I scowled at Maurice, and he chuckled when I went for a second pair of thirty-pound weights, then winced when I had them in my hands and replaced them with twenties. He shook his head at me as I stood with my new selection and began to mimic the bicep curls he was doing.
“You know, you don’t have to accept the apology from that jerk,” he said, eyebrows dancing upward. The sweatband on his forehead shifted, and I never would’ve thought anything like that would crank my gears so hard, but it was sexy on him.
Shrugging, I winced as my biceps started to burn, and then I bared my teeth and switched my weights for the fifteens. He nodded and didn’t look overly smug when I took his advice in the end. Not for the first time, I considered Maurice might be a better person than me.
“No, I don’t have to accept the excuses for his behavior, but I’ve known him for over twenty years.”
Maurice nodded and put his weights back on the tower, and I thought maybe he was showing off when he picked up sixty-pound weights from the bottom. I hadn’t even known they came in that size. He winked at me as he started doing curls again, but this time his face flushed red and sweat popped out on his cheeks. I snickered.
“What people say when they’re drunk is just what they hold in sober,” he said, then sucked in a deep breath and continued the bicep curls. “Make sure you’re doing those exercises slowly so you don’t tweak your wrists or shoulders.”
I focused on my form for a moment, and the only sounds were the other men and women around us. A couple laughed over at the dead-lift station—they wore matching red outfits, so I assumed they were together. There was a group of high-school-aged boys crowded around a second tower of free weights, talking softly and occasionally bursting into laughter. Every time something happened to disrupt my focus, the weights felt heavier.
Maurice let out a long breath and returned his dumbbells to the bottom of the tower, and I was relieved I could stop what I was doing. He chuckled as I hastily returned my own weights with a loudclunk.
“Do you want to follow me around the room? I can help you with your form and make sure you don’t overload yourself. If you do too much you won’t be able to move tomorrow. I won’t have that problem, but you will.” His sincere expression kept me from thinking he was giving himself backhanded compliments.
“Yeah, I have no clue what to do with this stuff.” I waved vaguely around. “Whatever you think is best.”
He shook his head and amusement danced in his eyes. “You look fantastic. What do you usually do?”
“I run and swim a lot.” I shrugged. “My daddy was a swimmer and I started lessons young, and running was always a quick way to burn calories.”
Maurice groaned and scrubbed his hands over his short beard. “I swim for fun but don’t do laps, and I hate running.”
“You don’t ever jog?”
He shook his head. “That’s a no—a huge no.”
I shrugged and grinned at him. “Then show me what you like to do. I’m up for new things. I’m more than ready for whatever steel you want me to handle.” I waggled my eyebrows, and he sighed at my bad joke.
“Come on and behave yourself,” he grumbled, but he didn’t sound as if he really wanted me to do that. We worked out together for a while, and I enjoyed the way Maurice touched my body to guide me into the proper position for each of the lifting stations. The change up in my routine was more fun and less annoying than I would’ve thought.
When we reached the area dedicated to dead lifting, I felt deeply out of my element because it was something I was really unfamiliar with. Maurice told me all about using my legs and not overloading the bar, which he made me set up myself. I only had a hundred pounds on mine and he put three hundred on his, leaving me feeling a tad surly, but he didn’t mention the difference. We took turns so he could spot me if necessary, and as soon as it was my turn to wait for Maurice to get through his sets, I had nothing better to do than watch his body strain. It was true he had a belly and was shorter than me, but his thighs and calves were strong, and while it wasn’t as clear to see when he was layered in a suit, his shoulders were pure muscle and his arms were thick due to the power he held, not because he was overweight. It didn’t take long for me to remember him lifting me, as if I weighed nothing, and plopping me onto my dresser to kiss me—then fuck me.
My running shorts, which was what I typically wore to work out, weren’t exactly doing a good job at hiding the semi that nudged against the front. I shifted, trying to get my hopeful cock into a less noticeable position, but he glanced into the mirror that ran along the wall and his gaze locked directly onto my crotch. I flashed him a sheepish smile and shrugged.
“What can I say? I appreciate my boyfriend.”
He glanced around and stepped closer to me. “You like this?”
“Who wouldn’t?”
His eyelids lowered and his lips quirked into a sexy grin that made my breath catch. He set the weights down on the floor.
I crept closer to brush a quick kiss against the side of his neck. “You’re so strong.”
Maurice turned and shocked me as he pulled me in for a kiss in front of God and everyone. The brush of his lips to mine was mostly innocent, but he flicked his tongue along the seam of my mouth, and I sighed, leaning my weight against his front. When we broke apart, I caught a man nearby giving us a nasty little glare, but I chose to ignore it rather than stick my tongue out like I was tempted.
“You always know how to make me feel better about myself. How is that possible?” he asked.
“I’m simply stating facts.”
Maurice slid his hand up the back of my neck, and I barely held in a moan as he slanted his mouth over mine and thrust his tongue between my lips. He certainly wasn’t helping my shorts situation. I leaned against him, and he didn’t buckle at all. He was a pillar of strength.
“Let’s go,” I murmured against his mouth. “I need a different kind of workout.”
He nodded and seemed to be tongue-tied, but I didn’t blame him. I was nearly there, too. We managed to keep ourselves contained on the way out the door, merely holding hands, but the second we hit the pavement in the parking lot he tugged me closer, and we were kissing again. We could’ve died on the way to my Maserati because God knew neither of us were paying attention to the traffic.
