Page 21 of For Wrath and Redemption
When my dick starts to harden, I break my stare and walk to my suitcase. No way she’d let me choke her, and I don’t fuck people I have to see every day. I made that mistake once. I won’t make it again.
“We getting a couple’s massage?” I ask as I pull on a pair of jeans.
“You’re meeting with a trainer.”
I freeze. “Excuse me?”
“A trainer. You’re meeting with one.” She walks back around the partition and glances at my jeans. “Might want to wear something less restricting. Jeans aren’t good for working out.”
“Why the fuck am I meeting with a trainer, Davis?”
“You need a rage outlet that isn’t smashing cars into fences or shattering stained-glass windows.” She props her hand on her hip and grins again. This one is taunting. She’s definitely getting joy out of irritating me. “And working out releases endorphins. You need more of those too.”
I unbutton my jeans and shove them down my thighs, once again baring myself to her. Once again, she’s completely uninterested.
“You don’t know what I need.”
She laughs and walks away. “I think I might know better than you do. Hurry. I don’t want to be late.”
I steal glances at Claire as we walk to the fitness center. Her face is glued to her phone, so I take advantage. She’s got a head full of curls pulled back in a ponytail, but when I met her in my hotel room, her hair was stick straight. My attention zeroes in on the little curls at the nape of her slender neck. I bet they’re soft. I bet they’d tickle my fingers if my hand was wrapped?—
“Stop staring at me. You’re being a creep.”
“Your hair is curly.”
“Observant when you’re sober, huh?”
“It was straight in New York.”
She sighs and looks up from her phone. “I’d straightened it. I’ll straighten it again after my workout.”
“Why?”
“Because I like it better straight.”
I nod, but I don’t say anything else. I also don’t stop staring at her. I can be annoying, too, and I smirk when I see goosebumps appear on her neck. She goes back to her phone and continues to ignore me until we’re walking into the fitness center.
Claire introduces me to my trainer. His name is Thor, and it fits him perfectly. I’m tall, and he still towers over me. He could probably bench me. He reminds me of Red, Sav’s security guard.
As Thor takes me through the gym, I keep one eye on Claire. She’s on a treadmill, and she’s not jogging. She’s sprinting. Sweat is drippingdown her body. The exposed skin on her chest and stomach is glistening with it. When I get a mental image of licking it off her, I have to look away.
Fuck, I need to get laid.
I’m sure the last thing Thor wants is me sporting a hard dick during my training session. I try to think of things less sexy than a sweaty Claire Davis with tiny curls at the nape of her neck, but after ten minutes, it doesn’t matter anymore.
Because Thor tries to kill me.
Squats. Bench press. Burpees.
Fuck burpees, man. That shit is the worst. Every one of my appendages feels like jelly. The exhaustion permeates all my muscles, and after a while, I can’t even focus on my rage because I’m too busy reminding myself to breathe.
“How much longer?” Panting, I drop to the floor after my last burpee. “I’m fucking dying.”
Thor chuckles. “Almost finished. Just stretching left.”
His accent is thick, but I’m pretty sure I hear a hint of mocking in his tone. Probably. Hell, I’d mock me.
“How’s he doing?” The toes of Claire’s pink and white tennis shoes step in my line of sight, and I turn my head to look up at her. She’s mocking me, too. “Damn, Hendrix. You look wrecked.”
