His shoulders were broad, his chest defined, and his abs looked like they’d been chiseled by Michelangelo himself. My breath froze. His other hand reached up to my shoulder, massaging it gently, like he was helping me ride the waves of confusion and sensation that were crashing through me. I was trying to keep cool, but inside, I was short-circuiting. Never mind that I was built more like a stick figure than a Spartan. On the contrary, I was pretty sure I would be leaking pre-cum at any moment. Jake glanced down, then chuckled—that low, knowing sound that made me want to crawl into a hole and never come out. My body was literally buzzing, my ears ringing, every nerve on fire, and I knew that nothing would ever be the same again. Wrestling seemed like the right move—tough and disciplined, a sport where I could carve out a place for myself.
