9 - Brock #3
“It’s good, right?”
She bit the inside of her lip. “It hurts like a motherfucker.”
We laughed, and I pushed deeper, which shut her up real quick.
The proximity was a disaster. Her breathing was ragged, her chest rising and falling inches from my knee.
Tiny beads of perspiration appeared on her upper lip and a dark lock of hair was plastered to the curve of her neck.
As I pressed forward, her thigh brushed against my hip, and my body betrayed me with a sudden surge of blood.
The professional cage I lived in rattled. My dick was suddenly, undeniably hard, pressing against my gym shorts with all the truth I’d managed to keep hidden until now.
I let go of her leg so fast she let out a muffled "Oof."
“Just gotta… uh…” I turned my back to her, and grabbed the iPad from the bench. My fingers tapped the screen like crazy but I saw nothing.
"Brock?" Her voice was small, confused. I could hear her shifting on the mat behind me. "Is everything okay?"
"Fine," I said, my eyes fixed on a random bar chart.
But my hard-on wasn’t going anywhere.
All the ducks on all the fucking ponds weren’t going to save me.
“I’m just, uh, checking your heart rate data.” Deep breaths. I’d thought my way out of arousal before, and I’d do it again. “Hold the stretch on your own. I need to… calibrate the next phase.”
"Calibrate?" I heard the skepticism in her tone. "I’m a human person stretching, not a telescope.”
"Just hold the position thirty seconds," I said, my jaw tight enough to crack a tooth. I waited for the blood to recede, for the world to stop smelling like her, and for my pulse to return to something that wouldn’t give me away.
“I don’t really know if I’m doing it right,” she said. “It doesn’t feel like it did when you—”
"We’re calling it.” Mental exertion had forced my voice into a hollow monotone. I turned around, finally limp enough to pass.
Jess blinked, tired and not quite sure what was going on. "Already? I thought w—"
"It’s fine for your first session,” I cut her off. “I don’t want you crawling out of here on your hands and knees."
“Are you sure you’re okay?” She got to her feet, rolling her shoulders.
I moved to the rack, focus fixed on the cast-iron plates. I needed to move. I needed the familiar, cold weight of the equipment to remind me this was just a job. "You did good, Jess. I know what I’m talking about."
The rustle of her movement felt amplified in the silence. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the motion of her towel as she pressed it into the hollow of her throat, dabbing the beads of moisture that pooled there.
"This was good. I’ll see you Thursday?" she asked, her voice regaining its dry, cynical edge.
"Thursday. Sure." My eyes were still glued to the screen. Not her. “Remember to watch the salt intake, and drink lots of water.”
The door swung shut behind her, and I breathed out. Shaking a little, despite myself. I stood in the center of the room, the silence rushing back in to taunt my fragile resolve. All that talk, and I almost lost it with her on my mat.
I gripped a cleaning rag, the disinfectant spray hitting the bench in a fine, chemical mist. My thoughts were a riot.
I’d worked with athletes, influencers, women whose careers were built on the aesthetic perfection of their bodies, and I’d never felt so much as a twitch of interest. My professionalism was a fortress.
“This is all Hunter’s fault,” I mumbled, channeling all my frustration into the clean-up.
He’d planted the seed this morning, watered it with his half-baked theories, and now the harvest was a mess of unforced errors. This wasn’t me losing the plot. What happened was nothing more than the physical response to his teasing. It had to be.
I moved to the cable machine, stacking the plates with habitual precision.
The gym was a hollow shell now, the lights dimmed and the human traffic down to two or three randos eking out the last second of their cardio sets.
I wiped down the bars and tried to think about the inventory.
Tried to think about the global expansion of the brand.
About anything that wasn’t blonde with a sweet ass.
That same ass would be naked right about now. Enjoying the steaming shower before heading out for the night.
Jess. Naked. Hot water tracing the line of her spine, sluicing over the curves I’d spent the last hour meticulously adjusting. The midnight-blue fabric would be in a pile on the floor, leaving only the heat of her skin and the steam of the stall.
The expanse of the weight floor was a blur of shadows and rubber. Common sense was still trying to catch up to me as I shot through to the locker room.
One shower was running. Hers. I didn't stop to think about ethics or professionalism or the brand.
Jess gasped as I wrenched the door open. She had her back to the wall, her skin glowing under the scalding spray. But the sound died when I stepped into the stall. Fully clothed.
“I forgot one last part of the cool down,” I said, and crushed my mouth to hers.