Chapter 9: Bench Press Fuck

Sarah Thompson killed the engine in the shadowed corner of the lot, the dashboard clock glowing 9:31 p.m. like a dare she could no longer ignore. Three nights had passed since Mike’s mouth had wrecked her on that same weight bench, since she’d tasted herself on his tongue and come apart with his fingers curled deep while the mirrors forced her to watch every desperate twitch of her own body. The memory lived under her skin now, a constant low pulse that made her shift in the driver’s seat and press her thighs together. She’d lied to herself the entire drive—this is the last time, just one more session, then you stop—but her body had already betrayed her. The black leggings were the same snug pair, but tonight she’d paired them with a thin white tank that clung to the heavy curve of her 34DD breasts like a second skin, the sports bra beneath doing nothing to hide the way her nipples had been tight since she left the house. A single strip of bare stomach showed above the waistband whenever she moved. Practical for the workout, she’d told the mirror. The lie had tasted like salt and want.

She stepped out into the thick night air, sneakers quiet on the asphalt, and felt the first slick slide of fresh arousal between her folds. The gym doors hissed open with a cooler rush that carried the familiar rubber-and-disinfectant bite, but underneath it lingered something darker tonight—the faint, intimate trace of what they had done last time still clinging to the empty space. Only one dim security light buzzed overhead. The rest of the cavernous floor was theirs.

Mike stood by the flat bench press, bar already racked with light plates, black tank stretched across the lean width of his chest. When he turned, the look in his hazel eyes was no longer professional. It was hungry, certain, and it made her stomach flip hard. “Sarah.” His voice rolled low, the same calm timbre that had once guided her form now promising to ruin it. “You look like you’ve been thinking about me.”

She didn’t deny it. Couldn’t. The air between them crackled as he stepped close, close enough that the heat of his body brushed her bare midriff. “We’re starting with bench presses tonight,” he said, but his fingers were already tracing the hem of her tank, slipping beneath to skim the soft skin above her leggings. “Light weight. Perfect form. Then I’m going to fuck you exactly how I’ve wanted to since the first time I put my hands on these hips.”