Lover at Last (Black Dagger Brotherhood #11) - J.R. Ward Page 0,32

in his pants was hardly a position he wanted to get caught in. If a Brother like Rhage walked in on this? Blay would be hearing about it for the rest of his natural life. Besides, he was in his workout gear, surrounded by equipment, so he might as well get busy, pump some iron, and hope that Mr. Happy sank into a depression from lack of attention.

Good plan.

Really.

Yup.

When he glanced at the clock sometime later, he realized fifteen minutes had passed and he was no closer to constructive, repetitive motion, unless you counted breathing.

His erection had a suggestion for that kind of goal.

And his palm was immediately on board, going between his legs, finding that hard—

Blay burst up from the seat and went for the door. Enough with the bullshit—he was going to hit the loo in the locker room in the hope of cycling some of the alcohol out of his system. Then he was going to get on a treadmill and sweat the rest of the booze out.

After which it was time to head to bed—where, if he needed an outlet of the erotic variety, he was going to find it in the appropriate place.

The first sign that his new plan might have taken him only farther into the weeds came as he pushed his way into locker-landia: the sound of running water meant someone was doing the soap-and-shampoo thing. He was so focused on kicking himself in the butt, however, he didn’t bother with any extrapolations.

Which would have made him stop, turn around, and find another toilet ASAP.

Instead, he went past the lockers and did his business. It wasn’t until he was washing his hands that the math started to add up.

Of its own volition, his head cranked around in the direction of the showers.

You need to leave, he told himself.

As he turned off the faucet, the subtle squeak seemed loud as a scream, and he refused to look at himself in the mirrors. He didn’t want to see what was in his eyes.

Go back to the door. Just go back to the door. Just—

The failure of his body to follow that simple command was not merely an exercise of physical rebellion. It was, tragically, his pattern.

And he would regret it later.

At the moment, however, when he made the choice to walk over, and duck around the tiled wall of the shower room, when he kept himself mostly hidden, when he spied on a male he shouldn’t have…the mad rush of emotion was so achingly familiar, it was a suit of clothes tailor-fitted to his madness.

Qhuinn was facing into the showerhead he was standing under, one hand braced against the slick wall, his dark head bowed under the spray. Water ran over his shoulders and down the acres of supple skin that covered his powerful back…and then flowed onto his magnificent ass…and went ever farther, past those long, strong legs.

In the last year, the fighter had filled out quite a bit. Qhuinn had been big after his transition, and had gotten even larger during those first few months of intense eating. But it had been a while since Blay had seen the male without his clothes on…and man, the punishing gym routines he’d been putting himself through showed in all that hard-cut muscle—

Abruptly Qhuinn shifted his position, pivoting around, tilting his head back, sluicing the water through his dark hair, that incredible body arching.

He’d kept his PA.

And holy shit, he was aroused—

An orgasm immediately threatened the head of Blay’s cock, his balls getting tight as fists.

Wheeling around, he left the locker room like he was shot out of a cannon, punching through the door, jumping out into the corridor.

“Oh, shit…fucking…goddamn…fuck…”

Walking as fast as he could, he tried to get that image out of his head, reminding himself that he had a lover, that he’d moved on from all this, that you could self-destruct over the same thing only so many times and then you were done.

When none of that worked, he replayed the speech he’d given to Qhuinn in the tow truck—

Where the hell was the office?

Stopping short, he looked around. Oh, fantastic. He’d gone in the opposite direction from what he’d intended, and was now down past the clinic and into the classroom part of the training center.

Miles from the entrance to the tunnel.

“…laceration that deep. But he wouldn’t have it.”

Manny Manello’s deep voice preceded the man walking out into the corridor from the main examination room. A second later, Doc Jane made an appearance