by Nikki Castle
We’re not breathing from physical exertion; we’re gasping from the growing heat.
"Beg me for it and I’ll prove it to you," he purrs. "I promise I can fuck you better than whatever nerds you usually sleep with."
A flash of unexpected lust rushes through me and I bite my lip to keep a gasp from escaping. His eyes dart to my lips—and immediately darken when his pupils dilate with that same lust.
"I don't fuck nerds," I say weakly. "I just happen to have a different type than 'arrogant womanizer.'"
He rips his eyes from my lips and grins at my response. His arms drop and he steps away from me.
"You don't know what you're missing," he says. He steps through the doorway to his bedroom but pauses before he actually shuts the door. His eyes pass over my body again. "Actually, you should probably stick with whatever your loser type is. It would take too much time to break you in for my tastes."
He slams his door and I feel my heart drop into my stomach.
It takes me forever to fall asleep that night.
The next day is marginally better than the previous one. I made sure to lock Jax's door before I fell asleep—to ensure no hidden pranks were pulled in retaliation for chasing away Tristan's booty call—and he was already gone by the time I woke up, so I did actually get to enjoy my coffee with a book in the morning.
Work flies by. I barely notice the construction today since I'm buried in documents all day. I've got a few deadlines coming up on Friday and I'm so distracted by the amount of editing that needs to be done that I do a double take when I realize it's almost 6:00.
I curse mentally. I'm meeting Hailey for dinner tonight and our reservation is set for 8:30. I was really hoping to get a workout in before we gorged ourselves at the new Italian restaurant but now that it's so late, I'll probably only have enough time for a quick run.
I clean up my desk and pack my bag, grumbling to myself the entire time. I decide to head down to the gym in the basement to get a treadmill run in before I go home to get ready.
My four miles fly by quickly. I think females have decent cardio to begin with but couple that with my workouts at the MMA gym and my weekly runs, and I'm in the best shape I’ve ever been in. Even as a teenager, I preferred to be strong and healthy. MMA was the perfect sport for me in that sense.
The physical exercise puts me in a happy mood. Although today's been an uneventful, decent day to begin with, a rush of endorphins always puts me in a great mood. I typically cool down with stretching that doubles as meditation, but I don't quite have enough time for that today. Instead, I grab my stuff, throw on my hoodie, and call an Uber as I walk outside. Fifteen minutes later I'm already walking into the house.
I see Tristan standing in the kitchen as soon as I open the door. He's got an empty plate in front of him and he's holding a half-empty water bottle in his hand. But after one glance at him it takes everything in me not to let my jaw physically drop to the floor.
I can’t decide which I want to focus on first: the black suit pants that are tight enough to showcase his strong thighs and grabbable ass, or the white button-up shirt that’s stretched across his massive chest and rolled up to his elbows to expose his muscular forearms.
He is... heart-stoppingly sexy.
It takes me a second to figure out why he's dressed up. I heard Jax mention a few times that Tristan will occasionally work a nighttime security shift, but I never really considered what that would look like. Although now that I think about it, security guards do typically dress like he is now.
I just tend to picture them as fat old men—not stunning young sex gods.
I internally shake my head to clear my traitorous thoughts. I force myself to remember how furious he made me yesterday with his stupid games, and how frustrated I had felt after he cornered me against the wall.
Okay that thought process isn't helping to steer me away from my inappropriate thoughts...
Luckily, he interrupts my inner turmoil. "Well, well, if it isn't Ms. Cockblock," he taunts.
I shoot a glare at him as I throw my bag on the couch—any expression that isn't open-mouthed staring. Walking around the island, I open the fridge to grab a water bottle of my own, trying to avoid any further eye-fucking.
"You deserved it," I snap. I turn to face him and lean against the counter as I take a sip of the water. The cold is shockingly refreshing and seems to calm my nerves.
"Consider us even," I continue. "Now can we go back to the rules I kindly suggested in the very beginning? Just call a truce and go back to ignoring each other?"
He crosses his arms and stares at me for a moment, but he doesn’t answer my question.
I roll my eyes. "Whatever. I don't have time for this. I’m going upstairs to shower.”
A smirk finally curls the corners of his lips. “Want me to join? You’re clearly enjoying my appearance tonight. I assure you I look even better in the shower.” The smirk stretches into a wide grin. “I’ll even help you pick out the right outfit after.”
A furious blush lights my cheeks at having been caught checking him out. My embarrassment causes me to lash out. “Don’t flatter yourself,” I snap. “It’s just weird seeing you dress for a job that doesn’t involve rolling around with sweaty men.” He doesn’t react to my taunt, just continues leaning against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest and a grin on his face.
Feeling both flustered from Tristan calling me out and panicked that he’ll continue his teasing, I hurry from the kitchen and head upstairs to get away from him as quickly as possible. I select an outfit for dinner tonight and head to the bathroom to get ready.
A minute later, I'm standing under the rainfall shower and exhaling the tension I didn't realize I was holding onto. I mentally slap myself for letting myself be so affected by Tristan.
It’s never really been like this with him before. Sure, I always knew he was attractive, but that’s about all that was likeable about him. He was too arrogant and too selfish for me to be interested in him in any real capacity. Other than Jax, the only thing he ever seemed to give a shit about was fighting, which meant even women didn’t matter to him beyond being a good fuck. And since I’m not interested in sleeping with a coach that I’m going to have to see every day after he tosses me to the curb, sex has always been completely off the table. Which just leaves the option of friendship.
That, obviously, hasn’t worked out either. I’m not sure he even knows how to be friends with a woman. So instead, we’ve been insulting each other for three years and trying not to kill each other for Jax’s sake. It’s never gotten so bad that one of us has actually hurt the other, but it’s clear to anyone that sees us interact that we really don’t like each other. I can count on one hand the amount of positive interactions we’ve had over the years. Jax tries to keep us apart as much as possible but between training at the gym, fight nights at the house, fights at the arena, and the average house party between the gym family, it’s pretty much impossible to keep us apart entirely. Over the years we just had to learn to deal with each other.
But there’s never been a sexual undertone like there is now. Tristan has never flustered me as much as he has this week. I can’t figure out if it’s the forced proximity or the absence of Jax, but ever since I ran that sorority chick out of his bedroom, it’s like there’s a charge between us. I’m not sure if it’s an “I wanna fuck you” charge or an “I’m minutes away from killing you” charge, but it’s definitely there. He’s thrown me off my game this week and flustered me way more than I’m comfortable with. Not to mention I’m noticing his physical appearance now, which is absolutely unacceptable.
I shudder, remembering how he looked at me after he had backed me into the wall last night. Hours later, I still couldn’t stop thinking about what it felt like to have his heated gaze on me. I tried—and failed—to keep my brain from imagining what it would be like to lick his lips. To be caged underneath him. To feel him take his anger out on me. Even now, my brain is caught up
in the image and my hand is trailing down my stomach...
I growl in disgust at my own thoughts and reach forward to turn the water to cold. I can't keep thinking like this. Tristan is an ass, and off-limits, so anything happening between us is a huge no-no.
That is, if he would even have me. I haven't forgotten his words last night. No, the only solution is to continue ignoring him and hope he gets tired of his games.
A small thud interrupts my thoughts. I frown, straining to hear what the sound was.
Eventually I decide it was probably the front door slamming shut as Tristan left for work. I turn back to the loofah in my hand and set to washing the rest of my body under the cold water.
Thoroughly chilled and with thoughts of Tristan banished from my mind, I turn the water off and reach for my towel.
My hand meets only air.
I pull back the shower curtain with a frown and look to where I had hung my towel up.
It's not there.
I look around, my frown deepening. My clothes aren't where I left them on the sink, either.
My eyes go wide. Suddenly I realize what's happening—what the sound was that I heard.
"TRISTAN!" I scream.
He's already there on the other side of the door, chuckling.
"Are you kidding me?!" I shout. "You stole my clothes?!"
I can practically hear the smirk in his voice. "I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about."
I let out a low growl and start pacing the bathroom. "Come on Tristan, I don't have time for this! Just give me my clothes back! Or at least give me a towel, damnit."
He chuckles again. "Nah, I think I'd rather watch you fumble your way through this.” He laughs again. “You know, I did offer to help with your outfit. Maybe next time you'll take me up on it instead of getting defensive and yelling at me. Now you're stuck with an outfit that I know you're not happy with."
"Fuck you, Tristan!" I explode, trembling with fury. I hate, more than anything, when men hold power over me. And right now, standing wet and naked on the cold porcelain tile, I feel as powerless as I have in a long time. "I would rather go through my entire day naked than shower with you."
This time he lets out a loud, raucous laugh. "You wouldn't be saying that if you knew what it looks like when water is running down my naked body. You'd actually be drooling at the chance." I don't even have to imagine the smug look that I know is on his face.
A shiver runs through my body and I'm so glad he can't see me right now. He would never be able to miss the way my nipples harden at that thought.
"You just keep telling yourself that," I snap. "Whatever keeps your precious ego inflated."
I keep pacing, trying to figure out how the hell I'm going to get out of here. "You know you really are the worst kind of asshole," I growl through clenched teeth. "Either you make me sit in here, wet and cold, until you take pity on me and let me out, or you make me suffer the humiliation of walking out of here naked. Either way, I repeat: you are an asshole."
I can easily picture his quiet grin on the other side of the door.
"Oh my god," I realize quietly. I stop pacing and stare, dumbfounded, at the door. "You really don't think I'll do it."
"I know you won't," he mocks. "That's why this is fun."
If it were anyone else, or any other situation, he'd be absolutely right. I would never let someone see me naked like this. It's not that I'm ashamed of my body, because I'm not—I work hard in the gym and I'm proud of the way my body looks. But seeing me fully naked is an intimate thing, something that only one other boy has ever seen. Other boyfriends only ever saw me in the dark, or partially clothed. I never wanted to give them the space or time to see my body. It felt like an intimate secret that I didn't want to share with just anyone.
Despite all of that, there's one difference in this situation: I hate seeing Tristan win. I have no problem showing myself if it means beating him at his own game. Hell, of all the reasons to show off my naked body, this is probably at the top of the list.
And all of a sudden, I'm the one who's grinning.
I straighten up and lift my chin. Before I can think too hard about what I'm about to do, I open the door and step out into the hallway.
Tristan is leaning on the railing, arms crossed, with a giant smirk on his face. He's enjoying my torture way too much. But when he sees me step out of the bathroom, his entire demeanor changes. His eyes go wide.
Then his gaze begins trailing down my body. I can feel the blush light my face on fire, but I don't break my stare—I won't give him the satisfaction of my embarrassment. I keep my focus locked on his face as I walk slowly toward him. His eyes snap up to meet mine once I'm standing in front of him.
His shock over my action and obvious appreciation of my body immediately inject me with confidence. I push my breasts forward and cock my hip to the side to accentuate my curves. Of all the power games we play, in this moment, I know I’ve won this round. And I want nothing more than to make sure he knows that.
I smirk at his expression. "You know," I purr, tracing my finger down the front of his shirt, "it's not exactly the best proof of your social prowess if you have to trick a girl into getting naked and wet for you."
I saunter down the hallway to my bedroom and slam the door behind me.
6
Tristan
Damn, she has a great body.
I mean, I always figured she did, but I had no idea she was hiding all that under her clothes at the gym.
I wasn't wrong about her body not being the ballerina-type—it’s better. She’s thin but toned, with subtle muscle definition everywhere I look. Her abs are flat and tight. At the sight of her perfectly shaped tits and the water drops that tease me as they run over every mouth-watering curve of her body, I’m pretty sure I totally fail at not gawking at her. And when she turns around to walk back to Jax's room, I definitely can’t help staring at her perfect, round ass.
I honestly didn't expect her to meet my challenge, but I can hardly say I’m disappointed.
Remy Porter is nothing if not exciting.
I’m gone long before she finishes getting ready. Part of me wonders if I don't trust myself not to pounce on her if I see her again tonight, since two nights of teasing and no action can make a guy a little hard-up.
Even last night had been a challenge to tear myself away. The sorority girl—whose name I had indeed forgotten—was partly a booty call but was mostly invited over to piss off Remy. I had only wanted to establish that she wasn't allowed to set rules in my house.
I didn't anticipate her fighting back and driving the girl off.
It was actually impressive. That she came up with the idea so quickly and managed to get the girl out without even a hiccup was almost admirable. Unfortunately, it left me with a hard-on that I later had to take care of myself.
What made the situation even more annoying was the fact that I wanted to take it out on Remy.
I always knew she was hot, but she spent so much time glaring daggers at me and spitting hateful words that I never really felt the need to look at her as anything other than Jax’s annoying little friend. Being shit on doesn’t exactly make me want to take a girl to bed. Plus, I’m pretty sure Jax would kill me if I ever made a move to. Between her smart mouth and the constant presence of Jax, it was easy to ignore even the fleeting thoughts of wanting a hate-fuck.
She’s always come off as a bit of a bitch to me. Maybe even a little pretentious. I’ve never blamed her for thinking I’m a womanizer—because I am—but that’s hardly a reason to think you’re better than someone else. I don’t get the feeling she acts that way because I’m a fighter, since she’s obviously fine with Jax being the same, so I’m not sure what makes her look down her nose at me. Possibly the fact that I’m not using my business degree or working in an “acceptable” career—my parents love that excuse. But with Remy, I could never be bothered to find out. In general, I don’t give two shits about what people think about me.
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But even if I could get past all of that, I’m also fairly certain she’s a prude. Which is yet another reason I’ve never shown her a sliver of interest. She hates the mention of sex, and she actually seems to hate it when I’m not clothed. Most girls smile or fawn when they see me shirtless, but Remy’s never done either of those things—she just gets flustered or, more often than not, angry with me. I’ve also heard from Jax that she’s only ever dated nerdy types for a few months at a time, which I consider another clue that she’s probably inexperienced or a prude. None of which align with my specific sexual preferences. So, I definitely never looked at her with any interest.
Until she moved into my house.
In only two days I can already feel that she's beginning to burrow under my skin. The sudden close proximity from being in the same house is forcing us to interact in ways that we've never had to deal with before.
And it's starting to get my dick hard.
Before long, I'm too tired even for thoughts of Remy. Training killed me today and it's taking everything I have to stay awake for tonight’s security job. It's a good gig to have on the side but right now, all I want to do is go home and pass out.
It's 4:00 in the morning when I finally crawl into bed, fully clothed. And it feels like only five minutes later that my alarm is ringing, waking me up for the early classes that I have to teach.
The only thing that gets me through the morning is years of training that have taught my body to function normally even under extreme exhaustion. Still, I exhale a sigh of relief when the gym empties out between morning and afternoon classes, finally giving me enough time to take a nap.
I dream of a naked, wet brunette.
When I wake up, I'm even crankier than before. The last thing I need in my life right now is a distraction—especially if said distraction has an attitude the size of Texas.