Page 29 of The Cult

Shrugging off his question, we walked in silence but not in peace. I could sense him studying me from the corner of my eye, boring into my restraint. I need to get away from him.

“Ready to continue?” Tobias asked.

“Yup.”

Tobias’s eyes were on my bare abs, a grimace on his face when I looked up. This man clearly had issues, and none of them should be mine. He cleared his throat before speaking. “Now, where were we?”

“My stance,” I reminded him, resuming the position of before my bathroom detour.

“Right,” he said. “Southpaw position.”

“I’m sorry, what?” I asked, unsure what he meant. This was all new to us. Martial arts was a recent addition to our weightlifting, running, and boxing routine. An addition that was overkill, in my opinion. But, like most of the tasks Orcus had us do, we would use this to our advantage. This would only make us stronger, more prepared.

“That’s what that position is called. Since you’re left-handed,” he explained, pointing at my slightly forward left foot. “It’ll give you an edge against right-handed fighters.”

“Why do I need an edge? And who are the other fighters?”

“Just trust me, okay.” Tobias stood behind the punching bag, bracing it firmly. His biceps and forearm muscles flexed. He nodded to my wrapped hands. “Gimme your best shot.”

That I could do. I focused my attention on the bag, pretending it was Orcus and Napoleon. I summoned all of my frustration into one powerful strike. My entire body vibrated from the punch. I could feel it in my core, loosening the pent-up frustration and fury buried inside. The next hit followed before the chains attached to the bag had a chance to stop rattling.

Tobias staggered back but remained standing, a smirk curving his lips. He had to be impressed. My form might be shit and my knowledge about fighting was nonexistent, but my strength made up for it. “Not bad,” he said.

Not bad? That was more than not bad.

“I can work with that,” he continued when he resumed his position behind the bag. “More.”

With the urge to keep impressing him, I sparred with the punching bag, each blow harder than the last, until my arms punished me with a burn that felt like they were about to fall off. Blowing my wad then exerting all my energy to show off wasn’t the smartest choice, since I had no clue what else Orcus had in store for us today. But seeking Tobias’s approval of my brute strength would be worth all the pain later. Maybe he’d stop calling me a kid and start treating me like a man. It shouldn’t matter what he thought of me, but it did.

The second part of my training with Tobias pushed me out of my comfort zone. Especially when he had me pinned to the padded surface, my legs apart, one hand on my back while the other one stretched to my side, under his vise grip. No way I was tapping out. He was on top of me with all his weight: his chest against my back, his crotch against my ass. I wiggled to free my body from his restraint, my ass cheeks rubbing his groin.

“Fuck,” he moaned.

Something hard pressed between my ass cheeks. I swallowed hard. Was that a fucking boner?

Tobias jolted, peeling his body off mine. He scooted away from me and sat on the floor, creating more space between us.

I put my head in my hands, avoiding his eyes, afraid of what I would see in them. Maybe repulsion. Confusion.

“Hey, are you okay?” Tobias asked.

“I’m all right,” I answered, keeping my eyes on the floor.

“Look at me.”

I tried so hard to detect any hint of disgust in his voice, but his tone gave nothing away. It was neutral and unaffected.

“Look at me,” he repeated.

Slowly, I lifted my head and met his eyes. Thankfully, I didn’t see anything but concern. I released a shaky breath. “I’m okay.”

“You’re gonna need more practice freeing yourself,” he said. His breathing was labored, sweat all over his face. He bent his legs, pulling his knees up so I didn’t get a chance to check if what I felt was his erect dick. Whatever I felt was long and hard.

My internal struggle intensified as the morning session continued. Physical contact with Tobias was an unavoidable part of the training, and although his touch wasn’t intimate, my brain had a mind of its own. Every time our bodies connected, whether in a hold, a sparring match, or a demonstration, I couldn’t help but feel a magnetism. It wasn’t just his strength that drew me in. It was the way he carried himself, with confidence and competence. I found myself stealing glances at him when no one was watching, my heart racing a little faster every time our eyes met.

I tried to shake off those distracting thoughts. Tobias only wanted me to become a better fighter; nothing more, nothing less. I had to remind myself that the closeness was simply part of the drill, not an invitation to be bold. Despite the losing battle, I kept my focus on the practice. The sooner I could master this, the faster he’d be off my balls.

My face turned a shade of red as I stumbled to the floor. I couldn’t help but feel inadequate next to Tobias, and the presence of the other coaches only amplified my embarrassment. I had to persevere if I wanted to improve. “How’d you learn all this?” I asked after he’d helped me back on my feet. He’d again proven his skills when his last maneuver had me on my back on the padded floor, wincing. He had techniques and power I could only assume was from years and years of training.

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