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Music blaring. Muscles screaming. I didn’t do yoga or any of that crap. I didn’t want something soft, gentle, peaceful. That didn’t work for me.
Plus, I loved feeling strong. Loved lifting weights.
I’d seen barely any change in my body these past weeks eating whatever I wanted—my version at least—and doing all the outside work. If anything, my muscles were more sculpted and I looked less like the stick-thin movie star I’d thought I’d needed to be.
Before this, I’d danced on the edge of a sword when it came to how I looked. I had to be thin to be appealing to the world, but strong enough to carry that same world on my shoulders. I was starting to get why Hollywood and the fashion industry wanted to promote that sickly thin aesthetic. Because they wanted to convince women that looking weak, looking vulnerable, looking like the damsel that needed to be saved by the muscled hero was the only role for us.
The world was scared of strong women.
And as strong as I’d considered myself, I’d played into it.
It was strange what a huge change that had been made in my lifestyle and how little I cared about it—about the cameras following me everywhere, about the staff at my beck and call, the fucking celery juices, the massages, the bullshit. I’d been sure it was everything I’d ever dreamed of but in reality, dreams didn’t do anything.
“Are you kidding me?” Duke said in my ear. “No fuckin’ way was I showin’ you this place and having to torture myself watching you work out in those little shorts and not fuck you against that wall.”
My body flushed with need as I looked at the wall he was talking about, the mirrored wall. I got a flash of having Duke inside me and watching him fuck me from all angles. Once I entertained that thought, I found it really hard to think of anything else.
“How did you know I’d be wearing little shorts?” I breathed. “Did you go through my stuff?” It was meant as a joke but Duke’s pause helped me shelve the thought of him fucking me against that mirror.
I stepped out of his grasp and he let me, which was a bad sign. “Duke, did you go through my stuff?”
He didn’t even have the decency to look sheepish. He eyed me carefully, likely gauging the way my irritation was rapidly turning into fury.
“I had to make sure you hadn’t snuck in a phone or computer or somethin’ like that,” he said.
“And you didn’t think you could ask me instead of invading my privacy?” I asked him quietly—a special kind of quiet, the restrained quiet that every man should take as a warning and immediately agree, apologize, or go shopping for gifts.
Duke did none of those things. He crossed his arms over his chest. Whether he was doing that out of stubbornness or to distract me, it didn’t matter.
Although, it was distracting. I’d thought his arms were nice before, but they were one hundred times nicer now that I knew what they felt like wrapped around me. Now that I knew how he could use them to hold me up while he fucked me in the shower.
“Baby, you know I couldn’t be sure you were telling the truth then.”
“Don’t you baby me,” I yelled. “I need you to get out of here and leave me alone.”
Duke stepped forward. “That’s never gonna happen.”
There was a strange weight to his words that suggested he didn’t just mean right now.
The door to the gym opened, and I was totally expecting Tanner, or maybe one of the younger ranch hands. But to my surprise—though I didn’t know why I should be surprised now—Harriet walked through the door wearing leopard print leggings and a tank that said “Radical Feminist.”
She grinned between the two of us. “Oh goodie, I’m interrupting something.”
“You’re not interrupting anything,” I told her. “I’ve made up my mind to be mad at Duke, and there’s nothing he can do about it.”
He looked like he was going to have something to say about this, but of course Harriet had other ideas.
“Why don’t you fight him?” Harriet suggested.
I looked at her to gauge her seriousness but then followed her gaze to the open area in the corner, which had a punching bag and a small sparring space.
I immediately grinned and Duke stiffened. “No fuckin’ way.”
“Why?” I asked. “Afraid you’re going to lose?”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “No, I’m just not willing to hurt you and I don’t hold back.”
Whether or not he knew what that statement was going to do, I didn’t know, but instead of answering him, I stomped over to the corner and began putting on gloves.
“Wait! You can’t start until I get us an audience and a betting pool,” Harriet called, tapping on her phone.
