Being a werewolf, Ryker needed significantly heavier weights than a human would use, but that was the only difference between his regime and what a normal guy would do.
Ryker worked through his routine, pushing himself harder than he usually would and getting a tremendous ego boost from the way Dylan was watching him. By the time he reached the end of his workout and was doing his cooldown exercises, his body was drenched in sweat and his thighs and shoulders ached with a pleasant burn.
Dylan had slowed to a walk, and when he caught Ryker looking at him in the mirror, he blushed and looked away.
“Come here,” Ryker ordered, straddling the work out bench and wiping his face with his towel. When Dylan didn’t immediately obey, he lifted his brow and gave him an expectant look.
Dylan turned off his treadmill and rushed over.
“Yes?” Dylan said, standing in front of him and fidgeting. He was looking around, his gaze focused on anything except for Ryker’s sweaty body.
“I promised you that if you worked out with me, I’d let you lick my abs.” Ryker leaned back and lifted his tank top, exposing his glistening eight-pack. “So get to it.”
Dylan glanced at the door, taking a small step closer and licking his lips.
“What if someone comes in?”
Ryker grinned. “I’ll hear them and give you a warning, don’t worry.” He patted his stomach. “Now get on your knees and lick.”
Dylan sank to his knees with a thump, crawling in between Ryker’s spread legs and placing a careful kiss against Ryker’s belly button. He put his hands on Ryker’s thighs, steadying himself, and then licked his way up between Ryker’s abs, tasting his sweat and making Ryker’s cock press insistently against the pouch of his jockstrap.
Dylan moaned, moving down and licking his way back up over the ridges of Ryker’s abs, his tongue digging into the grooves between the hard muscle as Ryker’s fresh sweat coated his tongue.
“That’s it,” Ryker growled, petting the back of Dylan’s head and pushing him into his abs. “Get your tongue in there, you dirty little slut.”
Dylan had marked dirty talk as a yes on the questionnaire, and Ryker couldn’t be happier about it.
“Show my abs how much you love them.” Ryker rubbed Dylan’s face over his stomach. “Come on, keep your tongue out. You know you love it.”
Dylan shuddered, and Ryker grinned. He grabbed him by his hair and lifted him up, making him cry out, and unceremoniously shoved his face into his sweaty pit.
He pushed Dylan’s face into the space under his arm, smothering him, his cock throbbing at the sensation of Dylan’s tongue pushing out of his mouth and tasting his sweaty armpit. After a minute of not letting Dylan even breathe, Ryker yanked him back and leaned down to capture his mouth in a kiss. He tasted himself, the flavor of his own sweat filling his mouth, Dylan parting his lips and letting Ryker’s tongue probe into his mouth without resistance.
“You like licking my sweaty body?” Ryker growled, pulling away and holding Dylan still with a tight grip on his hair.
Dylan took a trembling breath, nodding as much as Ryker’s hand in his hair would allow.
“I like it so much.”
“Where else do you want to lick?” Ryker asked, pushing Dylan back down to his abs and holding them there.
He expected Dylan to go for either his pecs or his cock, so he was surprised when Dylan moaned that he wanted to lick his thighs.
“My thighs?” Ryker asked, pushing Dylan down over his bulge until his chin rested on the bench between his legs. He pulled his shorts up, exposing his meaty thighs and letting Dylan look his fill. “You like these?”
Ryker brought his thighs together, squeezing Dylan’s head between them until he was red in the face and struggling to breathe. When he relaxed his legs, Dylan leaned against his right inner thigh and lathered it with kisses.
“Kinky little fucker,” Ryker growled. “Did you like that?”
“So much,” Dylan moaned. “Please do it again. Please squeeze-”
Ryker brought his legs together, trapping Dylan’s head between his thighs a second time and squeezing even harder.
After a few seconds, Dylan reached up and tapped the outside of his leg with a hard little slap.
Ryker relaxed his thighs, leaving Dylan gasping for breath and sitting back on his ass. He rubbed his throat, and for a second Ryker was worried he’d been too rough. Then Dylan laughed, and Ryker’s gut unclenched.
“Does that count as wrestling?” Dylan asked, wiping his face. His hand came away wet with traces of Ryker’s sweat.
