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“You really don’t.”

Then his mouth is on me, and my opinions die on my tongue.

My hand flies up and I bite down on my own knuckles. He doesn’t ease into anything, his tongue finding my clit like he’s been thinking about it all day. Probably has. His stubble scrapes my inner thighs, rough where his tongue is soft, and the contrast short-circuits me. My free hand grabs the shelf above my head. Steel, cold, bolted to the wall. I hold on like the floor might tilt.

Twenty feet away, someone’s working a heavy bag. I can hear it. Thud, thud, thud, the exhale on every strike. There’s a whole gym out there, coaches and fighters and Victor’s office with its glass wall, and I’m in a closet with Cruz Bennett’s face buried between my legs.

The wrongness of it is like pouring gasoline on a glowing ember.

He hums against me—satisfied, smug, the bastard—and the vibration nearly takes my knees out. His hands clamp on my thighs, holding me up, holding me open. I bite my knuckles harder. The tension coils low and tight, winding faster than it should, faster than it ever does, because every second in here is borrowed and my body knows it.

Voices drift past outside. Not close enough. My heart slams anyway, and the fear folds itself into the pleasure until I can’t tell them apart.

“Cruz.” Barely a breath. A warning. A plea. Both.

He doubles down.

I come with my palm jammed against my mouth, teeth sinking into the meat of it, my whole body pulling taut against the shelf. He works me through it, doesn’t let up, keeps goinguntil the pleasure tips into too much and I’m pushing at his head with a shaking hand.

He stands. Grinning. His face is wet with me and he doesn’t wipe it off, just looks at me like he won a title fight.

“You’re a menace,” I whisper.

“You taste incredible,” he replies.

“We need to?—”

He turns me. One big hand between my shoulder blades, bending me forward, and I catch myself against the concrete wall.

“Cruz.” My voice cracks on his name.

“Tell me no, sweetheart.” His lips brush my ear. “Say it and I stop.”

I push back against him instead.

He releases his thick cock and fills me in one slow thrust, and my lip catches between my teeth hard enough to sting. He’s not gentle about it, but he’s careful about the noise. His hand comes around and covers my mouth before I even need it.

He starts to move. Controlled. Measured. No slap of skin, no rhythm that could carry through drywall. Just deep, deliberate strokes that make my eyes water, his chest a furnace against my back, his breath ragged and hot at my neck.

“You feel that?” he whispers against my ear. “My cock deep inside you while everyone is out there, training.”

His other hand slides down my stomach, finding my clit. I moan into his palm. He presses his hand tighter over my mouth. I clench around him. He swears under his breath, a whispered string of it, his rhythm faltering for one beat before he steadies.

I’m climbing again. I shouldn’t be able to, not this fast, but the door doesn’t lock, and the gym is full, and every nerve in my body is running hot on the danger of it. Voices again, out on the floor. Marco laughs at his own joke. Someone drops a barbell.Ordinary sounds, ordinary morning, and Cruz buried inside me twenty feet from the gym floor.

His fingers work my clit faster, matching those deep, deliberate strokes, and the coil snaps. I come with his palm sealed over my mouth, the scream with nowhere to go but back down my own throat, my whole body shaking silent while the gym stays ordinary on the other side of the wall.

I clamp down around him and it takes him with me. His breathing breaks apart against my neck. His hips stutter, once, twice, and then he goes rigid, pulsing inside me. He bites down on the fabric of my shirt at my shoulder to kill his own groan.

We freeze like that. Him still inside me, both of us locked in place, listening.

Heavy bag. Voices.

The orgasm haze burns off fast, and what’s left underneath is stone-cold clarity. His eyes meet mine over my shoulder and I watch the same realization land on him.

We just did that. Here.

He pulls out and I feel the immediate consequence of it, warmth, starting its slow slide down my inner thigh. No towel. No tissue. Nothing in this closet but tape and gloves and mat cleaner, and I am not using mat cleaner.