Dom could imagine the bursts of sensations Sinclair gave himself. He fought down the sudden wild urge to lunge forward, to slam Sinclair against the wall, and grind their cocks together. He wanted to capture Sinclair’s mouth with his own, he wanted to pump pleasure into Sinclair, and swallow his moans.
His throat grew dry; he squeezed his cock to stop it from aching so much. Why had he been holding back? Dom couldn’t remember anymore.
Sinclair’s gaze dropped to Dom’s hips—he was trying to see if he’d gotten Dom hard. Dom refused to give him the satisfaction of finding out. Instead, he turned back to the shower, scrubbing suds through his hair. He rolled his shoulders, flexing those muscles so they pulled taut.
Across the aisle, Sinclair groaned. The sound shot between Dom’s legs like an arrow, and his blood hummed with need.
He turned back to look. With the shower spray cascading down his chest, Sinclair had leaned back against the cubicle wall, his hips rolling as he thrust into his fist. In and out, his blunt head pushing his fist open, pointing at Dom like it was inviting him closer for a taste.
That was hands-down the most sinful thing Dom had seen all year.
From the satisfied smile on his lips, Sinclair knew it, too.
The alphas in the locker room bantered with each other. Some guys yelled; the door slammed shut.
The sound was jarring enough that shock jolted through Sinclair’s body, fear flashing through his face. His eyes shot wide open; his chest heaved.
Dread twisted Dom’s stomach. Not again. He knew he wasn’t always around to catch Sinclair’s flashbacks—sometimes, Nate dealt with them, or sometimes, one of the other guys on their team did.
Did any of them react to his fear the way Dom did, though?
Whenever Dom saw Sinclair like this, he couldn’t help thinking, You aren’t going back to that place. Things are fine now. You’re safe.
Except any time Dom thought about promising things like that, he remembered the empty house when he’d returned from the morgue, he remembered the horrible silence of everything. The sinking realization that Mal was gone, and all the plans they’d made for the future—those were gone, too.
Sinclair glanced warily around—but he wasn’t here anymore. Instead, he brought his fists up as though someone would attack him, and stepped cautiously toward the aisle.
For an uncomfortable second, Dom thought Sinclair might bolt through the locker room, and maybe pick a fight with one of the alphas there. Alphas who weren’t on their team, and who only had vague ideas about Sinclair’s quirks.
He shoved away his thoughts and stepped out of his own stall, crossing into Sinclair’s.
Sinclair tensed and threw a punch—he was fast. Almost faster than Dom. Dom caught his fist, shoving him back under the shower spray. “It’s me, Sinclair. Wake up.”
But Sinclair lunged—he thought Dom was an attacker. Dom pummeled him into the far wall, pinning him down. Sinclair thrashed. He wanted to break out of Dom’s grasp; Dom couldn’t blame him. But he didn’t want to risk Sinclair running out and getting into a real fight with someone else.
With the sheer amount of muscle on his body, Sinclair almost threw Dom backward.
Dom shoved Sinclair against the wall with his entire body—there was some friction between his feet and the wet tiles. It could all go wrong, and fast.
“Sinclair,” Dom hissed. “Need you back here.”
A low growl vibrated from Sinclair’s chest into his own. Dom anchored down both of Sinclair’s wrists. Would a sharp tap to his body help? It seemed like impacts would be a bad idea, considering where Sinclair had come from. Maybe holding down his fists actually worsened his fear.
Dom released Sinclair’s hands; Sinclair punched him in the head. Pain throbbed through his skull. “Damn it, Sinclair. Jesse.”
That seemed to have a slight effect. Sinclair panted, but he calmed a little.
The voices in the locker room distracted him—Sinclair glanced behind Dom, as though he was prepared to see more alphas joining them.
Something in Dom’s chest said, Protect him.
For once, Dom gave in.
He leaned in close, pressing their foreheads together. “Look at me,” Dom growled. “I’m the only one you need to focus on. Look at me, Jesse.”
Sinclair struggled, but he looked, his panting hot against Dom’s lips. Dom held his stare. After long seconds, Sinclair’s gaze focused. He blinked, the fight deflating out of him.
“You back now?” Dom asked.
Sinclair lowered his fists, raking his eyes down Dom’s face. Dom leaned back slightly so they weren’t sharing a breath anymore. That felt wrong. It felt like the right thing would be to press their faces together and nuzzle him. No way in hell I’m doing that.
“Sinclair?” Dom tried again. “You back?”
“Yeah.” Sinclair inhaled shakily, glancing around them as though he was trying to find his bearings.
“You’re at the station. Locker room.” Dom’s adrenaline faded slightly; only now did he feel the faint slide of Sinclair’s chest rising and falling against his own. Their bodies were still pressed flushed together, skin on skin, their cocks touching.
This would be what it’d feel like if they fucked. When they fucked.
Dom’s nerves tingled all over. He just had an episode. Stop thinking about that.
He rolled his weight back onto his heels, just so they weren’t pressed flush anymore. Except their cocks brushed, half-hard, and pleasure whispered through his body.
Sinclair must’ve felt it too; he glanced down. Then he snapped his eyes back up, really focusing on Dom.
This time, when Sinclair looked again, his stare raked over Dom’s chest like fingernails on skin, leaving a trail of warmth all the way down. Dom knew he had to leave. But a tiny part of him, the part he vehemently ignored, enjoyed Sinclair’s attention far too much. Let him look, it said. You’ve wanted his eyes on your cock for far too long. Let him suck you off. Let him beg for it.
Warmth flooded between his legs; his length thickened with interest.
Sinclair breathed
