Chapter 17
Chapter seventeen
Chloe
Past
Icould watch this man all day.
Z stands at the barbell, shoulders stacked, muscles flexing with every clean rep.
Not gym-bro inflated—he’s functional strength, clinical efficiency, sharp angles and sweat-slicked skin.
Every time his abs contract, I picture them pressed against mine.
I wouldn’t mind him pushing me to the floor right here. Right now. Pinning me down… hard.
“You’re drooling, Gigi.”
“Can’t help it. Your body’s ridiculous.”
“Your turn.” He starts loading the bar, guessing my weight range.
“Add two more.”
He lifts a brow. “You sure?”
“Heavier.”
He loads up the bar without another word. I step up, plant my feet, and lift clean to the hips. Twelve reps—smooth. No puffing. No struggle.
I drop the bar, hands brushing the back of my leggings. When I glance up, he’s watching me like he wants to bend me over and prove gravity has nothing on what he can do to me. His expression mirrors what I imagine mine looked like when it was him exercising: molten. Focused. Ready to devour.
Game on.
“Chin-ups. Let’s go.” He smacks my ass as he walks past. “Be right back.”
I watch him walk away, toward reception, and bite my lip. Watching him move is a study in temptation.
We’re at his gym—all polished chrome and glowing LED panels. Mine’s basically a glorified storage closet in my building: one treadmill, some dusty free weights, and a decrepit fan that rattles as it works.
I never bothered with a real gym membership.
No point paying for something I can’t always use.
With an autoimmune disease, your body’s a roulette wheel—could be fine today, but floored tomorrow with a random infection, virus, or flare.
This place, though? I’d happily fork out a chunk of my salary.
It’s a temple. Polished floors, state-of-the-art machines, everything gleaming.
Even the air smells clean. There’s no sweat, chemical bleach or stale locker-room funk.
I breathe in cool, crisp, expensive air instead.
“You ready?” He jogs back, grinning.
“You first. I want a show.”
He pulls off his shirt, and I whistle, unashamed. That body. Every ripple of muscle, the sheen of sweat—he moves like sex.
He grabs the bar and pulls up, slow and deliberate. His lats fan out like wings, abs flexing as he controls every inch of the movement. Each pull-up is poetry. Dirty, filthy poetry that I could recite by heart.
Getting sweaty is now officially my second-favorite thing to do with him.
He drops down. “Your turn.”
His hands grip my hips as I jump and catch the bar. Our eyes lock. Fingers linger, brushing from my waist to my ribs, then—
“Z—”
His thumbs find my piercings, and even through the padding of my sports bra, I shudder.
The gym is empty. Somehow, somewhere, everyone disappeared.
“Pull it down,” I whisper.
The last hour has been a cock tease for him as much as it’s been a clit tease for me.
He wrestles the bra down, baring my breasts. They spill out, high and tight from the compression, nipples pebbled and waiting.
“Fucking gorgeous,” he mutters, brushing his thumbs across them again. This time, I feel it all the way to my core.
“Start the set.”
I grip the bar tighter and begin.
One. Two.
Pull-ups while turned on? Torture.
By the third, I’m gasping. Z’s hands steady my hips, guiding my rhythm. As I lower myself, he leans in to suck a nipple between his lips—hot, wet, and greedy.
“Keep going. You stop, I stop,” he warns.
I whimper, the burn of the workout eclipsed by the burn beneath my skin. I’m shaking, and not from the exertion.
He switches sides—tongue circling, teeth grazing. His mouth is all heat and hunger, leaving my chest wet and tingling.
The music pumping through the gym is bass-heavy and low. I glance around again. Still alone.
My arms burn as I pull my chin to the bar, then lower with slow, controlled focus.
His breath scorches across my stomach as I lift again, muscles straining.
The heat of his body presses into mine, making every nerve hum.
I drop down once more—he meets me there, mouth locking around the left piercing, pulling a moan straight from my throat.
I’m barely holding it together by the time I finish my set. Slick and throbbing.
“Fuck me already,” I heave, still holding on to the bar.
He slips off my sneakers and socks, then peels my leggings and panties down—both soaked through.
“Wrap your legs around me.” He’s already freed himself—thick and flushed. I slide onto him in one deliberate, stretching thrust.
My head falls back. “Z—”
“Fuck—so hot,” he growls.
I cry out, clinging to him with my legs. It’s frantic, urgent, and feral. He fucks me hard, his hands gripping my ass, my arms holding the bar above us to balance as I ride him.
My shoulders burn from the pull-ups, and my thighs are already trembling.
“I can’t,” I pant. “My arms—”
He’s got most of my weight, but I’m spent. My grip falters. My muscles burn. I’m seconds from giving out.
“Let go.”
My hands finally peel away, my biceps grateful for the relief, and I wrap my forearms around his neck. Z’s still inside me as he carries me across the gym, past the rows of machines, to the yoga section in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror.
“You know what I fantasize about every time I train here? You. In this mirror. Writhing. Taking every inch while I watch you fall apart for me.”
I strip my bra off, baring everything. He lays me across the yoga ball, pulling out, making me whimper.
“Zaddy’s got you, little one.”
The nickname slides under my skin like a wire pulled tight. I clench around nothing.
He drops to his knees and drapes my legs over his shoulders, rolling me back until my head tips upside down and my arms dangle, boneless, to the floor. The world tilts. I’m completely weightless and under his control as he keeps me steady on the ball.
Z dives in like a man starved, tongue hot and hungry, licking me open. Moaning like I’m the feast he’s waited for. It’s filthy, obscene, and beautiful.
My palms press flat to the mat. They’re the only thing grounding me. I watch upside down in the mirror—his face buried between my legs.
“I couldn’t wait any longer to taste this pussy.”
There’s something insanely hot about a guy who stops mid-fuck just to eat you out—who couldn’t wait any longer to taste you.
He’s in his element—devouring me on instinct—and I’m not about to drag him out of it. So I let go. Close my eyes. Let the weightlessness take over as his tongue glides through my folds, cleaning me up just to make a mess of me again.
Then his mouth seals around my clit and sucks—hard—stealing the breath from my lungs. A beat later, his teeth scrape over it, just enough to spark. The third time he does it, my whole body clenches. Muscles coil tight. White-hot stars explode behind my eyelids.
He rolls the ball forward, wiping his mouth, lowering my legs from his shoulders.
“Turn over.”
His cock is red and angry, jutting from his shorts. He quickly rips them off, so he’s completely naked.
I lie on my stomach over the exercise ball and place my hands on the ground. He’s taller, so he lifts my legs wheelbarrow-style to line us up. He enters me from behind in one thrust.
“Z—”
“Fuuuck, Gigi.”
The ball rocks beneath us as he moves. I raise my head, meeting his eyes in the mirror. He’s locked on me—burning bright and setting me on fire.
“You wreck me,” he growls hoarsely.
“Right back at you.”
Looking into his eyes, I know this man is going to destroy me when it ends.
And maybe I’ll let him. A part of me is already hoping he breaks me—so I don’t have to keep pretending this is casual.
We’re past any line. Boundaries have not only been blurred, they’ve been fully erased.
We’re so far past that point now, it’s laughable to think there was even a line to begin with.
I’m completely myself when I’m with him; it’s no act.
Every time I think sex with him can’t get any better, Z takes it to the next level and blows my mind.
He fucks me until my muscles give out. The ball rolls, the world clouds, and I forget everything but him. He spills inside me with a strangled grunt, then keeps thrusting, dragging it out, working it in. The way he comes is phenomenal, I could watch it on replay over and over again.
He hits a spot deep inside of me, and I fall apart again. The orgasm ambushes me—violent, blinding, and so good it’s almost cruel.
He pulls out slowly, his cum spilling down my thighs, hot and thick.
Everything burns. My muscles spasm, shot to hell from the workout, from him. My arms give up. I drop, hard, onto my knees, my forehead resting against the ball. I cling to it, panting, dizzy, and drenched in sweat, every nerve still vibrating.
I can’t breathe. Can’t think.
All I feel is him.
Then, he drops to his knees behind me.
“What are you—”
The words barely form before he slides his head between my thighs and pulls me down, seating me on his face as if it’s a throne.
His tongue drags through the mess, groaning.
I jerk from the overstimulation, thighs twitching. “Z—fuck—”
He moans, mouth sealed around my pussy, tongue pressing deep. He moves out from under me and grabs my jaw. “Open,” he rasps.
My lips part without hesitation.
He leans in and spits it onto my tongue.
I swallow.
My whole body convulses with something I can’t name. It’s obscene. Tender. Raw.
Mine.
He pulls me onto his lap on the mat and wraps his arms around me. I melt into him—nothing but a pool of sweat, soreness, and satisfaction.
“Look at you… ruined and radiant,” he praises, brushing sweaty strands of hair from my face.
I hum, too boneless to speak.
I’m sure my face is red and flushed, and I’m sweating like a pig. But I appreciate the compliment. I would tell him that if I could open my mouth to form the words.
“I’m not done with you yet. One more set.” His chuckle is almost evil, which makes a laugh burst from my chest.
“How do you still have stamina, old man? I’m almost half your age and I’m ready to collapse.”
He scoops me into his arms, bridal style. “Old man? Watch your mouth.”
After everything, his strength still amazes me. I press my lips to his throat.
He lifts me onto the treadmill, hooking my legs over the handrails so I’m suspended and wide open for him.
My thighs are already trembling. My eyes go wide.
I won’t be walking tomorrow. And honestly? I don’t care.
I’d crawl home with his name on my lips if it meant just one more minute in his arms, pretending this is something we never have to give up.