Opening the door, he entered, letting me follow, and I kept my head down, hearing glasses clink and boisterous laughter coming from the dining room.
The pungent scent of cigars drifted out, assaulting my nostrils, so I inhaled short, shallow breaths.
Michael laid a hand on my back, guiding me toward the stairs.
“Mr. Crist?” a male voice called, and we stopped.
My heart jumped in my chest, but I didn’t turn around.
“Policy requires that everyone check in, sir,” the man said. It must’ve been one of the attendants.
“This is William Grayson III,” Michael answered, his voice calm and confident.
I could feel the man’s eyes on my back.
After a few moments, he cleared his throat and answered, “Of course, sir.”
Relief swept over me, but I knew he knew. How could he not? If he knew Will at all, he would know I was several inches shorter and eighty pounds of muscle too small.
But he wouldn’t challenge a member. If Michael said I was Will, then I was Will.
“Come on.” Michael nudged my back, sending me up the staircase.
I tightened my grasp on my bag and jogged up the stairs, hearing footfalls above me and chatter coming from the rooms we passed as he led me down the hall.
“Follow close,” he told me over his shoulder. “Don’t look up.”
I kept my eyes down and my head bowed, simply watching the back of his shoes as I shadowed him down the hallway. We walked through a door and across another room.
It was the gym. I could tell by the glossed, wooden floors, the sound of speed bags being hit, and the squeaks of tennis shoes. Following Michael’s order, I didn’t look up, simply walking as quickly as possible to the locker room door as he opened it, rushing me in.
He led me past the steam room, the sauna, and the spas, their water vapor winding up out of the pools like a witch’s brew, and led me past the lockers and the few male voices I could hear lurking about in the vast room. Curving to the right, we stepped into a row of frosted glass doors. Michael grabbed the handle of one and pushed me inside, stepping behind me and closing the door.
Looking up, I spun around, seeing that it was a shower. The rainfall head sat directly above me on the ceiling, and a built in soap dish on the wall held three large bottles with pumps—shampoo, conditioner, and body wash.
Michael took my bag and opened it, pulling out my pants, jacket, gloves, socks, and shoes.
Tossing the bag down, he dropped to a knee and started unfastening my pants.
I laughed under my breath, grabbing at his hands. “I can do it,” I protested.
“But I want to,” he said, sounding playful and making my heart flutter.
I heaved a sigh and stood up straight, letting him take off my shoes and socks before pulling down my jeans and slipping them over my feet. I stripping off my sweatshirt and T-shirt together, dropping them to the floor.
I crossed my arms over my chest, waiting for him to get out my white fencing pants and dress me, but instead, his eyes locked on mine as he slid his fingertips up my legs.
His lips quirked, and heat spread into his hazel eyes.
Curling his fingers under the hem of my panties, he pulled them down my legs, and I simply watched, trying to stay calm despite the butterflies on my belly.
I loved it when he watched me.
His rudeness and course attitude made the rare times he was soft so captivating that I wanted to slap myself. He was a sadist, and my little heart just had to go pitter-patter the second his yanks, grabs, and pulls turned into gentle caresses and his frowns, scowls, and snarls turned into whispers.
I fell, and I never even tried to stop myself.
Lust and logic sat on my shoulders like the modern day angel and devil, one telling me to trust my heart and the other telling me that I would never be able to trust his.
Michael slid his hands up my thighs, and I stood there, completely naked for him as his hot eyes drank me in and his fingers kneaded my skin.
“Don’t even think about it,” I scolded. “I want to fence.”
He broke out in a smile, knowing he was caught. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, sliding his hands up my ass and holding my hips as he looked up at me.
I couldn’t believe it. Michael Crist was on his knees, telling me I was beautiful.
I pushed his hands, heaving a sigh. “Just get me dressed.”
I wasn’t sure why he wanted me completely naked—no bra or panties—but arguing would tell him I was nervous, and screw that.
If he wanted me naked under my gear, it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle.
He helped me get into my socks and then my pants. I slipped into my jacket that zipped up the front and then twisted my hair into a bun on the top of my head and wrapped a rubber band around it, securing it before sliding on my white gloves.
We got my shoes and mask on, making sure any stray hairs were tucked in.
“Let’s go,” Michael stood up and turned for the door, grabbing my hand.
But I yanked it out, smiling even though he couldn’t see my face under the mask. “Do you normally hold Will’s hand?”