I turned back to my screen and let her have the silence.
If everything around her remained calm—if I could keep Gabriel contained and the world at a manageable distance—then she might be ready for therapy. Not the crisis kind. The kind that helped a person rebuild rather than simply survive.
She deserved to do more than survive.
Chapter 16
Sayla
His home gym was very manly. All mirrors, blue and that faint smell of sweat. Or that could be me since I was dying on this treadmill. Apparently this was good for me now that my fractured rib had fully healed.
But my god, what a view of Daddy’s arse.
He squatted down again with the free weights held in both hands. Those thighs. Thick and hard and completely unreasonable. Mine wobbled like jelly at the best of times and I could now see exactly why his didn’t. He powered up from his heels, drove through those thighs and buttocks with a controlled snap of his hips that I felt in places the treadmill had absolutely no business knowing about.
There was a fine layer of sweat all over his body. The white vest was doing very little to help matters. A dark line ran down the centre of his chest where the fabric clung. The neckline had gone slightly transparent and I found myself wondering what that skin would taste like if I ran my tongue along it. Salt, probably. Warm. I’d find out later if it killed me.
I stabbed the button to slow down before I tripped and smashed my front teeth.
My eyes dropped to the front of his shorts.
No briefs. No boxers.
Just cock and balls left completely free.
I gave up pretending to walk and pressed the stop button. The farce of health was over. I walked every single day. Sometimes at night if I needed a snack or the bathroom. That counted. I stepped off and gripped the handrail, carrying out a series of entirely legitimate stretches while positioning myself for an unobstructed view of those tidy little white shorts.
All he needed was a bit more grey at his temples and he’d be a full silver fox thirst trap. The dark hair was doing plenty already.
He moved on to arms and chest.
I stared at his forearm. The muscle flexed beneath the sparse dark hair as he curled the weight upward. Held it. Brought it down slowly—the controlled kind of slow that suggested he could do this indefinitely and wasn’t remotely bothered. Substantial biceps. Muscular. Large. Throbbing.
The last one might have been me.
“Did you need something, Princess?”
He wasn’t looking at me. I glanced at the mirrors surrounding us and found his eyes in the reflection.
I considered my options.
The safety of my vagina.
“Did you know penguins mate for life?” I asked, moving away from the treadmill. An awful contraption and whoever invented it should be ashamed of themselves.
“Yes,” he said, raising the weight above his head.
Muscles straining. A droplet of sweat trickled down his temple and ran downward.
“And both penguins look after their egg and feed the chick.”
His lips curled at the edges.
“I’d look after your belly and bring you both food.”
Of course he would. He was the reason I was on the stupid treadmill.
I raised the black material to bare my abdomen.
