Shit. He really is planning to kill me. Maybe I should worry more about my muscle groups and less about what’s between my legs. Although only one wants to be punished.
It turns out, I can see the future. Who knew? Yet, for the next sixty minutes, I endure torture of every kind.
First, there is the torture of my screaming muscles, which are exhausted from squats, calf-raises, and burpees. Fucking burpees. Whoever invented these needs to be killed slowly and painfully. I’m sweaty and hot, my hair is a frizzy mess, and my legs are shaking. I’ve stopped looking in the mirror. If Taylor were into me, I’m sure my current haggardness is enough to make him rethink.
The second torture is in watching him. When he demonstrates the move. When he corrects me. He does come in to touch me, and every time I lose track of what he’s saying. All I can see is the stretch and pull of his gorgeous muscles. The shape of his full lips as he speaks. Too bad I’m missing every other word.
It’s all I can do to keep from pulling him to me and kissing him. A resistance that reaches the breaking point when he teaches me deadlifts, where you bend over and lift a bar off the ground, engaging your hamstrings. I bend over and start to lift.
“No, no,” he says, jumping in and bending over me from behind to grab the bar. “You’re going to hurt yourself that way.”
I freeze.
He’s laying above me, pressed to my ass, doggy-style. Does he feel it when my ass lifts as desire overcomes my will?
For a split second, he’s frozen as well. His breath is hot on my ear. We both release the bar at the same time. It drops to the floor, rattling. He stands. Cool air rushes in where he was, and I stand, flustered and blushing.
“Uh,” he stampers out, ruffling his hair. “That’s enough for today.”
“Okay, good,” I say, forcing a laugh. My legs feel like Jello. And my pussy wants him so bad, but that’s between me and her. “I think you’re going to do just fine in your new career,” I add. “You totally kicked my ass. I’ll be surprised if I can walk tomorrow.”
He frowns. “Hmmm, it’s not supposed to be that bad. Were you honest with me when you told me how you were doing?”
Ummmm. His dark eyes bore into me. I look up. “I might have pushed myself a little.”
He smirks. “Well, you got to be honest with your trainer, or you’ll get your ass kicked.”
“So I’ve gathered.”
He holds the door for me as we head out to the cars. It got dark while we were working out. Without asking, he escorts me to my car. Always the gentleman. If he could feel how badly I wanted him to throw me in the backseat and wear my muscles out some more, I wonder if he’d still look at me like a lady?
When we get to the car, I toss my bag in the back. “So, when should we do this again?”
“When you figure out how sore you are tomorrow, call me. Then we can decide.” He smiles. “But I had a great time.”
My shyness kicks in again. The way he’s looking at me, his eyes all heavy. It was like that all session. The more he touched me, the more his gaze locked on me to watch me closely. If I’m not imagining it, there’s a lot of hunger in those depths.
I lean back against my car, doing my best ‘sweaty but sexy AF’ smile. “Me too.”
Then, before I can tell if it’s a dream or it’s real, he puts both hands on either side of me, leans in, and kisses me.
My brain explodes. Sparks fly inside me like delirious lightning bugs, blinking and chanting,He likes me, he likes me, he likes me!His lips are soft, but as he presses against me, I feel that nothing else is. I don’t care what anyone says about how old Taylor is. He’s two-hundred-forty pounds of pure steely muscle from head to toe.
I lean into him, uncaring that I’m sweaty. My full breasts squish against his pecs, and he gasps, his hands winding beneath my ass and lifting me. One leg winds around him, and then I freeze.
We’re in a parking lot. Shit.
I pull away, laughing. “Ummm, maybe we should pick this up again somewhere else?”
He sighs, head dropping. “You’re killing me, Harps.”
My mouth flies open. “Me? What about you?”
He eyes me, his face serious. “I’m not a fuckboy, Harper. I don’t do this with everyone.”
I half-laugh, half-grunt. “If I thought you were a fuckboy, I wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole.”
He leans in one more time, laying a soft kiss on my neck. “You like ten-foot poles, do you?”
