Deep in You (Phoenix #1)

Deep in You

Copyright © 2016 by David S. Scott

All rights reserved.

Cover design by Darkmantle Designs

Edited by Matt Schiariti

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author.

If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Printed in the United States of America

First Printing: June 2016

Published by Seraph Wing Publishing

ISBN-13 978-0-9907111-6-2 (ebook)

ISBN-13 978-0-9907111-8-6 (print)

Acknowledgements:

A huge thank you to my incredible wife, Stephanie. Your love and support mean so much to me. Most of this story would not have been possible without your encouragement and faith.

To my personal assistant (PitA), Melissa Ann, how you put up with my nonsense (I was going to use a different word but was told it was bad to curse in acknowledgments) each day is beyond me. Yet here you are, making me write, organizing the street team, and tirelessly promoting and supporting me. You’ve been with me since the start of this crazy adventure, back when Xander was a tantra instructor. My how things changed. But you stayed with me, encouraging me and guiding me. I can’t ever thank you enough.

I’d like to thank my editor, Matt Schiariti, for all your help and ideas. You may have made me wonder if I even know
how
to speak English, but the book wouldn’t be anywhere near as good without you so I’m glad to have endured the torture.

A special thanks to the very talented Darkmantle Designs for the awesome job on the cover and formatting.

To all the members of my street team, David’s Decadent Divas, I appreciate everything you do. You ladies promote every day, and have done so even before my books were even close to being released. If it weren’t for you, no one would have ever heard of me or my books. Thank you so much for everything.

To my Beta Readers—Melissa Ann, Ella Medler, Elizabeth Booth Bennett, Lacia Carabas, Marcia Mason-Heaston, Tammy Markowski, Terrie Meerschaert, Rachelle Pianalto Jones, Cristiane Karamanolis, Denise Williams, Tosha Merritt Rabideau, Kathy Atwell, Chrisstine Hague Pearce, and Donna Tripi Salzano—thank you for everything you have done. Each and every one of you has touched this book in some way, and helped to make it better.

Last, but not least, a huge thanks to you, the reader. Without readers, there would be no reason for writers to write. I hope you enjoy
Deep in You
and consider leaving a review to let me and other readers know what you thought about this book.

This book is dedicated to Steph and Melissa. Both of you should stop nagging me to sleep. Plenty of time to sleep when I’m dead. Besides, I’ll have more time for that now that I’m done writing this book. Theoretically. Um… right?

Chapter One

Power.

Strength.

Control.

These were the attributes I valued, lived by. They had become my mantra.

Power. Watching the gymnasts as a child had fascinated me, and my parents had been quick to capitalize on this and enroll me in classes. It got me out from underfoot, and I loved the feeling of power and strength that coursed through my body. I learned to contort myself into impossible positions and hold them until the exertion almost proved too much… and then push myself even further.

Strength. Gymnastics taught me a lot about myself. I craved a good challenge; the thrill of winning seduced me. I was damned good at it, too. Over the course of my career, I’d won five gold medals and four silver in the last two Olympic Games, as well as countless other awards in other forums. Much more civilized than contact sports, gymnastics tested both my mind and body. On an apparatus, there was only me. Not my competitors. Not my coach. My greatest opponent was always, and would always be, myself.

Control. Power and strength are great, but without control you run into trouble. I employ control in every aspect of my life. Exercise, my free time, and sex. Especially sex.

My arms and abdominals strained. My spine was held upright, with my legs parallel to the ground as if I were sitting… except I was nearly ten feet in the air, suspending my full weight from two rings hanging from the ceiling in my home gym. I grunted, forcing myself to count. Finally reaching five hundred, I extended my legs farther in front of me and lifted slowly into a handstand. I held that position for a few seconds, then lowered myself down into an Iron Cross formation.

Power. Strength. Control. My body was an extension of my mind. If I could imagine it, I could do it. Nothing would stop me from reaching my goals. Only one thing left of this routine.

I raised back into a handstand and started to spin. Two revolutions, then release. I curled in on myself, tumbled three times, and landed. My right ankle was slightly off, and my leg collapsed beneath me.

“
Shit!
God fucking damn it!”

I dropped onto the ground and folded my right leg to my chest. Fire shot from my ankle into my foot and up toward my knee. Fuck, that hurt.

“You okay, Xander?” My coach jogged toward me, concern etched on his face.

“Do I fucking look okay?” I snarled.

“Let’s see it.”

I waved him off. Sam meant well, but I really didn’t want to be treated like an invalid. He’d been my coach since I was a child. We’d been through everything together.

“Xander, I need to see if you’ve injured your leg.”

I rolled to the left and rose to my feet. My leg still hurt like a son of a bitch, but a glance at the clock told me I needed to get moving. It was Friday night, and I had promised a buddy I’d meet him at a local club downtown for drinks.

“I’ll be fine. Don’t sweat it. Just a strain.”

“Alexander–”

“I said I’m fine. Leave it be.”

“Don’t start that shit with me, hotshot. You don’t pay me to stand to the side and look pretty. This is what I do. Let me see it.”

I folded my arms over my chest and glared at him, but remained where I was. Sam squatted next to me and unwrapped my ankle. I always wore ankle wraps on both ankles when working out.

“Flex.”

I rotated my foot, wincing.
Sadist
, I thought as Sam pinched and kneaded the top of my foot and ankle.

“Nothing looks or feels broken. I think you’re right. It’s just a pulled muscle. It’ll likely bruise pretty good. You should stay off it.”

“I’ll get right on that. Tomorrow. I have plans tonight.”

“Of course you do.”

“I’ve had worse injuries, you know that. This one is no big deal. Seriously.”

“It’s a shame that happened. You were looking good up there. Strong. I hate to say this, but–”

“Then don’t. I don’t want to hear it. Listen, I have to get ready. You can come in and have a drink before you go if you want.”

Sam shook his head. “If you’re sure you’re all right and can manage the stairs, I’ll just take off. My wife asked me to pick up some stuff on the way home.”

I gave him a brief nod as I limped to my gym bag, passing the pommel horse and beam. He knew the way out.

My two-story house had been custom built per my specifications. The gym took up a third of the space. It housed all of my gymnastic equipment and a selection of weights and bars for strength training. The room had been constructed double-height to accommodate the rings and horizontal bar. The master suite was located upstairs, while a single guest room occupied the ground floor, along with the living area and kitchen. There was a full bathroom on each level, but nothing else. Some of my friends called me eccentric, and maybe I was… but I knew what I wanted and needed. Nothing else mattered. I strode through the large double doors into the house and eyeballed the stairs. I needed to go up there to get my clothes but, for now, decided it would be better to shower in the guest bathroom.

I turned the hot water on as high as it would go, then sat on the edge of the tub to get a better look at my ankle. Yup, Sam was right. I could already see the tell-tale signs of swelling. A few rotations of my foot told me all I needed to know; it was sore, but not broken or sprained. It would end up being an ugly bruise that would ache for a few days. I
should
ice it, but I didn’t have time, and heat felt better, anyway. I’d keep it wrapped for a few days, but had nothing to worry about. Once I’d moved it around a bit, I realized it didn’t even hurt that much anymore.

I unwrapped my other ankle and stepped into the shower, wincing as the scorching water hit my back. I shifted around so that the spray was concentrated on my leg.

I was no stranger to injuries. Minor ones like this, at least. They came with the territory, but they were annoying. Giving in was like losing, though, and I
hated
to lose… in life as well as gymnastics.

Chapter Two

I pulled up to the club in my electric blue Shelby Mustang GT350R. I loved this car. I drove it the same way I had sex: aggressive yet always in control. The slightly darker blue racing stripes along the hood never failed to turn heads, and the roar of the engine was simply exhilarating. I parked the car at the entrance and stepped out, the oppressive Florida humidity washing over me. I was used to it, though. I’d lived here all my life. I tossed the key to the valet and adjusted my tie. My ankle still ached, but I knew it would until the bruise cleared up. I strode to the front of the line, ignoring the scathing looks from the people waiting.

A glance at the bouncer made him wordlessly lift the velvet rope to allow me access. I gave him a nod as I passed, slipping him a fifty. He’d have done it anyway, but I’ve found that you get more cooperation when you give them a good reason.