Guilt raged in my head. It screamed and warned and threatened. Despite that, lust surged through every other part of my body.

I’d noticed him while I’d been doing squats. Actually, I’d noticed him noticing me doing squats. At first I figured he was taking stock and finding me lacking. I knew what I looked like. I was in fancy Lavender Shores, and while I might not have the money for designer gym wear, I knew it existed. Most of the time, I didn’t care. I was long past worrying what people thought. Part of the joy of moving as far away from family as you could get. However, with his honeyed brown eyes staring at me, I wished I’d spent a week’s paycheck on proper gym attire. Not to mention I was certain I was sweating a river down my back that was probably soaking into my sweats in a completely unflattering pattern.

Yeah, I’d been certain he was judging me. And rightly so. He might have stepped out of a fitness magazine. Perfectly tanned and toned body, styled chestnut hair that fell effortlessly in front of his eyes, which had to have highlights put in. Northern California wasn’t known for its blistering sunny days in December. Thick, sculpted eyebrows. Even the scruff on his chiseled jaw was styled—made to look effortless, but I knew better. To top it off, his skintight tank and barely there running shorts were name brand and looked like they’d never been worn before. They might as well have been painted-on. What a lucky paint that would be.

Then he got on the treadmill behind me as I started cardio, and I realized if he was thinking about my clothes, he was simply picturing getting them off me.

I should’ve run right then. Gotten the hell out of the gym, rushed home, and jacked off to some amateur porn. But the longer I kept climbing the stairs, the more certain I was that my guilt was going to lose, right along with my good sense, and I was indeed going to let him get me out of my stupid, stupid clothes. Then another hot guy—older but nearly as hot as the fitness model—had shown up. Probably his boyfriend, or his regular, or his sugar daddy. Whatever. Been there, done that, got the ripped-out heart for the parting gift. No thank you.

And yet….

Did I rush to the locker room and toss all my junk in my duffle and sprint to my car?

Nope. I went to the showers, which always had plenty of options for playing around. Options I never participated in. But I knew with complete certainty he’d follow within minutes, at least judging from the way he’d been staring. So yes, guilt my old friend, I knew exactly what I was doing, and I was regretting it even as I allowed myself to be steered down that dangerous path. Just not enough to stop.

My last hope was to flee the showers and get to the coed section. Again I was aware that wasn’t really my last hope. There was still the “throw on clothes and run far, far away” option. But as soon as I opened that shower door, there he was. Playing with his long, thick cock. Oh, right, don’t forget all the muscles and bronze skin and dark manscaped hair sprinkled over him like a porn star. Yeah. All that was there too. But, that cock.

Fuck.

How long had it been since I’d touched one in real life?

Right. ’Cause I didn’t know exactly how long it had been. To the day. I’d quit counting hours a few months ago, but I still knew to the day.

But that cock.

Yep, I was going to do exactly what I shouldn’t because of that cock.

And the body, the muscles, the hair, the jaw, the scruff, the eyes, the straight nose, that evil grin. Oh yeah, and don’t forget that cock.

It seemed I was going to throw away my sobriety for that. For a cock in the gym. Not even a pretend date or potential relationship. Nope. Nameless cock. Gym.

Fuck my lack of control.

It was both with disappointment and relief that I took my place in the steam room to discover two women huddled close together whispering.

Good. Maybe the guy would give up, wouldn’t want to wait for the gossip fest to be over. Or maybe he’d already allowed himself satisfaction from the other two men in the showers. Good, that would be good.

Would it? Was that really what I wanted?

My dick twitched at the thought. I folded my hands over my lap just in case the women noticed.

No, that was not what I wanted. Damn my self-imposed rules. Even if they were for the best. I’d just decided to head back to the showers when the steam room door opened and he walked in. He paused in the doorway for a couple of seconds, probably letting his eyes grow accustomed. And, goddamn, even his shadowy silhouette was pure sex.

One of the women glanced over. “Hey, Gilbert. Back in town, huh?”

He crossed the small room and sat by the women, putting me directly in his line of sight. He nodded at her. “Yep.” His tone wasn’t overtly hostile, but it sure wasn’t welcoming either.

“Forget your suit?” The dyed-blonde giggled, but it wasn’t a friendly sound.

“Sure did.” Though he addressed her, he leveled his gaze on mine, not bothering to look away, and opened his thighs just enough to still be hidden from her view while allowing me to see exactly what he wasn’t wearing underneath. “If it bugs you, I can drop the towel and you can watch.”

I might have gasped. Wasn’t sure if I’d made a noise out loud or if my entire body had blown a fuse.

“Classy as ever I see.”

Finally he looked at her. “And still a judgy bitch, I see.”

The woman’s friend sucked in a breath, but the blonde stood. “Fuck you, Gilbert.”

“Oh, Erica, you tried to get me to do you senior year, remember? I wasn’t tempted then. Even less now.” Despite his words he didn’t sound cruel, just bored.

She flipped him off and gestured to the door. “Come on, Lauren. We don’t want to be in the same room with Gilbert Bryant for more than a few seconds. The smell of home-wrecker skank is hard to get out.”

To my surprise he didn’t respond, just turned his attention back to me.

The women left, the blonde flipping him off again on her way out.

He attempted what looked like an apologetic smile through the steam. “Sorry about that. They say you can’t go home again. For the life of me, I don’t know why I’m unable to get that through my skull.”

I tried to think of something to say but had absolutely no clue. I also wasn’t sure if I still wanted this to happen or if I should run.

Well, yes, run. I should run.

But I stayed.

Gilbert stood, took a few steps until he was directly in front of me, and dropped his towel. And holy shit, I wasn’t going anywhere. He wasn’t hard anymore, but he was fucking gorgeous. Despite his beautiful dick and the rest of him within reach, I glanced toward the door. We weren’t exactly in a bathhouse. He let out a soft laugh. “You’re a careful one, huh?” He bent, picked up the towel, and wrapped it around his waist again, then headed to the door. “Be right back.”

Gilbert was gone for less than half a minute, but it was still enough time for my brain to up its guilt-ridden screams. However, not long enough for it to do any good. He stepped back in and motioned out the door. “I set up one of those plastic yellow cleaning signs. We won’t be disturbed.”

I nearly choked. “Uhm, is there a lock?”

“Good Lord. That body and that deep voice. Happy Saturday night to me.” He didn’t check, just walked toward me again, removed his towel, and tossed it behind him. If anyone came in, there wouldn’t be a chance to cover himself up. “People do what they’re told. If the sign says cleaning, then they’ll be irritated but stay away. And if they’re the kind to ignore the sign, then they’re the kind who won’t mind a good show.”

My pulse thundered, I could feel my blood surging under my jaw, feel it throbbing through my straining erection as well. I cast one more glance at the door. “And your friend… uhm, those women?”

He scoffed. “Nah. She’s all bark.” Without waiting to check, he reached out and pulled at the ties of my swim trunks. “Stand up.”

I did. I was used to towering over people, but Gilbert was fairly tall and nearly as wide as I was. I started to touch his chest but dropped my hands away. “And that guy you were talking to in the gym?”

His hands froze, having just unknotted the ties. He glanced up at me. “The guy?”

“Yeah, the hot silver fox.”

“Ah, Erica and her home-wrecker comment.” A soft chuckle, a beautiful sound, escaped him. “I like that you care about that. The silver fox is my therapist, and Erica’s brother, actually. You and I aren’t wrecking any homes right now. At least on my side. Trust me.”

I couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t ask if he was wrecking any homes on my side, but obviously I couldn’t trust him. Both things my guilt happily yelled at me. And I didn’t care. God forgive me, I didn’t care.

He cocked a brow. “Good to go? Or do you need my blood type or something?”

I swallowed, which didn’t help me find words, then settled for a nod.

“Good.” He pulled open my trunks and shoved them to my knees. Then he laughed. Loud, full, and pleased. “Fuck yes. I knew you’d be big. You were nearly bursting out of your shorts in there. I didn’t dare hope you’d be uncut to boot.” He gripped my erection and ran his hand up the length, causing me to hiss, then pulled the foreskin up over the tip. “Sit on the upper row, will ya?”

I did. Perching on the top row of the tile bench seating, I put my feet on the lower, which brought my cock directly in line with his face.

Still pulling the foreskin tight, he lowered his mouth and ran his tongue around it, then he pushed through, flicking against the tip of my cock.

I let out a cry and flung my head back, bashing it hard against the tiled wall. “Shit.” I threw up my hand and rubbed the back of my skull.

He pulled up, glancing at me. “Just so you know, you’d better not do that again, because concussion or not, I won’t stop until I get what I want.” He gave a little smile, but it didn’t confirm whether he was teasing or not.

Like I cared.

Lowering his head once more, he gripped my foreskin with his teeth and pulled lightly. Some men hated foreskin. And Gilbert looked like the type who did most of the time. The stylish, perfectly put together guys. I was so very, very glad to be wrong. Then he ran his fist down my length, pulling the skin back, exposing the head, and he sank over me. His tongue bathed my shaft as he went down, then circled over my sensitive head as he bobbed back up.

I couldn’t tell where the heat of the steam room ended and where the fire of his mouth began. Everything was stiflingly hot, blurry, and dangerous. I almost hoped someone would walk in. I didn’t even care in that moment if they stayed to watch or if they rushed away to tell. The moment was too perfect, and I hadn’t given in like this for so very long.

Again the guilt screamed, and this time the lust was able to scream back loud enough to shut it up for good. Or at least long enough.

As my fingers slid into his thick, wet hair, Gilbert ran his hands up both my calves and over the underside of my thighs. He moved his left hand up over my stomach and chest while his right began to stroke the skin beneath my balls.

Without thought, I scooted down so my ass was barely propped on the edge of the seat, and spread my legs.

I could feel his laughter rumble around my cock, and his thumb found my entrance and pressed in.

And fuck me if I didn’t arch back and hit my head a second time. “Fuck! Shit.”

He didn’t laugh but pulled off me. “Seriously, dude. You gotta stop that. You okay?”

“I don’t care.” Again, without thought, as if getting him inside me was the only instinct my body had, I gripped both hands on the edge, supported my weight, and pushed my ass against him, forcing his thumb as deep as it could go.

“Oh, fuck yes. Fuck yes.” Gilbert smiled up at me like he’d won the lotto. “Just tell me one thing.”

Talking? Why was he talking? “What?”

He twisted his hand and miraculously found a way to get his thumb in deeper. “Please tell me this perfect ass is corn-fed?”

“Corn…?” I took a breath and ground against his thumb. “What?”

“Corn-fed. You’re a Midwestern boy, right? Nebraska, Missouri, Kansas.”

What the hell did that matter? “Louisiana.”

He flinched, giving a little scowl. “Really?” Then he shrugged. “Whatever. Good enough.” He covered my cock with his mouth once again, thankfully cutting off the conversation. Then he removed his thumb.

I only had a moment to grieve the loss of him inside me before the thumb was replaced by a couple of fingers. He bobbed his head harder, and I began to thrust, forcing his fingers deeper into me and fucking my cock down his throat. And it was all too hot, too fast, and too fucking much for me to last. “I’m going to come, Gilbert. I’m going to come.” I had a feeling he wasn’t the kind to mind not being warned, but wanted to make sure.

He lost the sync of his rhythm for just a moment when I said his name, but found it again quickly, then lowered his left hand to my ass as well. He slid in another finger or two, I couldn’t tell which, beside his others, and then he began to pull, stretching me open like a spreader. Like he knew exactly what I needed, what I wanted. Which, apparently, he did.

“Fuck!” I didn’t mean to yell, but I had no doubt the people in the pool just outside the door heard. And I didn’t care.

Neither did he. Gilbert kept up his rhythm on my cock, getting me deep enough to curve down his throat, as he kept stretching me open. Pushing in a bit deeper, then stretching again.

“Fuck, yes. Fuck yes.” I didn’t bother with another warning. I just cried out and shot my load down his throat.

Gilbert responded with a groan of satisfaction as he shoved in even farther and buried his mouth and nose against my pubes, not letting a bit of my come escape.

Within seconds my arms and legs were trembling, and I shifted back to rest on the seat. At my movement, he pulled out of me then lifted off my cock. The fucker actually looked at me and smiled, then licked his lips. “Holy fuck, man. You are….” He shook his head. “I don’t even know.” He stepped up, pushing his erection against my cock and towered over me. “I need to fuck you.”

Fuck yes. God, fucking yes. I started to nod when the screaming guilt returned. No. Not this. Not again. I changed my nod to a shake. “Condom. I don’t have a condom.”

His brows knitted in confusion but just for a second, and he leaned back. “Oh, sorry. Right. I didn’t mean here, honestly.” He laughed. “Well, if I had a condom, then, yeah, here. But I don’t. I meant your place. You staying somewhere close?”

For a heartbeat, I wondered at his word choice. Not asking if I lived somewhere close, and not suggesting we go back to his place. Then I realized of all the things to wonder, I didn’t give a shit about either of those. “Yeah. I’m pretty close.”

Another smile. A dangerous one that did something strange to my heartbeat, which wasn’t a good thing. This was about ass, cock, and fucking. It had nothing to do with hearts.

“Perfect.” He stepped down and crossed the room to retrieve his towel. Then he looked back at me. “I tend to be blunt, so sorry if this seems rude, but I have to be somewhere really, really soon. In fact, I’m sure I’ll be late, so this will be a fuck and run. You okay with that?”

And there was that stupid heart thing, giving a ridiculous squeeze of pain instead of the leap it had just done. “Yeah. That’s better for me too.” And it obviously was, even if it wasn’t what I wanted for some truly messed-up reason.

“Perfect.” He had the towel back on, but it did absolutely nothing to hide his erection. He tossed open the door. “God, I hope we run into Erica on the way out.”