Say Stop
1261 Words
Reza
The gym is empty.
That’s the first thing I notice. No voices. No movement. Just the low hum of the lights and the faint scent of metal and rubber and sweat worked deep into the walls. The kind of quiet that exists only after hours, when the space isn’t waiting to be used anymore.
It’s resting.
So am I.
At least, that’s what I tell myself as I step inside and let the door shut behind me.
Starla lifts her head immediately.
- Empty, she says. But not safe.
- I didn’t come here for safe, I respond, a little breathless even as the thought forms.
I don’t know why I came here instead of my room. I only know that staying still felt worse. That my skin has felt too tight since this afternoon, probably a lot longer than that, like it doesn’t quite fit right anymore. Like every time I slowed down, my thoughts circled back to the same thing.
Him.
The almost-touch in the hallway.
The restraint that burned hotter than any contact.
The way his control had felt like a wall he was bracing himself against for my sake.
I needed to move.
I needed space.
The irony doesn’t escape me.
I cross the gym slowly, sneakers quiet against the floor. A few weights are out of place, a towel forgotten on a bench. Proof of recent use, but not recent enough to matter. Whoever was here is long gone.
Good.
Starla prowls beneath my ribs, alert but not anxious. Curious.
- This is where strength is tested, she says. Where wolves learn limits.
- And break them, I reply silently.
I drop my jacket on a bench and flex my hands, rolling my shoulders. The movement feels good, grounding. Familiar. I’ve always liked training spaces. They’re honest. They don’t care who you are or what you’re carrying. They only respond to effort.
I pick up a pair of wraps and start winding them around my wrists, more out of habit than need. The repetitive motion settles my breathing, slows my pulse.
Almost.
That’s when I feel it.
Not footsteps.
Not sound.
Pressure.
The bond tightens like a wire drawn suddenly taut, awareness flooding my senses so fast I have to stop moving just to absorb it. Heat sparks low in my belly, sharp and unmistakable.
Starla stills.
- It's him.
I don’t turn right away.
I don’t have to.
Aaron’s presence fills the space behind me, contained but heavy, like a storm locked behind glass. He doesn’t crowd me. Doesn’t touch. But the distance between us hums with potential, electric and volatile.
“You shouldn’t be down here alone,” he says.
His voice is calm.
Too calm.
“I know,” I answer, still facing the bench. “That’s why I came.”
Silence stretches.
I can feel him deciding whether to say something or whether saying anything at all is already a mistake.
“You’re on the Alpha floor,” he says carefully. “If you needed space,”
“I didn’t need space,” I cut in, finally turning. “I needed movement.”
Our eyes meet.
The bond flares.
Not gentle.
Not patient.
Aaron’s gaze darkens instantly, control tightening around him like a vise. He looks exactly the way he did the night in the supply room, like one wrong move could shatter everything he’s holding in place.
“You shouldn't look at me like that,” he says quietly.
I swallow. “Like what?”
“Like you’ve already decided.”
Starla presses forward, fierce and unafraid.
- We have, she says.
“I didn’t come here to trap you,” I say, my voice softer now. “If that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I know,” he replies.
That’s the problem.
He takes one step closer.
Just one.
The air between us thickens instantly, heat blooming so fast it makes my breath stutter. My skin prickles, nerves lighting up like they’ve been waiting for this exact distance.
“You’re pushing,” he says. “And I don’t think you fully understand what you’re pushing.”
I laugh softly. Not because it’s funny, but because if I don’t, I might unravel. “You think I don’t feel it?”
His jaw tightens.
“I think you feel it,” he says. “I don’t think you realize what happens if you stop holding yourself back.”
Starla bares her teeth inside me.
- Let him feel it too.
I step closer.
Now it’s my move.
The bond snaps tighter, heat spiraling, awareness crashing over me in waves. His scent floods my senses, pine and freshly fallen rain and something darker, deeper, unmistakably him. It sinks into me like it’s always belonged there.
“Then stop holding back,” I say quietly.
Aaron freezes.
Not because he’s unsure.
Because he’s deciding.
For one suspended heartbeat, the world narrows to the space between us. The gym fades. The pack fades. Everything fades except the pull, the heat, the raw truth vibrating between our bodies.
“Reza,” he warns, low and rough. “If I start..”
“I know,” I interrupt. “I’m not asking you to finish anything.”
His breath hitches.
“I’m asking you to be honest.”
That does it.
The last thread of restraint snaps. Aaron closes the distance in two long strides and grips my hips, hands firm, grounding, like he’s anchoring himself as much as me.
The contact sends a shock straight through me.
I gasp.
Starla howls in triumph.
He doesn’t kiss me right away.
He leans his forehead against mine, breathing hard, control hanging by a thread.
“Say stop,” he murmurs. “Say it now.”
I don’t.
Instead, I slide my hands up his chest, feeling the tension coiled there, the power held tight beneath skin and muscle.
“I won’t,” I whisper.
That’s all the permission he needs.
His mouth crashes into mine, hot and hungry and restrained only by the last thread of control he refuses to lose. The kiss is deep, consuming, months of denial burning off in seconds.
I cling to him, fingers digging into his shoulders as the bond erupts, heat coiling low and sharp, every nerve screaming alive. He tastes like control stretched too thin, like want held back for far too long.
His hands slide to my waist, then my back, pulling me flush against him like distance is no longer tolerable. My body responds instantly, instinctively, arching into him without permission.
Starla pushes hard.
- Yes. This is it.
The gym disappears.
There is only heat and pressure and the way his restraint makes everything feel sharper, more dangerous. He kisses me like he’s memorizing, like he’s afraid this will be the last moment he’s allowed to take.
And maybe it is.
When he finally breaks the kiss, we’re both breathing heavy, foreheads pressed together, the bond humming loud and wild between us.
“This is a bad idea,” he says hoarsely.
“Probably,” I agree.
He exhales a rough laugh. “You’re not afraid.”
“No,” I say honestly. “I’m done pretending I should be.”
His hands tighten once at my waist.
The look in his eyes is dark and burning and full of something that promises consequences.
“Then don’t pretend,” he says.
And I know, deep in my bones, that whatever line we just crossed, there’s no going back to how things were before.
Not now.
Not ever.
- Writer
