His Saint (Forever Wilde 5)

But my attempts to squelch those feelings hadn’t quite worked. I didn’t find women attractive in the same way men were. I’d gotten a crush on the wrong boy junior year in school and made the mistake of flirting with him one day after lunch, not realizing he was dating a big kid from the wrestling team who made it his mission for the rest of high school to remind me that I was small, weak, and ugly as hell. His campaign to make me feel worthless had been a raging success and had dovetailed quite nicely into my own cousin’s bullying.

Did I still fantasize about men? Hell yes. Did I act on it? Rarely. But when I did, I stuck with the same, no-strings-attached, anonymous blowjobs and hand jobs I always had. Period.

As far as the world and my family knew, I was in a serious relationship with Katrina Duvall. This worked well for both of us since neither of us wanted the world to know our secrets. But now that I was building a life outside of Dallas, maybe it was time to consider living life out of the closet. Surely I could be out in Hobie and still keep things quiet in Dallas with my family. Katrina had always encouraged me to find someone, even though it could mean the end of our arrangement one day.

After remembering the pub’s LGBT night was tonight, which meant maybe there’d even be an opportunity for me to meet someone, I opened my eyes and reached for the soap. Movement caught my eye, and I turned to see Saint’s tower of inked muscle and naked beauty staring at me.

My heart stuttered to a stop in my chest, and I stood frozen at the sight of him. Surely he was wondering how a scrawny-ass such as myself could ever hope to defend himself in the case of an attack. Maybe he was right. Maybe I was too small and weak to do any justice to these lessons.

A little voice in the back of my head reminded me that Saint hadn’t actually said that; it had been my own insecurity speaking.

By the time my heart kicked back into gear, he’d turned away from me to his own showerhead, and I noticed his magnificent body. He was like one of those guys on the cover of a fitness magazine. All shapely defined muscle and raw masculinity. I wondered what it was like to be that kind of man. To walk through the world with confidence and power, knowing you intimidated most of the people around you.

I’d teased him earlier about not being intimidating, but of course he was. Anyone would be an idiot to find themselves in a dark alley with Saint. But I’d also been telling the truth. For some reason, to me, he put out a purring kitten vibe. Did other people see it?

My eyes fell to his thick, muscular ass cheeks, and I saw them flex as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Fuck. Not looking. Not looking at another man’s ass in the shower. Did I have a death wish? That guy could squash me like a goddamned bug.

I turned back around and focused on washing myself, ignoring the thickening of my cock and closing my eyes in embarrassment. Did I really want to be caught staring at him in the shower so he could take me out back and beat the shit out of me later?

Just wash and get the hell out of there, Augie. Jesus.

I washed as fast as I could, pretending I was alone. After I dried off and slipped on my trousers, I saw Saint round the corner into the locker room with a towel wrapped around his waist. Multiple tattoos covered his chest and upper arms.

“I brought you a cup of water,” he said, nodding to the cups on the bench. “You need to hydrate.”

“Thanks.” I grabbed one like a lifeline and took a sip. The cool water helped dissipate the dry throat that had suddenly appeared at the sight of the tattoos running along Saint’s back and down into the towel.

“What did you think about the session?” Saint asked as he reached into a nearby locker for his own clothes. My eyes stayed riveted on his large biceps as they contracted and stretched.

I blinked and swallowed while I gathered my composure. “Good. It was good. Especially everything you said about focusing on maintaining balance so you don’t end up on the ground.”

“The next time we meet, I’ll show you what to do if you do end up on the ground and also how to get your attacker on the ground first,” he said. His face was serious, and I tried not to think about an attacker trying to get me on the ground. Or Saint trying to get me on the ground. Both of those images seemed equally dangerous in very different ways.