Chapter 4
Harper
I can’t believe how fucking nervous I am right now.
I’ve known Taylor for years, and yes, I imagine fucking him a lot, but…
still. It shouldn’t be this hard to contain myself.
Maybe it’s because I’m wearing my favorite sexy sports bra and leggings, all of which hug and lift my curves in generous ways.
He’s never seen me in anything but party attire or jeans.
Maybe it’s because he’s going to be helping me with my form. Touching me to make adjustments, watching my every move. I shiver. God-willing, he’ll touch me. Then again, if he does, I might soak through my leggings and die of embarrassment. Hence my choice of black.
Damnit, Harper. You can’t do anything unless you get out of the goddamned car.
I’ve been staring at the gym entrance for fifteen minutes.
I got here early, so I wouldn’t be late.
Two minutes ago, Taylor walked in. I’m still sitting here like a scared mouse.
I don’t know where the woman is that rode this man’s namesake like a confident wanton this morning.
Yeah, she’s gone missing. I squish down in my seat.
Right now, all I see in the rearview is the Harper who lets men walk all over her. Ugh. And deny her pleasure. What a wimp.
Annoyed, I sit up, tighten my high pony, and step out of my car.
Taylor, here I come.
Oh Jesus. Wrong choice of words.
Pulling my workout bag over my shoulder, I head inside.
Taylor is waiting for me in the lobby. He’s wearing a skintight black dri-fit shirt and loose shorts. The cut of his muscles ripple beneath the shirt, his huge arms flexing as he uncrosses them.
“Hey.” He gives me an awkward side hug around my bag.
“Hey,” I say softly. This weird shyness is going to kill me. Breathe, Harper.
“You ready for me to wear you out?” he says, grinning.
Images of him over top of me, pounding me until I scream, waft through my head.
God in heaven. I’m going to melt through the floor.
“Yep,” I say. “Lead the way, Taylor the Torturer.”
He shoots me a goofy grin over his shoulder. “New nickname? I like it.”
Shit. He really is planning to kill me. Maybe I should worry more about my muscle groups and less about what’s between my legs. Although only one wants to be punished.
It turns out, I can see the future. Who knew? Yet, for the next sixty minutes, I endure torture of every kind.
First, there is the torture of my screaming muscles, which are exhausted from squats, calf-raises, and burpees.
Fucking burpees. Whoever invented these needs to be killed slowly and painfully.
I’m sweaty and hot, my hair is a frizzy mess, and my legs are shaking.
I’ve stopped looking in the mirror. If Taylor were into me, I’m sure my current haggardness is enough to make him rethink.
The second torture is in watching him. When he demonstrates the move.
When he corrects me. He does come in to touch me, and every time I lose track of what he’s saying.
All I can see is the stretch and pull of his gorgeous muscles.
The shape of his full lips as he speaks. Too bad I’m missing every other word.
It’s all I can do to keep from pulling him to me and kissing him. A resistance that reaches the breaking point when he teaches me deadlifts, where you bend over and lift a bar off the ground, engaging your hamstrings. I bend over and start to lift.
“No, no,” he says, jumping in and bending over me from behind to grab the bar. “You’re going to hurt yourself that way.”
I freeze.
He’s laying above me, pressed to my ass, doggy-style. Does he feel it when my ass lifts as desire overcomes my will?
For a split second, he’s frozen as well. His breath is hot on my ear. We both release the bar at the same time. It drops to the floor, rattling. He stands. Cool air rushes in where he was, and I stand, flustered and blushing.
“Uh,” he stampers out, ruffling his hair. “That’s enough for today.”
“Okay, good,” I say, forcing a laugh. My legs feel like Jello. And my pussy wants him so bad, but that’s between me and her. “I think you’re going to do just fine in your new career,” I add. “You totally kicked my ass. I’ll be surprised if I can walk tomorrow.”
He frowns. “Hmmm, it’s not supposed to be that bad. Were you honest with me when you told me how you were doing?”
Ummmm. His dark eyes bore into me. I look up. “I might have pushed myself a little.”
He smirks. “Well, you got to be honest with your trainer, or you’ll get your ass kicked.”
“So I’ve gathered.”
He holds the door for me as we head out to the cars.
It got dark while we were working out. Without asking, he escorts me to my car.
Always the gentleman. If he could feel how badly I wanted him to throw me in the backseat and wear my muscles out some more, I wonder if he’d still look at me like a lady?
When we get to the car, I toss my bag in the back. “So, when should we do this again?”
“When you figure out how sore you are tomorrow, call me. Then we can decide.” He smiles. “But I had a great time.”
My shyness kicks in again. The way he’s looking at me, his eyes all heavy. It was like that all session. The more he touched me, the more his gaze locked on me to watch me closely. If I’m not imagining it, there’s a lot of hunger in those depths.
I lean back against my car, doing my best ‘sweaty but sexy AF’ smile. “Me too.”
Then, before I can tell if it’s a dream or it’s real, he puts both hands on either side of me, leans in, and kisses me.
My brain explodes. Sparks fly inside me like delirious lightning bugs, blinking and chanting, He likes me, he likes me, he likes me!
His lips are soft, but as he presses against me, I feel that nothing else is.
I don’t care what anyone says about how old Taylor is.
He’s two-hundred-forty pounds of pure steely muscle from head to toe.
I lean into him, uncaring that I’m sweaty. My full breasts squish against his pecs, and he gasps, his hands winding beneath my ass and lifting me. One leg winds around him, and then I freeze.
We’re in a parking lot. Shit.
I pull away, laughing. “Ummm, maybe we should pick this up again somewhere else?”
He sighs, head dropping. “You’re killing me, Harps.”
My mouth flies open. “Me? What about you?”
He eyes me, his face serious. “I’m not a fuckboy, Harper. I don’t do this with everyone.”
I half-laugh, half-grunt. “If I thought you were a fuckboy, I wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole.”
He leans in one more time, laying a soft kiss on my neck. “You like ten-foot poles, do you?”
I shiver and shove him away. “Now you sound like a fuckboy.”
He laughs, stepping back. “Okay, well you better take a cold shower when you get home.”
“Fuck you,” I say, shoving him playfully.
“I meant for your muscles, girl. Damn, what did you think?” he says, making me laugh. “I tell you what… How about you go out with me on a date?” He tosses the question that I’ve been wanting him to ask me for a few years out there so casually.
“I’m not sure dating my personal trainer will be smart. What if we have a bad date, and then he takes it out on my body during our next workout?” I’m pulling out my vixen side and playing with fire.
“I think you and I both know that the date will go well.” Taylor takes a step closer to me and continues in a whisper, “So well in fact, if I take anything out on your body, it’ll definitely be enjoyable.”
Fuck me runnin’!