Page 28 of Gym With Benefits

"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 unforcederrors. 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.

10

Jess

The shower door slammed against the hinge, and suddenly the stall was too small for the volume of Brock’s presence. The spray soaked through his t-shirt in an instant, but the heat coming off him was more intense than the water. His mouth collided with mine in a bruising, ravenous kiss that took my breath away.

The cold tiles were a shock of ice against my back. Ice that vanished the moment his hands found me. Nothing like the contained trainer talking me through reps. His palms, rough and calloused from years of gripping iron, slid up from my waist to crush my breasts. I let out a choked sound, my fingers digging into the wet fabric bunching on his shoulders.

David’s voice echoed in the back of my mind—loosen up—and I let the last of my reservations dissolve in the steam.

I wrapped my legs around Brock’s waist and pulled him into the cradle of my hips. The friction of his gym shorts against my soaking pussy was a revelation. He was rock-hard, a thick ridge of throbbing heat that ground against my clit with every jerk of his hips. He groaned into my throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh of my neck as he fought the barrier of his clothes.

I slid my hand between us to find the straining mass of his cock. Even through his shorts, his size was daunting.

"Let me see it.” The words tripped over my tongue as the steam filled my lungs. "I wanna see you."

Brock stepped back, the water cascading over his face, his eyes dark with a primal, focused intensity. He grabbed the hem of his shirt and ripped it over his head, discarding it into the corner of the stall. His torso was a landscape of carved muscle. Broad, sloping shoulders and a chest so thick it seemed to swallow the light. Every ripple of his abs was a testament to the kind of discipline that bordered on obsession.

He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his shorts and tugged them down.

“Jesus.” My gaze snagged on the sight.

His cock had sprung free, hitting his stomach with a heavy, wet thud. My breath left me in a rush. It was a masterpiece of anatomy, the skin stretched tight over a network of pulsing veins. It held a deep flush at the flared head, weeping a bead of pre-come that glistened under the shower light.

My pussy clenched in a series of needy spasms when he took himself in one hand, his fingers wrapping halfway around the shaft. He stroked himself, an excruciating slide that made the muscles in his thighs tense up.