I had been sitting in this corner for longer than I meant to.
The upstairs alcove overlooked the training grounds through a wide window. It was one of those quiet, semi-public spaces where anyone could walk in but rarely did. I had come here to think. To process what had happened at the atelier and the silence in the car afterward.
Instead, I had ended up watching him.
Zane moved across the training grounds with a precision that was almost violent. Every strike that he took, deliberate, and every shift of his weight, controlled.
Sweat soaked through his shirt, clinging to the lines of his back and shoulders. And mapping out the muscular-toned body of my mate, the man I should share intimate moments with but had barely touched.
Sharing intimacy with Zane was quickly finding space in
