“For fuck’s—”
“One!”
Idrop my arse to the mat and exhale raggedly. “That was cruel.”
“I don’t know.” Giles crosses his arms. “Was a lot of fun from where I’m standing.”
I look up at him again, standing by my side looking down at me with a smug, I’m-in-control look, and I immediately have to close my eyes and start thinking of my mother’s ravioli again.
Two friends, no erections. Absolutely no erections.
If he’s surprised that I start my second set of reps so quickly, I’m unaware because I keep my eyes closed and I keep my thoughts on anything but wondering if Giles likes to take control in the bedroom or not.
“Twelve,” I grit out and hold the thrust while it’s elevated.
“Open your eyes, Marcello.” Giles voice is much closer to my ear than I expect. Opening my eyes, I see he’s crouching next to me, his face only a few inches from mine and his gaze on my lifted hips.
“Let’s hold it for nine,” he says.
“Fuck you!” I gasp.
“Nine, eight, seven,” he counts down.
“Seriously. Fuck you hard!” I grit out.
He moves his eyes from my hips to my face. “Six, five, four.”
“With a spiked dildo!” I call out.
“Three, two…” his voice slows again and he gives me his most shit-eating grin.
“Porto cane, Giles!”
His eyes glaze over a little and I notice they’re not holding my gaze but rather they’ve dropped to my lips. I find this instantly fascinating and flattering and so many other adjectives I want to feel but my whole body is trembling as I try to maintain my lift. And he’s still not counted all the way down.
“Seriously, mate,” I plead.
He blinks quickly and it snaps his eyes back to my form. “One,” he finally says.
I sink back to the mat and offer up another string of my finest Italian and Sardo expletives.
“Are you trying to kill me?”
“I doubt anybody has died from weighted bridge lifts.” He chuckles.
“There’s a first time for everything.”
“Your glutes will thank me. And maybe Mr Speedos will too when he sees your butt and hamstrings in your swimmers next week.”
I snort before I can stop myself. “As if,” I add half-heartedly, hoping Giles can’t tell my disdain is because Mr Speedo doesn’t exist.
“Well, I’ll notice,” he says and his voice has changed again, lower. And fuck, his eyes are back on my mouth.
What the fuck is going on?
“Final set?” I offer and it clicks then. Maybe Giles is subtly, oh so subtly, flirting with me to make me feel uncomfortable so I’ll blast my way through these sets I really don’t want to do.
Clever bastard.
