Even though he barely moves, I can feel Troy’s reaction, like a pulse beating inside him.
“Good for you,” he finally says and pulls his shirt off. “I work hard for this.”
My eyes drink in his torso, sculpted and stunning, the kind of mass that takes decades to build. There’s just the right amount of dark hair growing across the top of his chest, not thick enough to hide his pecs and the dark of his nipples. His sweatpants hug beneath his abs, a thick six-pack, and he’s got a nice happy trail.
The bulge of his cock is right there, heavy in his sweatpants.
I pop my eyes back up to his as I continue my stretch. “Okay, baseball,” I say, impressed. “Bet you kept iron thighs for that catcher’s squat, too.”
Troy grunts. “Let’s start with the dumbbells.”
I’m used to having my ass kicked, but Troy isn’t joking around. He throws us straight into bicep curls, incline bench presses, and some modified squats, always adding more weight. He’s targeting a whole different set of muscles than I’m used to, and my body screams out with the best kind of pain.
“Oh hell yeah,” I grunt, lifting the heavy dumbbells in another hang clean, hefting them high. “Feels fucking good, doesn’t it!”
Troy huffs as he drops a medicine ball. “Feels better when it’s quiet.”
He’s dripping sweat now, and he’s got the look of a good workout in his eyes, fierce energy that I like. I watch as his bare chest rises and falls with heavy breaths.
Wish I could work out with this man every time I train. It feels good.
I drop the weights and pull my shirt off, too. I’m so tempted to keep flirting, but I bite back the words. Lifting is putting me in the zone, and the incredible form and strength Troy is demonstrating has got me feeling competitive.
He throws another heavy weight on the cable machine and takes up his position in front of it. He’s already done three hard reps of hammer curls, and I’m frankly shocked that he’s going back in for an even heavier additional round.
His muscles bulge as he stands and grips the heavy cable, back straight and elbows at his hips. With low grunts and heavy breath, he curls his biceps and pulls the cable from his knees up to his chest, the weights rattling in the machine as they rise.
His eyes crease, just like they do when he’s scowling.
Troy drops the heavy weights after his last rep and steps back with a deep huff. His face is flushed, and his veins are throbbing.
“Okay,” I say as I step to the machine. “Here goes.”
Troy is still huffing. “You’ll hurt. Yourself,” he says. “Too heavy for you.”
I frown at him. “Thanks for the advice, champ,” I say. “But I told you, I’m here to keep up.”
He frowns even harder at me and doesn’t say another word.
I step up to the machine. My muscles are already burning, and he’s right that I thought the last round of hammer curls was going to break me. I get in position, though, already in too deep. Grabbing the rope handle, I focus on my form, set my breath, and pull.
Everything in my body screams as I somehow manage to lift the weight to my chest. My eyes land on Troy, though, and I can see that he can see I’m pushing myself too hard. The disappointment on his face breaks something in my brain, and I carefully drop the weights and step back.
“Okay! Fuck! You win. I’m not lifting all that.”
He harumphs. I think it might be a laugh.
I grit my teeth, frustrated that I just did that.
“Good call, champ,” he says, throwing it back at me.
Trying to play it cool, I stretch my arm above my head. “Let’s take a breather from the weights. You want to show me your other toys? Maybe the batting cage?” I tilt my eyes over to the sauna. “We probably haven’t earned that yet, but maybe we’ll strip down later.”
Troy squeezes the dumbbell he’s holding, muscles tense. I wonder if he’s considering my offers, or maybe just considering how much longer he wants to put up with me.
“You know how to bat?” he asks, ignoring everything else that I said.
I pretend to take a swing. “I think I understand the basics.”
