Page 76 of Key of Kink

“You’re testing me.”

Quinn merely grinned.

I finished the set and stood, and he moved close enough that I could feel the heat coming off him.

“This is not Obsidian,” I reminded him.

“No,” he agreed easily. “It’s much brighter here. No dark corners. You can see everything.” His lips twitched. “And there is so much to see.”

“Quinn.”

That innocent stare again. “Yes?”

“You’re flirting.”

He bit his lip. “I thought we’d established that I enjoy doing that.”

I placed my hands on my hips. “You’re attempting to provoke a reaction.”

He didn’t break eye contact. “Yes.”

I exhaled slowly. “Why?”

He didn’t answer immediately, but reached past me for a dumbbell, his fingers brushing my arm. He looked at me through his lashes.

“I wanted to see if you’re this controlled everywhere.”

Breathing suddenly became a chore.

“You’re playing a dangerous game.”

His eyes sparkled. “You’re not scared, are you? I mean, I’m not making you nervous, am I?”

“No,” I lied.

“Good.” He stepped back enough to begin his own set, and damn it, I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

He bent down to pick up the dumbbell, and all I could see was those shorts tight across that firm arse. Quinn rolled his shoulders once before lifting, the movement loose and unselfconscious. His T-shirt stretched across his back as he raised his arms, the fabric pulling just enough to outline muscle I hadn’t clocked under club lighting.

Fuck, he’s right. The gym lights showed everything.

His thighs flexed under the shorts when he shifted his stance, grounding himself properly before the first curl. He didn’t rush it. The motion was smooth, the tempo even, with no jerking, no ego lifting.

He watched me do it, didn’t he?

Quinn caught my eye in the mirror, and didn’t look away. His mouth curved at the corner as he completed the set, a small exhale leaving him through parted lips, enough to make me acutely aware of the rhythm of his breathing.

I adjusted my grip on my towel.

He’s performing for me.

He set the dumbbells down and rolled his neck once, exposing the clean line of his throat as he stretched.

Stop staring at him.

He stepped closer to the mirror, lifting the hem of his shirt to wipe his face, and the overhead lights traced the lean lines of his torso, the subtle definition.

He glanced at me again, still watching, his eyes still bright with that spark of deliberate mischief. Then he switched to lunges. A bead of sweat tracked slowly from his temple down towards his jaw. He wiped it away with the back of his wrist and smiled to himself, a very satisfied smile that I knew had nothing to do with his successful workout and everything to do with its effect on me.