on me. Taste him.

But the guys' voices echoed from the lockers. Laughter. Footsteps.

I let the curtain fall. Stepped back. Chest tight. Body on fire.

I went to my own stall. Turned the water on cold. Stood under it shaking. Cock still rock hard. Mind full of him—his taste I hadn't even had yet, his hands I hadn't felt, the way he'd groan when I finally touched him.

This wasn't over.

Not by a long shot.

I knew I'd be back tomorrow. Same time. Same place.

And next time... I might not walk away.