Exhaustion was starting to creep in again, but Dash didn't stop. He kept pushing through his sets of crunches and squats, relentless.

He was lost in thought, trying to quiet the swirling worries and conflicting emotions he'd been dragging around lately. It was as if exercise could drown out the noise in his head — and so he threw himself into his routines with even more intensity. Drenched in sweat and with his body screaming for rest, he finally ended the workout. He stopped the timer on his phone and wiped away the sweat dripping down his forehead, neck, and shoulders, breathing heavily as the fatigue hit him like a wave.

He made a quick dash out of his personal gym towards his bedroom — he badly needed a shower. He was certain he smelled absolutely disgusting. But the moment he stepped into his room, the exhaustion caught up with him. He collapsed backwards onto the mattress, chest still rising and falling from the punishment he'd just put himself through.

And there he stayed, sprawled out, staring at the ceiling, unsure how long it would take before he found the strength to drag himself to the bathroom. But it wasn't just his body that was overwhelmed — his mind was still racing. Drifting into thoughts that confused him... and turned him on. Thoughts that revolved around you.

Maybe it was just the aftereffect of the workout... or maybe not. Maybe it had become normal by now — how your image would sneak into his head out of nowhere, dragging him into a state of desire that was impossible to ignore.

Dash had always felt a strong fondness for you — a nearly instinctive need to protect you. But lately, those feelings had evolved into something else. Something more complicated, more intense... more forbidden.

Sometimes, the way your eyes met, the accidental touches — there was something there, a tension he couldn't explain, let alone hide. A spark, flickering and growing stronger every time.

And just like many times before... he gave in.

Without thinking much of it, his hand slipped under the waistband of his sweatpants. He closed his eyes, letting himself fall deeper into the fantasy — the mental image of your flushed cheeks, your ragged breathing, that look you gave that drove him utterly mad.

So lost was he in the heat of it all, so tangled in the fantasy, that he didn't hear the door swing open.

It wasn't until your eyes locked with his that he shot upright in shock, hand jerking back quickly as he scrambled to pull himself together. The bulge was still painfully obvious, but he tried to cover it discreetly, his face contorting into a mix of embarrassment and false irritation.

"Bloody hell... ever heard of knocking?" he snapped, frowning, trying to hide the humiliation crawling all over him.

His face was still burning — and not just from the workout. His breathing hadn't settled, and no matter how hard he tried to keep a straight face, the tension in his jaw and the nervous twitch in his movements gave him away. The friction of the fabric still felt unbearable, frustrating, almost painful.

But worse than the ache, worse than the desire... was the fact that it was you who'd caught him.