Chloe
“Hey, Dad. Is this an okay time?”
My father looks up from his desk inside his spacious corner office. He requested earlier this morning that I stop by to update him on the progress of the joint venture with Thorne Enterprises. I stopped briefly in my office to check my email before heading over here.
“Of course, of course. Come in.”
I step inside, closing the door behind me. The walls of his office are adorned with framed accolades, reminders of the legacy he’s built here. I take a seat across from him, keeping my gaze straight to avoid looking at any of the awards or headlines. I’ve always found them intimidating.
“So…” My father taps his index finger on the side of his coffee thermos. “Let’s talk Thorne Enterprises.”
“Things are progressing well,” I tell him. “We’ve managed to iron out most of the initial kinks, and the collaboration has been smooth. We’ve finalized the purchase of the lot for Eclipse Studios, so everything’s on track.”
“And in terms of content?”
“We’ve been running numbers, courting directors. We want to start with a bang. Projects that will make a splash and be award contenders right out of the gate.”
As I speak, I feel a slight twinge in my chest, an ache of ‘what if.’ For a moment, I’m transported back to when I once dreamed of directing, imagining myself behind the camera, bringing stories to life.
He nods in approval, although his even expression doesn’t change. “Just remember to leverage our company’s strengths in this joint venture. We need to ensure we’re getting as much out of it as possible.”
I force a tight smile. “Absolutely, Dad. I’m keeping that in mind with every decision we make.”
“Good.” He leans back in his chair. “We’ve invested a lot into this. Make it worth our while.”
“Of course.” I nod, my throat feeling slightly constricted. “I won’t let you down.”
He offers a brief, cool smile of his own. “I know you won’t.”
After leaving my father’s office, I return to my own, feeling the familiar blend of frustration and determination that always follows our meetings. His high expectations are a constant pressure, one that I strive to meet but never quite seem to live up to.
I sit down at my desk, ready to dive back into my work, when my phone buzzes with a new message.
TRISTAN: Just thinking about how delicious breakfast was this morning. Can’t wait for seconds tonight. ;-)
A little shiver goes up my spine, and despite the stress of work, I have to bite my lip to keep from smiling.
ME: You’re insatiable.
TRISTAN: Only with you. What are you up to after work?
ME: Headed to the gym.
ME: Wish me luck, hopefully Iris won’t be there.
I typically run into Iris and her gaggle of friends in the afternoon, so it doesn’t bode well. I swear, they’re like vultures, always circling, waiting for an opportunity to swoop in with some snide remark or passive-aggressive comment.
It used to make my gym visits feel more like a chore than a refreshing break, but as things heat up between me and Tristan, it’s become easier to ignore Iris and her antics.
I spend the rest of the workday feeling buoyed by the thought of Tristan, his messages still lingering in my mind. Once I’m finished in the office, I pack my gym clothes into a bag and call a car to take me to the health center.
I step out of the car, my gym bag slung over my shoulder, and make my way into the gym. Inside, the familiar scent of sweat and cleaning solution greets me as I head toward the locker rooms.
Changing into my gym clothes, I take a deep breath, mentally preparing myself for whatever encounter awaits me with Iris. Ideally, she won’t be here, but I have to assume that she will.
Sure enough, as I step out of the locker room, there she is, surrounded by her entourage of friends, gossiping and giggling as they walk on treadmills. My heart sinks slightly at the sight, but I square my shoulders and steel myself for the inevitable interaction.
I head for the rubber mats opposite the cardio equipment to stretch.
As I extend my hands to the floor, I try to focus on my stretching routine, hoping to block out any potential negativity from Iris.
But before I can fully settle into my stretches, I see her approaching out of the corner of my eye.
Shit.
I take a deep breath, steeling myself as I lift my chin.
“Well, if it isn’t the new Mrs. Thorne.” Her lips curl in a sneer. “How’s the newlywed life?”
“Fine.” I keep my tone neutral, refusing to engage.
Iris opens her mouth to say more, but before she can get a word out, she freezes in place, her eyes locked on the entrance. I turn to follow her gaze, shocked to see Tristan standing there, dressed in a tailored suit and tie, looking out of place surrounded by exercise equipment.
Iris’s demeanor changes at once, the bitchy expression vanishing from her face as she smiles at him.
“Tristan,” she says brightly. “It’s so nice to see you! What are you doing here?”
“Oh, I just bought this place.”
He gestures with one hand, and Iris’s jaw drops a little in shock. Honestly, I think mine might do the same.
“You… what?” she asks, still smiling through her confusion.
He shrugs. “My family’s business is focused on media, but I prefer to venture into other avenues in my personal investments. I’ve been considering purchasing Ashbury Athletic for a while now.”
I know that’s a lie, and judging by her expression, Iris does too.
“That’s quite an interesting investment strategy.” Her tone is laced with skepticism.
Tristan makes a noncommittal noise, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Be that as it may, as the new owner, I’m going to have to ask you all to leave. The gym is being temporarily closed down. All membership fees will be refunded.”
She gapes at him. “Are you serious?”
“Yes.” Tristan’s voice turns cold. “And you’re on my property. So get out.”
Iris stands frozen, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.
The shock is evident on her face, and for once, she seems at a loss for words.
Eventually, she regains enough composure to grab her things and stalk out of the gym, her entourage trailing behind her, casting bewildered glances over their shoulders.
The Ashbury staff efficiently usher everyone else out and then disappear as well, leaving me staring after them in stunned silence.
I turn to Tristan, still trying to process what just happened. “What are you—why did you do that?”
“I thought it was obvious.” He glances at the now-empty space around us. “I’m making sure you can work out in peace.”
His words take a second to fully land, my brain struggling to process the fact that he actually went and bought a high-end gym just so I could work out without having to deal with Iris.
It’s absurd. It’s the kind of thing that only makes sense if you have more money than you know what to do with and a complete disregard for the normal way people solve problems. It’s also one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me.
“I…” I swallow, struggling to come up with the right words.
But I don’t think the right words for this moment exist, so after a few seconds, I give up on trying and kiss him instead.
He makes a noise against my lips, his arms banding around me.
My own arms wrap around his neck as I rise up on my toes in my sneakers, fingers sliding through the short hair at the back of his neck.
His hands move over my back and down to my waist, then lower, mapping the contours of my ass as the kiss deepens.
It’s definitely not a gym-appropriate kiss—although that hardly matters now that there’s no one here to see us.
When we finally break apart, his lips are swollen and his eyes have gone a shade darker.
He’s still got his arms around me, I can feel his cock hard against my lower belly, which sends a small, satisfied rush through my chest. The fact that I can do that to him with just a kiss makes me feel powerful and desired in a way I never knew was possible.
He releases me and steps back, clearing his throat. “So you like it?”
That draws a laugh out of me. “I can’t believe it. But…” I bite my lip. “Yes. This place always felt like a sanctuary, and I missed that. It wasn’t the same when I had to dread seeing Iris every time.”
“Good.” He nods in satisfaction. “What kind of workout were you planning today?”
“Oh. Um, weights,” I tell him, smoothing my shirt back down where his hands displaced it.
Something passes through his eyes, that deep blue darkening. “I can spot you.”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “Can you?”
He smirks, his full lips curving. “Of course. I’m very helpful.”
Somehow I doubt he’s planning to be all that helpful, but if he wants to stick around for a while and keep me company, I’m not going to turn that down.
Gesturing for him to follow me, I head for the free weight rack.
I pick up a set I know I can handle and carry them to the nearest bench, lying back and getting myself positioned.
Tristan shrugs off his suit jacket and moves to the head of the bench and stands there ready to spot me, arms loosely crossed in a way that makes his thick arms strain the fabric of his crisp white shirt.
I start my first rep, keeping my form steady, focusing on the burn in my arms.
By the third one, I can feel his eyes moving over me in a slow, appreciative way that makes it incredibly hard to focus.
“You’re staring,” I murmur.
“I know.”
“It’s distracting.”
“I know that too.” His gaze travels from my face down to where my shirt has ridden up slightly at my waist and back up again, his teeth trapping his lower lip between them.
I snort, despite the heat his expression is igniting in my veins. “I’m literally just lifting weights.”
“You’re doing it very attractively.”
I press my lips together to keep from smiling and focus on finishing the set.
My arms are burning by the time I lower the weights at the end, the good kind of tired feeling settling into my muscles, and I’m about to set them down on the floor when he crouches slightly at the head of the bench, his eyes level with mine.
“Do another set,” he encourages. “If you finish it, I’ll make it worth your while.”
Something moves through my stomach at that, and my back arches slightly off the bench before I’ve made any conscious decision about it.
Some part of me already had a sense of where this afternoon was heading from the moment he cleared the gym out and stood there looking pleased with himself, but hearing him say those words has my pussy clenching in anticipation.
I hold his gaze for a beat, then pick the weights back up without a word and start the second set.
He watches every rep, his eyes moving between my face and my arms as I work through it.
Every now and then he says something quiet, telling me I’m doing well, that I’ve almost got it, that I look fucking incredible.
That last one doesn’t help. By the last few reps, my arms are shaking from the combined effort of two sets and my breathing has gone hard and fast—but that might be more from arousal than exertion.
“Last one,” he says quietly, leaning in slightly. “Come on. You’ve got it.”
I grind out the final rep and hold the weights up for just a second, my arms trembling, before I start to lower them.
He reaches out immediately and helps guide them down, taking the weight from my hands, and I drop my arms to my sides with a long exhale.
When I start to sit up, his hand comes to my sternum and presses me back down onto the bench.
“Not so fast, dimples. Stay right there,” he orders.
My heart rate, which had started to slow after the effort, goes right back up.
He walks around to the foot of the bench slowly and drops to his knees between my legs.
The gym is completely quiet around us, just the two of us and the hum of the air conditioning and the faint sound of traffic outside.
His hands slide over my hips to the waistband of my gym pants.
“What are you doing?” I breathe, my tongue darting out to wet my lips.
He looks up at me from where he’s kneeling, his eyes dark and hooded. He holds my gaze, his thumbs pressing lightly into the skin just above my waistband, and then one corner of his mouth lifts.
“What I want to do every minute of every day,” he answers. “I’m going to eat my wife’s perfect fucking pussy.”