I was at the gym already, warming up and trying hard not to look at the clock. Alisa was late for once, and I found myself unable to focus, wondering if she was alright.
Our morning sessions together had become a solid routine, and every single day, I told myself we were only working out and nothing else. But over the past few days, I hadn’t slept too well. At night, I found myself waking with dreams I shouldn’t have had. And now, I wondered if this needed to come to an end.
The truth was, I’d taught her everything I knew. So, why then did I keep returning for these ‘classes’ she didn’t need?
Every morning, I watched her walk into my gym in those skin-tight leggings and loose tank tops. And every morning, I told myself this would be the day I’d cancel our sessions and come up with some excuse about work or meetings.
And once again, I found myself waiting for her anyway.
This entire situation was turning into a case of the classic old, sweet, exquisite torture.
I was stretching out my arms when she walked in. My right arm tensed as I held it back with my left in a stretch too long, and she froze, her eyes locked to mine, before meandering up the swells of my biceps.
“Morning,” she said, her voice still carrying that soft little rasp from sleep.
I put my arm down and felt my mouth go dry.
Was it just me, or did those black little tights seem way too thin? They looked glued to her legs, and I swear I could see the stretch of skin beneath. That, paired up with a loose graytank top slipping off one shoulder, was far too much for me to take. I dreaded the dreams I’d be having in the night to come.
“Morning.” I forced my eyes back to my shoes and bent down to re-tie my laces, even though there wasn’t any need.
She moved to the bench and set down her water bottle, stretching her arms overhead. I looked up from where I sat on one knee. Her tank top rode up, exposing a sliver of her smooth, taut, and absolutely-fucking-perfect stomach. I looked away, but couldn’t really bring myself to forget.
Thiswas the problem. Every little movement she made looked like more. She had no idea what she did to me, how hard it was to keep my hands to myself when we trained.
Or maybe she did.
I couldn’t forget the kiss we shared. I remembered the pure need in her eyes when I’d pulled back. Maybe I hurt her pride. Maybe she put me through this every morning to take her revenge.
Sometimes I caught her watching me in a way that didn’t scream innocent. But then I’d remember how we found ourselves in this situation, out of desperation and not will, and I’d tell myself I was seeing what I wanted to see.
“Ready?” I asked, jumping up and walking to the center of the mat.
She joined me and we started up with the usual warm-ups. Some light footwork, followed by stretches and some basic jabs to get the blood flowing. I tried to stand away, but couldn’t run far enough from the smell of her shampoo. More than once, I found myself wanting to burrow my nose into her neck.
More than once, I dug into my own hands with my nails to remind myself that taking her would’ve come withcomplications. I hurt her real bad all those years ago, and something told me she hadn’t really forgiven me.
How could she, when I’d never asked for her forgiveness?
She threw a punch, and that’s when I saw her knee jam out. If she kept this up, she’d have injured herself. That’s when I moved behind her to adjust her stance.
“Remember to pivot on your back foot,” I said, my hand hovering just above her hip. “Use your whole body to generate power.”
She repeated the step. “Like this?”
“Better. But your elbow’s dropping. Keep it up to protect your face.”
I stepped closer, my chest nearly brushing her back as I guided her arm into position. Her skin was warm beneath my fingers, and I felt her breath catch when I touched her.
Fuck. This was killing me.
I stepped back quickly, creating distance. “Try again.”
For the next half hour, we worked through combinations. Her technique was getting better, but it wasn’t her technique I noticed today.
It was the fact that her punches came with more aggression than usual.
“You okay?” I asked after she nearly tore the punching bag off its chain with a particularly vicious hook.
