“I can’t hold back anymore,” Wyatt gasps, hips bucking up into his fist. “I’m going to come.”
“Do it,” I growl, my own orgasm building at the base of my spine. “Come for me. I’m right there with you.”
We both moan at the same time as release crashes over us. My cock pulses in my grip, painting the inside of my towel with thick stripes of cum. Wyatt’s back arches off the bench as his own orgasm hits, ropes of white shooting up to coat his stomach and chest.
For several moments, the only sound in the sauna is our heavy breathing as we come down from the high. Slowly, reality begins to seep back in. We’re in a public space. We just crossedevery line we promised not to cross this morning. And yet, I can’t bring myself to regret it.
I look at Wyatt to gauge his reaction, but something about his appearance stops me cold. He’s flushed, yes, but it’s deeper than post-orgasm color—his face is too red, and his eyes look unfocused.
“Wyatt?” I straighten up. “Are you okay?”
“M’fine,” he mumbles, but his words slur slightly. “Just dizzy. It’s hot in here.”
Shit. I curse my own stupidity. I’m used to extreme conditions—heat, cold, physical stress. But Wyatt isn’t. We’ve been in this sauna too long, especially after an intense workout, and he’s showing clear signs of heat exhaustion.
“Fuck,” I mutter, quickly wiping myself clean with my towel and retying it around my waist. I move to Wyatt’s side, ignoring the mess on his stomach as I help him sit up straighter. “We need to get you out of here and cooled down.”
I grab his discarded towel and hastily wipe the evidence of his release from his skin, then secure the towel around his waist. His head lolls slightly against my shoulder as I help him to his feet.
“Lean on me,” I instruct, wrapping my arm firmly around his waist. His skin is hot to the touch, and not in the good way from moments before. “We’re getting you some water and into a cool shower.”
He nods weakly, his head coming to rest on my shoulder as we move toward the door. I slide it open and guide him into the mercifully cooler hallway.
With his body pressed against my side, his weight trusting me to hold him up, something fierce and possessive floods my chest.I tighten my grip on his waist, fighting the urge to scoop him up completely and carry him. This feeling, this need to protect him, to care for him, is dangerous in a different way than the lust from moments before.
It feels like something I might drown in if I’m not careful.
12
Wyatt
It’s been four days since the incident at Apex. Gray and I have been dancing around each other like we’re in some weird ballet where the choreography consists of avoiding eye contact and maintaining as much distance between each other as possible.
But it’s not even what we did in that sauna that haunts me. It’s the moment after.
When the heat exhaustion hit me, I expected Gray to call for help, to dump the problem on someone else. Instead, he became this…force. Calm and steady and completely in control. He wrapped me in a towel, carried me to a private shower, held me up as cool water brought me back from the edge of passing out. He didn’t leave until he was sure I was okay, his hands gentle but firm on my shoulders, his voice low and soothing in my ear.
“You’re going to be fine,” he’d said, and in that moment, I believed him completely. Not just about the heat exhaustion, but about everything. My whole fucking life.
The car slows to a stop in front of my parents’ estate. Sam, my temporary bodyguard, shifts in the front seat.
“We’ve arrived, Mr. Kingsley,” he says, professional and forgettable. That’s the problem with Sam. He’s competent, sure, but he’s just…there. No presence. No gravity. None of the weight that follows Gray into a room.
“Thanks.” I smooth down the front of my charcoal suit—Tom Ford, perfectly tailored, something I actually picked out myself instead of letting Mom’s stylist dress me like a mannequin. I’ve made an effort tonight, and I hate that I know exactly why.
The past few days, I’ve thrown myself into my classes, actually showing up to lectures, taking notes, asking questions that made my professors do double-takes. I’ve been researching Dad’s company, preparing for the internship I’ve been dreading and avoiding. I’ve even stopped drinking. Not because I’m trying to be virtuous, but because that workout with Gray showed me how pathetically low my stamina is.
Gray hasn’t offered to train me again. I haven’t asked. We’re walking on eggshells around each other, both pretending nothing happened while being hyper-aware of each other’s presence. It’s exhausting.
I step out of the car, the air crisp against my face. The family estate sprawls before me, windows glowing warm against the twilight. My stomach twists into a familiar knot of dread. But tonight, there’s something else mixed in. Anticipation. Because Gray will be here, not as my bodyguard but as a guest. Mom’s idea. She’s always collecting strays for her dinner parties, people she finds “interesting” to show off to her friends.
Sam walks two paces behind me as I approach the front door. It opens before I reach it—one of the staff, whose name I should remember but don’t. I give her a nod that I hope comes off as polite rather than dismissive.
“Good evening, Mr. Kingsley. Your parents are in the sitting room with Mr. Holt.”
My heart rate kicks up.
“Thanks,” I manage, stepping inside. Sam takes up position near the entrance, knowing his role doesn’t extend to family dinner parties.
