Chapter 12: The Repeat Addiction

Sarah Thompson stepped through the gym doors at 9:27 p.m., the cool rush of air raising gooseflesh along the bare strip of skin where her tank top ended and her leggings began. Beneath the charcoal fabric lay something new, something she had never dared before: a sheer black lace bra that barely contained the heavy swell of her breasts and a matching thong so delicate it felt like nothing more than a whisper against her already slick folds. The lace had teased her all day—every shift at her desk, every brush of denim in the car—until the dampness between her thighs had become a constant, secret ache. She had stared at herself in the mirror at home, heart hammering, telling herself it was only for the workout. The lie had tasted like smoke and honey.

The gym was hushed tonight, the overhead lights low and golden, the mirrors throwing back long reflections of empty machines and silent weight racks. Mike stood near the yoga mats, clipboard in hand, black tank stretched across the lean cut of his chest. His hazel eyes lifted and darkened the instant they landed on her. He didn’t speak at first. He simply let his gaze travel down the subtle outline of lace visible where her tank clung to the curve of her breasts, then back up to her face. The corner of his mouth curved.

“New support system?” he asked, voice low enough to stay between them.

Sarah’s cheeks burned, but she nodded, stepping closer until the faint scent of his clean skin—soap and warm exertion—curled around her. “Thought it might help with form tonight.”

They began the workout like always, a full circuit that felt anything but routine. Warm-up rows, then dynamic stretches facing the mirror wall. When Mike corrected her overhead reach, his palms settled on her ribs and slid higher, thumbs grazing the delicate lace edge of her bra through the thin tank. The contact sent a shiver straight to her core. Each squat made the thong shift, the narrow strip of fabric pressing against her swollen clit like a deliberate tease. Sweat gathered low on her spine, soaking into the lace at the small of her back, but it was the heat between her legs that made her breathing shallow.

By the time they reached goblet squats, the last other member had slipped out. The gym belonged to them. Mike stepped behind her, hands anchoring her hips, but this time his fingers dipped beneath the hem of her tank and traced the lace waistband of the thong. “Jesus, Sarah,” he murmured against her ear, the words rough. “You wore this for me?”