15. Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Fifteen
A t work, I stacked one more box of T-shirts for a family reunion in my arms. Lifting from my legs, I carried the boxes without a hitch to the customer’s car. Once I unloaded the order into her trunk, I returned inside, whistling, and jumped across the counter rather than walk a few feet to open the gate.
“You’re rather spry,” Tina said, leaning in the doorway of her office.
I shrugged. Sometimes that gate was annoying and demanded a shortcut. Not to mention the customers loved it when I helped carry out their larger orders. Then it occurred to me why, and a giggle fit overtook me.
“What is it?” Tina had no clue about my weekend of being utterly worked out.
I cleared my throat. “I’m working out with my”—another round of giggles kicked in—“personal trainer.”
“I can tell.”
I pursed my lips together and fidgeted with a tendril of hair that had fallen out of my ponytail. How could she tell? Were my lips swollen from all the kissing? Hair frizzy from pillow friction despite my attempts at styling the lover’s knots out? It was as if I was the teenage version of myself sneaking back into my house, mortified by what my mom recognized from my disheveled state.
“You’re stronger.”
I flexed my right bicep and gave it a poke. The muscle felt solid to the touch underneath my flannel shirt. “I am. Thank you for noticing.” My hard work paid off, and I accomplished it with the help of Beau’s knowledge, encouragement, and now affection. Warm fuzzies radiated from me, the side effect of freshly having my sex drive rocked over the weekend.
“Do you recommend your trainer? ”
A cloud moved over me. Sharing Beau? Even though the idea was absurd, I wanted him to myself—to steal all the other hours he trained his clients and make the time with him mine. I shook the possessiveness from my head. “Yes, of course, I’d recommend him.”
Tina laughed. “We’ll be a couple of buff ladies.”
Me? Buff? Maybe Tina needed her eyes checked, though I flexed my bicep again and admired the firmness. I never could imagine. I, Sir Hooper, was strong.
Though Tina provided the ego boost I needed at work, no amount of assurances had quieted my nerves when I entered the gym for our first post-wonder weekend training. I wiped the nervous sheen off my hand on my blobfish T-shirt. Scrawled under the fish slop, I work well under pressure.
I found him, past the turnstiles, leaning against the main desk in apparent uproarious conversation with Front Desk Frannie—er, Margie. She gave him a playful smack on his arm with the back of a clipboard. In mid smirk, he noticed me and straightened. “Excited for another sesh, Sir?” His expression seemed like the fake kind of joviality that riddled customer service.
I nodded and followed him to a studio room. This was going to be weird, wasn’t it? We fucked, and now we’d do an awkward waiting game. Who would acknowledge that we’d seen each other naked first?
“I hope you’re prepared to sweat.” He held the door to the studio open for me.
I breezed by him, reliving the gravitational draw of his body. Fingers tracing over his muscles. Hands familiar with his warmth. I closed my eyes to possess him again, if only in my imagination. But it seemed the things I’d get down and dirty with today were a couple of mats, kettlebells, straps, and fitness steps.
“Today we’ll work on your conditioning.”
I narrowed my eyes to check if I wasn’t missing a twinkle in his gaze or a slight turn in his mouth. Nothing.
I stood in front of one of the fitness steps and put my hands to my hips. “Bring it on, Coach.”
I still got nothing out of him. He was all business, leading a warm-up of stretches. “Let’s see how you do with the fitness step.” His voice sent a shiver through me—the same steely tone when he told me to read a book before driving me into an orgasmic frenzy.
Up, up, down, down. Up, up, down, down. Prepared to sweat? This move was stinking easy, but he seemed unimpressed. “Lift your knees higher. The balls of your feet are hitting the edge, not the center of the step.”
I completed another round and looked to him for approval.
“Faster.”
I bit my lip and completed two more rounds, knees hitting the invisible line above my belly button, speed whipping through my muscles. Well?
“Five more.”
I counted the “up, up, down, down” in my head.
“Out loud, Sir.”
“Four, three…” I called the numbers loud over my panting.
“You miscounted. Do three more.”
I scoffed. He couldn’t be serious. The indifference in his face suggested otherwise. I sighed and started a round.
“Knees higher, again.”
I did it again.
“I said count out loud.”
“Three, two—”
“Faster. ”
As much as the cardio sent heat through me, I flared my nostrils as if I was a bull ready to charge. I shouted those numbers, lifted those knees, and pounded that plastic stair with the balls of my feet.
“Hm,” he grunted dismissively, “seems like you’re ready for the next set.”
He modeled a dreadful thing that combined deadlifts and squats while swinging a kettlebell.
I completed one. Tip from your hips . Another. Squeeze your glutes . And again. Deeper. Got it. Count to eight . Louder. You missed a rep. Add two more . He did it again for the burpees and all the other exercises equivalent to the iron maiden.
By the end of the session, I took long, defiant pulls from my water bottle. I smeared eyeliner around my scowl with the hem of my T-shirt.
“You look like you want to say something to me, Sir.”
“I didn’t like that.”
He chuckled. Not one of his charming ones. Mocking. “No one likes conditioning.”
As always, a workout weakened me. What normally would be held in with a clench had been knocked loose with stretching and high-intensity interval training. “Not the conditioning. You .”
He idly lifted the kettlebell in some all-too-easy bicep curl reps. “It’s interesting how spite motivates you. You did four sets of thirteen. Most of my clients at this stage manage three sets of ten.”
“Ah, the Zen of fuck you. Got it.”
He stepped closer to me, the tip of his sneaker between mine. His dark gaze latched on to my searching one. Finally, I drew some emotion from him. “I’ll do what I can to prove these limits you place on yourself are all in your head. I can stretch you, push you, and get you to embrace the discomfort,” he scolded.
I slid my tongue over my lips and tasted the salt of my sweat off them while I rubbed them together. “You’re still talking about personal training, right?”
“Take me to your car and find out.”
The entire session had been a game. Torturing me had turned him on! “Now?” I asked.
His breath was as heavy as mine in one of his crucible-like HIIT sets. “Now.”
I raised my chin, and a brat emerged. “But we must put our equipment away and spray down our workout area. Gym rules.”
“Doesn’t this good girl want to be bad?”
I barely used the time to shudder from his words before I sprinted out of the studio, Beau right behind me. My car was at the ass end of the parking lot, thanks to me wanting to get more steps in. But also, away from foot traffic and onlookers .
Without a verbal exchange, I unlocked the car. He entered the passenger seat and adjusted its electric motor settings, giving him as much room between the seat and the dash. I fumbled with the sun protector, which I usually only brought out in the summer. I blocked out the view of the front window. Gym goers having front row seats to whatever Beau had planned for me was a level of discomfort I wasn’t quite into embracing yet.
Window blocked. Seat adjusted. Beau turned to me and said, “Well?”
I sprung over the center console. Our mouths met in a greedy kiss. As I moved my tongue against his, I positioned myself facing him on his lap. My hands gripped on to the top of the passenger seat.
He broke our kiss and sprinkled pecks across my cheek and down my neck. His stubble tickled, and I bit my lip to hold in a laugh. His lips softened along my pulse, and he flicked his tongue at the spot. “I thirst for your sweat.”
I moved my hips, feeling him harden against me. “I could wring this shirt out right into your mouth.”
He grunted in response, lifting my shirt and tugging at my sports bra. He lapped at my cleavage, a goblet of sweat.
I ached. I needed him. “Do you have a condom? ”
He pushed me until my ass bumped against the dash. He fished a condom out of the pocket of his shorts.
“You’re a Boy Scout,” I said.
“I have to be prepared with you.” He shimmied out of his shorts, his cock strained against the elastic. With one more yank, he freed himself. His cock bobbed and pointed to my car’s roof; his shorts now bound him around his thighs.
I stared. I had spent all weekend operating my condo as a pants-free zone, but I still wasn’t used to seeing the effect I had on him.
“Like what you see?” he rasped and fisted himself slowly, moving the skin of his uncut tip as he leaked down his shaft.
I bent down, straining in the awkward position, embracing the discomfort . I ran my flat tongue along the tip and then suckled on the end. I inhaled the ripe scent of him, savored the salty taste of him. His abs flexed, and he let out a sweet whimper.
My mouth let go of him, and I leaned back, rubbing my lips together. I ran my thumb across his tip and watched him twitch, watched his dark gaze weaken to warm and reverent. I licked his arousal off my thumb. “I thirst for you too.”
He pulled at my shorts. Sweat and Lycra shorts weren’t exactly copacetic with quickies in my compact, eco-friendly car. Ow! The band snapped back with a painful slap. We worked together, both giggling as I contorted out of those shorts. I was thankful I had stretched and completed hip openers at the start of my workout. I freed one leg while the tread of my shoe caught the other leg of my shorts. He slid the condom on and hugged my waist. In one fell swoop, his cock notched into my entrance.
The ache of longing became that pinch and throb of feeling full. I gasped.
“That face of yours is so pretty when you take my dick. The way your mouth parts. How your eyes get so big.”
“Th-thank you,” I breathed out. The response felt stupid the moment it left my lips. In turn, I moved my hips as much as the height of my car roof allowed and made sure not to squeeze my eyes shut, as much as closing them made it easier to adjust to his girth.
He caressed my face, his thumb lingering on my bottom lip. “I’m gonna fuck you, Sir. And spank you. And choke you. Will you tell me to stop if it’s too much?”
I nodded.
“Louder.”
“Yes. ”
“Now count. Count how much you pump my cock.”
Jesus. I moved. Up, down. “One.” And again. “Two.” He guided me back so I was at the opposite angle of him. The new angle’s depth ripped the breath from my lungs.
Before I could catch my breath— Smack! He spanked my ass. The shock and pain twisted inside me, building inside my core. I dug my teeth into my bottom lip as I let the wave pass.
“Count again.”
“One.” I moaned. As I worked, he placed my hands on my ankles. I was arched back, grinding and undulating. “Two.” His thumb went straight for my clit. The sensation seized my entire body. I squealed.
Smack! “You missed your count.”
I tried again. Another stinging slap against my ass. I failed once more yet each failure sent flutters from my womb. How was he going to send me over the edge? With his thumb at my clit, the hand at my ass, or his cock in my pussy? Thinking about it was enough to… enough to…
He lifted me off by my hips. The cold, hollow feeling without him cramped beneath my belly.
“You’re not going to come until I tell you, you can.”
“You’re killing me, Beau. ”
His hands squeezed my throat. His lips grazed the shell of my ear. “Don’t you want to be my good girl?”
I nodded. His latex-sheathed cock nudged along my slick cleft. I gave him one sloppy grind of my hips in assent.
“So impatient,” he taunted. “You’re gonna come riding my dick. But only when I tell you.”
He slipped inside me with ease. His face mirrored mine as I bore down on him—the same parted lips and surprised eyes, I assumed. I counted to myself every circle of my hips as his grip at my throat sent a rush to my head. One, two, three, four. I shook. He hadn’t told me I could come. I strained, grunted, fought. Tears trickled from my eyes. I couldn’t handle it. I was reaching my limit. I had to tap out, must tap out. I must, I must, I must.
“Now be a good girl and come." He released his grip on my neck. I hugged him and the whole seat as I made some wonderful, guttural sound. His arms pinned me to him, and he groaned as he used his legs to thrust his hips deeper into me.
“I think people heard that across the parking lot.” I kissed his temple. His sweat lingered on my lips. I loved the taste of his sweat.
He laughed as he eased out of me. “I can’t believe we did that. ”
I blinked and gave my head a shake, chasing the auras in my vision. The dude had practically fucked me blind. “I think I need a moment.” I rested my head on his shoulder.
He rubbed my back. His hand lowered to my ass and smoothed over the skin that had been turned into red prickles. “Take all the time you need.” He kissed the top of my sweat-soaked head.
In reality, I needed about fifteen minutes. Most of that time putting on the shorts currently twisted around my ankle. But I wanted time to cease at this moment. I wanted to live on Beau’s lap.
I had to be in subspace. Because this sweet, boneless feeling couldn’t be anything else but subspace.
In my teens and twenties when I read articles about human sexuality to bask in the sordidness of it all, I learned women in their thirties had a surge in their sex drive, akin to a teenage boy’s. After making it to my midthirties, I believed that those articles were full of shit. With age came more profound connections beyond the physical. But I found more and more that I lied to myself. Chris and I hadn’t reached some sexual understanding better than a kid dictated by libido. We either lost ourselves in work or played house to such a degree that we didn’t have energy for impulsive or even planned fuckfests. Add some miscarriages, and we may have been brother and sister by the end of our marriage.
The point was a sudden resurgence of sexual drive did not exist. A myth like unicorns and female ejaculation. But, Sir, female ejaculation exists , I’d hear from my naysayers. I didn’t care what an academic article claimed. I wanted anecdotal proof!
And then came Beau.
We were ravenous.
He’d stay the night at my condo. When he learned I hadn’t slept with anyone in my condo but him, he proposed christening each room with our sexual juices. Bedroom and bathroom were a given. The living room couch wasn’t that difficult to check off either. On top of the kitchen counter was a welcome surprise as well as the floor of my office.
If that wasn’t enough, he’d stop by the print shop. I’d announced to Tina that I needed to air out the back room from the smell of the freshly printed T-shirts. She didn’t know I was getting pinned against the building in the alley, and I had to strategically wear skirts and stockings instead of pants. And I loved learning how his ass bubbled over the waistband of his shorts as we lowered it down just enough for easy access.
At the gym in a group class, I’d go through the motions and watch him drip and sweat everywhere while he led a class. Sometimes our gazes would meet in the mirror. He’d answer with a small smile, and I’d bite my lip. During a personal training session, he’d shamelessly offer to help me stretch, pulling my leg back to get deeper into my hamstring, when I knew from the wicked glow in his eyes he wanted to try the exact maneuver in bed. The touches he’d give to “improve my form” lingered longer.
After another spontaneous rendezvous in my economy car, I fell out of it laughing. His fans, the front row cycle divas with matching bra and short sets and impossibly white tennis shoes, walked by. They were also proponents of getting more steps in and stared as Beau and I giggled at my clumsiness. He swatted me on the ass, and I swear one of the front row cycle divas scowled. Maybe we could work on being discreet.