I lift my sweat-drenched T-shirt, exposing my chest and stomach to the slight breeze created by my movement, and wipe some of the sweat off my forehead before it can reach my eyes. That shit burns like a motherfucker.
I don’t miss a beat, my feet hitting the pavement rhythmically as I let my shirt fall back into place. The morning sun scorches the back of my neck and the top of my head. I thought seven in the morning would be early enough for a run, but I still have a hell of a lot to learn about living in the damn desert. Tomorrow I’ll have to try for five a.m. and hope that’s a better time to get my run in for the day.
I come to a crosswalk and stop at the command of the big, red hand that says it’s not safe to cross yet. I take the opportunity to chug half my water bottle and wipe my face again, although my shirt is so wet at this point, it’s not doing much good.
I glance over and catch the interested gaze of a beautiful woman. She’s dressed to kick ass and take names: a crisp power suit, paired with bright red pumps and a confident smile on her lips. My cock takes interest, which isn’t ideal when wearing a pair of thin running shorts.
The light changes, and I consider asking for her number, then think better of it. I moved to Vegas for a fresh start, not to fall right back into my old patterns of failed relationship after failed relationship. Even if she is exactly my type. Some Doms like sweet and a little bit helpless. Others like bratty, but nothing turns my crank harder than confidence. A sub with their shit together, giving me the gift of their submission...pure fucking bliss.
I settle for shooting her a flirty wink, then take off again, going hard for the final few blocks until I reach my apartment. As soon as I step into the building, I curse myself for renting in a building without an elevator. I normally don’t mind the few flights of stairs, but that run took it out of me.
I take a breath, my chest heaving with the effort of my run, and then push myself to sprint up the stairs, using the last of my energy reserves but being rewarded with a burst of endorphins.
As soon as I’m through the door of my apartment, I strip my shirt over my head, beelining for the bathroom. A glance at the time tells me I’ll be cutting it close to making it to the team building Hunter—no way in hell am I calling him Daddy—has planned for today.
I start the shower, turning the knob a few degrees cooler than lukewarm, and hop right in. The cold water feels like heaven against my overheated skin, sending goose bumps skittering over my body as the sweat and dust from the run are washed away.
I grab the bar of soap off the little ledge, lather it up between my hands, and rub the suds on the top of my smooth head and then over the rest of my body. I wasn’t always so fit. In fact, ten years ago, I would’ve laughed if someone would have told me I’d ever have six-pack abs.
I was a chubby kid who loved food, and I never had a problem with that. My weight never hindered me in any way and certainly never made it difficult to get a date, but then my dad died of a heart attack unexpectedly at the age of forty-seven. Technically he was my stepdad, but he was more of a father than my biological one. It was a wake-up call when he passed. I started eating healthier and discovered running isn’t actually as bad as I always thought it was. Don’t get me wrong. I can still throw down a couple of cheeseburgers with the best of them, but I add in salads and shit now too.
I finish rinsing off the soap, turn off the water, and jump out.
I don’t live far from Kinky Boys studios, so once I’m dressed, it doesn’t take long for me to haul ass over there.
“Nice of you to join us,” Hunter calls out as I stride into the studio, finding everyone else already gathered there, clearly waiting on me. Oops, guess I’m a little late after all.
“How was I going to capture the attention of everyone in the room if I got here