3. Early Lessons

CHAPTER 3

EARLY LESSONS

The insistent blare of an alarm jolted Rocco from his fitful sleep. He groaned, burying his face deeper into the pillow. It couldn't possibly be?—

"Up and at 'em, princess," Victor's gravelly voice cut through the darkness. "Your training starts now."

Rocco cracked one eye open, glaring at the mountain of muscle looming over his bed. Victor stood there in tight workout clothes, arms crossed over his broad chest. Even in the dim pre-dawn light, Rocco could see the irritation etched into the older man's face.

"Fuck off," Rocco mumbled, reaching for the blankets. "It's the middle of the night."

In a blur of motion, Victor ripped the covers away, leaving Rocco exposed to the chilly air. He yelped, curling in on himself.

"What the hell, Kovac?"

Victor's eyes raked over Rocco's body, taking in the thin t-shirt and boxer briefs that left little to the imagination. "I told you 5 AM sharp. This is me being nice."

Rocco snorted, sitting up reluctantly. "If this is you being nice, I'd hate to see you being an asshole."

"Keep pushing me, boy," Victor growled, leaning in close. "And you just might."

Heat pooled in Rocco's belly at the threat, his treacherous body responding to Victor's dominance. He pushed it down, clinging to his annoyance like a shield.

"Whatever," he muttered, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "Give me five minutes to get dressed."

Victor's hand shot out, gripping Rocco's bicep. "No. You had your chance to be ready. You train in what you're wearing."

Rocco's eyes widened. "You can't be serious. I'm practically naked!"

A dangerous smirk played at the corners of Victor's mouth. "Should've thought of that before you decided to be a brat. Now move it. The gym's waiting."

With a grip like iron, Victor hauled Rocco to his feet. Rocco stumbled, catching himself against Victor's chest. For a moment, they stood frozen, bodies pressed together. Rocco could feel the heat radiating off Victor, could smell the intoxicating mix of cologne and clean sweat.

Victor cleared his throat, stepping back. "Let's go," he said gruffly. "Before I decide to make this even more unpleasant for you."

Rocco followed Victor down to the penthouse's private gym, shivering in the cool air. He was acutely aware of Victor's eyes on him, tracking every movement of his barely-clad body.

"Alright, princess," Victor said as they entered the gym. "Let's see what you're made of. Give me fifty push-ups."

Rocco balked. "Fifty? Are you insane?"

Victor's eyebrow arched. "You're right. Make it a hundred."

"That's not what I?—"

"Want to go for two hundred?" Victor challenged, his voice low and dangerous.

Rocco clamped his mouth shut, dropping to the floor with a scowl. He managed about ten decent push-ups before his arms started to shake.

"Come on, rich boy," Victor taunted from above. "Don't tell me this is all you've got."

Gritting his teeth, Rocco pushed on. By the thirtieth rep, his muscles were screaming. He collapsed onto the mat, chest heaving.

"I can't," he gasped. "It's too much."

Victor crouched down beside him, disappointment clear on his face. "Pathetic," he spat. "Is this really all the fight you have in you? No wonder your father thinks you're not ready."

The words stung, hitting too close to home. Rocco struggled to his hands and knees, anger giving him a second wind.

"Fuck you," he snarled, forcing himself through another push-up. "I'm not... weak."

Victor's hand came to rest on the small of Rocco's back, the touch electric even through the thin fabric of his shirt. "Prove it," he growled. "Show me what you're really made of, little prince."

Rocco's arms trembled, sweat dripping onto the mat below. But he pushed on, Victor's words spurring him forward. When he finally collapsed after the hundredth rep, his entire body was shaking.

"There," he panted, rolling onto his back. "Happy now, you sadistic fuck?"

Victor loomed over him, an unreadable expression on his face. "It's a start," he said gruffly. Then, softer: "You did good, kid."

The praise sent an unexpected thrill through Rocco's body. He basked in it for a moment before his brain caught up.

"Wait," he said, propping himself up on his elbows. "Was this some kind of test?"

Victor's lips quirked in a small smile. "Everything's a test from now on. Better get used to it."

He extended a hand, hauling Rocco to his feet. They stood close—too close—Victor's hand lingering on Rocco's waist.

"Ready for more?" Victor asked, his voice low and intense.

Rocco knew he wasn't just talking about the workout. He swallowed hard, torn between the urge to lean into Victor's touch and the need to maintain some semblance of control.

"Bring it on, old man," he said with false bravado. "I can take anything you dish out."

Victor's eyes darkened, something hungry flashing in their depths. "You don't know what you're asking for, you little brat," he purred. "But I'll show you in due time."

The promise in those words sent a shiver down Rocco's spine. He licked his lips, suddenly aware of how close they were standing, how little he was wearing. Victor's gaze dropped to Rocco's mouth, his pupils dilating.

For a moment, the tension between them was electric, crackling with potential energy. Rocco swayed forward, drawn by some magnetic pull he couldn't resist.

Then Victor stepped back, clearing his throat. "Bench press," he said gruffly. "Let's see what you can handle."

Rocco blinked, shaking off the daze of desire. "Right," he muttered, moving to the weight bench. "Because that's exactly what I want to be doing at ass o'clock in the morning."

Victor's hand came down on the back of Rocco's neck, squeezing just shy of painful. "What you want doesn't matter," he growled. "You'll do as you're told, when you're told. Got it?"

Heat pooled in Rocco's belly at the commanding tone. He wanted to rebel, to push back against Victor's authority. But a larger part of him craved the older man's approval, yearned to submit to that iron will.

"Yes, sir," Rocco said, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Victor's grip tightened for a moment, then released. "Good boy," he murmured, the praise sending a jolt of pleasure through Rocco's body.

As Rocco positioned himself on the bench, Victor loaded the bar with what looked like an impossible amount of weight. "This is way too much," Rocco protested. "I can't lift that."

"You can and you will," Victor said, moving to spot him. "Now shut up and lift."

Gritting his teeth, Rocco wrapped his hands around the cold metal bar. He pushed, straining against the weight. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, slowly, the bar began to rise.

"That's it," Victor encouraged, his voice a low rumble. "Push through it. Show me how strong you are."

Rocco's arms shook with the effort, sweat beading on his brow. He managed three reps before his strength gave out. The bar came crashing down towards his chest.

In an instant, Victor was there. His hands closed around the bar, muscles bulging as he easily lifted the weight Rocco had struggled with. He racked the bar, then turned his attention to Rocco.

"You okay?" he asked, concern bleeding through his gruff exterior.

Rocco nodded, chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath. "Yeah," he panted. "Just... give me a minute."

Victor's eyes raked over Rocco's body, taking in the flushed skin and heaving chest. "Take your shirt off," he ordered. "You're overheating."

Rocco's breath caught in his throat. "What?"

"Your shirt," Victor repeated, impatience coloring his tone. "Take it off before you pass out."

With shaking hands, Rocco peeled the sweat-soaked fabric from his skin. He felt exposed, vulnerable under Victor's intense gaze. But there was also a thrill to it, a heady rush of excitement at being so exposed to this dangerous man.

Victor's eyes darkened as they roamed over Rocco's bare torso. "Better," he said, voice rough. "Now, again. This time, focus on your form."

They continued like that for what felt like hours. Victor pushing Rocco to his limits, demanding more with each set. And Rocco, to his own surprise, rising to meet those demands.

By the time Victor called for a break, Rocco was trembling with exhaustion. Every muscle ached, his skin slick with sweat. But beneath the pain, there was a sense of accomplishment. Of pride.

"Here," Victor said, tossing Rocco a water bottle. "Hydrate."

Rocco caught it clumsily, gulping down the cool liquid. Some of it spilled, trailing down his chin and neck. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, not missing the way Victor's eyes tracked the movement.

"So," Rocco said, aiming for casual. "Is this what I can expect every morning? Because I gotta say, it's not exactly my idea of a good time."

Victor's lips quirked in a small smile. "Oh, this is just the warm-up, princess. We haven't even gotten to the real training yet."

Rocco groaned, letting his head fall back against the wall. "You're going to kill me."

"Nah," Victor said, moving closer. "Can't have too much fun if you're dead."

The words sent a jolt of heat through Rocco's body. He looked up at Victor, suddenly aware of how close they were standing. The older man loomed over him, all rippling muscle and barely contained power.

"Is that what this is?" Rocco asked, voice barely above a whisper. "Fun?"

Victor's eyes darkened, something hungry and primal flashing in their depths. "It could be," he growled. "If you're willing to work for it."

Rocco's breath caught in his throat. He knew he should back away, should maintain some professional distance. But the heat radiating off Victor's body, the intoxicating scent of his skin... it was overwhelming.

"And what exactly would I have to do?" Rocco asked, tilting his chin up in challenge.

Victor's hand shot out, gripping Rocco's jaw. His thumb brushed over Rocco's lower lip, the touch electric. "You'd have to learn to obey," he said, voice low and dangerous. "To submit. To be a good boy for me."

The words hit Rocco like a physical blow, arousal coiling hot and heavy in his gut. He should be offended, should be pushing Victor away and storming out. But all he could think about was how much he wanted to lean into that touch, to surrender to Victor's strength and control.

"And if I don't want to be good?" Rocco challenged, even as his body betrayed him, pressing closer to Victor's solid warmth.

Victor's grip tightened, just shy of painful. "Then you'll be punished," he growled. "Until you learn your place."

Rocco's cock throbbed in his thin shorts, a damp spot forming where the head pressed against the fabric. He knew Victor could see it, could smell the musk of his arousal. But he was beyond caring.

"Maybe that's exactly what I need," Rocco purred, pressing himself more firmly against Victor's body. "Someone to put me in my place."

For a moment, the tension between them was unbearable. Rocco thought Victor might actually kiss him—or hit him. Either option sent a thrill of excitement through his body.

Then Victor stepped back, releasing Rocco from his grip. The loss of contact left Rocco feeling bereft, his body screaming for more.

"Careful what you wish for, little prince," Victor said, voice rough with barely contained desire. "You might just get it."

He turned away, moving towards the door. "Hit the showers," he called over his shoulder. "We're done for today."

Rocco sagged against the wall, frustration and arousal warring in his veins. "That's it?" he called after Victor's retreating back. "You're just going to leave me like this?"

Victor paused in the doorway, turning to fix Rocco with a smoldering gaze. "Consider it motivation," he said, a wicked smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "For next time."

With that, he was gone, leaving Rocco alone with his aching muscles and throbbing cock. As he made his way to the shower on shaky legs, Rocco couldn't help but wonder what he'd gotten himself into.

One thing was certain: training with Victor Kovac was going to be a whole lot more complicated—and a whole lot hotter—than he'd ever imagined.