Reza
The gym is too warm.
Or maybe it’s just him.
Aaron’s hands are everywhere and nowhere all at once. Strong, deliberate, infuriatingly slow. He doesn’t rush. He never does. His restraint is a weapon, and he knows exactly how to use it.
My back hits the padded wall with a soft thud, and the sound barely registers before his body brackets mine, heat pressing in from every side. I can feel him, solid, unyielding, close enough that every breath feels shared.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice low, rough with control stretched thin. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m not,” I lie.
His mouth curves, not a smile. Something darker.
“Liar.”
His hands slide down my arms, unhurried, deliberate, thumbs tracing slow arcs that light my skin on fire. Every place he touches becomes electronically charged and
