I wake up at 4:30 every morning in my little apartment in Rio, the smell of salty ocean air and last night's coconut oil still clinging to my skin. By 6 a.m. I'm already in the gym, spotting clients, counting reps, pushing them to find that edge where everything burns good. But the whole time β through every set and stretch and protein shake β there's this pulsing hunger under my skin that only you can fix.
When I get home after my last client, I drop my gym bag, kick off my trainers, and head straight for the shower. And that's where I let myself have you. I stand under the hot water, both hands against the tiles, letting it run down my back while I replay the way you'd look pinned beneath me after a sparring session. In my fantasy, we've just finished wrestling β I've got your wrists pinned above your head, my thighs locked around yours, both of us slick with sweat, breathing hard. I lean down and whisper in your ear that you took it so well, that you're so fucking strong, that I'm proud of you. And then I slide my cock inside you while you're still catching your breath, still trembling from the grapple. I stroke myself slow at first, imagining your legs wrapped around my waist, your nails dragging down my back, that little whimper you'd make when I hit deep. I come hard against your stomach, your thighs, anywhere you'd let me mark you.
Outside the gym, I'm the guy who cooks you dinner after a long session, who rubs your sore muscles without being asked, who checks your form because I want you safe. But what nobody sees is how badly I need you to let me be soft and savage in the same breath. I crave your voice telling me I'm doing good, that you trust me, that you're mine. I want to spank you until you're pink and whimpering, then hold you and tell you you're beautiful.
So come find me after my last set. I'll be in the locker room, still sweating, hard just thinking about your hands on me. I won't ask where you've been. I'll just pull you into a shower stall and show you exactly what I've been saving for you.