“Okay, honey. I’ll see you later. Love you.”
“Love you, too, Mom. Bye.”
As soon as the call disconnected, I pulled up the browser on my phone and typed “Leviathan Fitness” into the search bar. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this earlier. I mean, we lived in the age of the internet. You could find all the dirt on a person you wanted.
I was completely contradicting myself by going full-on stalker, but I guess it didn’t really matter at this point. Might as well lean on into it.
The very first hit was a website that showed pictures of the gym in all its glory. State-of-the-art equipment, loads of free weights and racks, and an Olympic-size swimming pool with tentacles snaking out from beneath the water’s surface. I couldn’t believe it was the same run-down rec center from my childhood.
My finger hovered over the About button.
Fuck it.
I clicked on the link, and a professional headshot of the wolven I’d run into earlier filled the screen. My lips parted and a breathy sigh of appreciation slipped out. Just like this morning, he was dressed in a Leviathan Fitness tank top that strained against his muscular chest.
Jesus, he was hot.
Below the photo was an About the Owner section.
Atlas Oberon
Owner
Atlas Oberon is the owner of Leviathan Fitness. After being bullied as a child, Atlas found a passion for fitness in his teen years. He was captain of his high school varsity football and wrestling teams—leading both to win state championship titles.
He attended Brighton Valley College on a full-ride scholarship for wrestling, where he obtained a bachelor’s degree in kinesiology, going on to complete his master of science in kinesiology. For several years, he competed in the professional bodybuilding circuit, winning numerous medals for his physique. Atlas has trained professional athletes, bodybuilders, and even a few celebrities.
After his retirement from bodybuilding, he combined his love for fitness and entrepreneurial aspirations by opening a state-of-the-art gym—Leviathan Fitness.
Atlas was raised in upstate New York, and he is the youngest of three male wolven. He enjoys cheat meals, long hikes through the woods, and of course, working out.
Below the About the Owner section was a series of competition photos of Atlas. He stood tall and proud, that furry muscular chest on full display. A shiny gold medal hung around his neck, sitting just above a cut six-pack.
Wait, wait, wait.
I slid my fingers across the phone screen, zooming in.
Was that an eight-pack?
My eyes drifted lower, to the skimpy banana hammock covering his crotch. The entire outline of his cock was visible through the thin piece of material. It was massive—like he was trying to smuggle a can of Pringles into the competition.
I was drooling.
My thoughts circled back to how he looked as he cleaned the icing off his fingers with that wide pink tongue. I bet he ate pussy like a champ.
And those sharp claws and those muscles. He had to have some serious stamina.
His soft fur rubbing against my naked body would feel like heaven.
My free hand slid down my stomach, under the band of my underwear, to the slick folds of my pussy. I was already wet. Embarrassingly wet. Hot and achy from just a photo of Atlas. I slid two fingers inside, pulsing them in and out a few times, filling the room with obscene, sloppy sounds.
This was so fucked up. Masturbating to a photo of someone I’d just met.
“Atlas.” I moaned his name experimentally, loving the way it sounded on a breathy exhale.
I stroked the wet folds of my center, swirling two fingers over my clit before withdrawing my hand and scrambling toward my nightstand.
Opening the drawer, I pulled out my biggest vibrator and wondered how it compared to Atlas’s cock.
