“Are we still on for a run?” I ask.
She glances at the clock on the wall. “Wow, is it that late already? I was in a zone.”
“It’s okay if you want to postpone.”
“Actually, I may cancel. I have to finish up something today. Why don’t you go to the gym instead? We can run tomorrow.”
I picture her running in front of me, her tight ass in short shorts, her smooth, strong legs… My general stands up and salutes. Shit. This is torture. I have to work with her another few days before we go to Florida. Before we “seal the deal.” I’m not taking her virginity in my bed. We need neutral territory for her first time.
“Gym. Got it.” Hands hiding a certain swelling part of me, I dip my head to indicate I’ll be in the basement.
Forty minutes later, I’m done with my HIIT workout but my erection rages on. I’m lying, back to the floor on the mat, all but one “muscle” complete mush. I manage to push myself up and limp into the cavernous open shower. I also have a sauna, but I don’t need heat right now. I spin the knob to cold.
Stepping under the spray, I quickly determine that a cold shower, while effective, isn’t the most pleasant way to handle my problem. I warm up the water, hissing through my teeth as my skin goes from chilled to warm, and then I grip my cock and begin to stroke.
* * *
Cris
I wasn’t planning on a late night, but since we’re going to spend the upcoming weekend in Florida at the event by Heart-to-Teen, I have extra tasks on my burgeoning to-do list.
Since Benji informed me we’ll be sharing a room he booked, I’ve been unable to chase a single coherent thought to its end. I’ve mostly been imagining what it’ll be like to have his undivided attention, to be the center of his world. To sleep in a bed next to his hot, naked flesh.
Shiver.
He’s making every one of my fantasies come true. I know I should be cautious, but honestly, I would rather lean all the way into what he’s offering. I can draw the necessary boundaries when we’re back from the trip.
As much as I adore him, I am aware that “forever” and Benjamin Owen don’t mix. He’s a busy workaholic with a focus on financial wizardry. I’m the woman he hired to make sure he takes his vitamins and remembers to exercise his (incredibly fine) body. I’m also his friend. As his friend, I’d never ask him for more than he’s willing to commit.
As fun as our little excursion has been and probably will be, once I bequeath my virginity to him—I’d be insane to say no—he’ll cease seeing me as a dating option. New rules will have to be made. My duty is to take what I want, but not to involve my feelings. I can’t take another gut-punch scenario like the morning I spotted him hugging Trish at Grand Marin.
No matter what, I have to let Benji be Benji. He grows tired of every woman he dates—I’ve watched it happen from both afar and up close—and I won’t be an exception. Hell, his laissez-faire attitude toward commitment was one of the foundations on which we built this agreement.
I walk into the kitchen, notice his water bottle on the counter, and shake my head. I know he’s done a hard workout because he’s been down there for nearly an hour. This is why he needs me in his life. He’s too scatterbrained and distracted to take care of himself.
In the gym I spot a discarded towel thrown over the weight bench and hear the water pounding the wall in the attached shower. I set the water bottle on the bench and open my mouth to tell him he’s welcome and I deserve a raise when I catch a blurry image of him through the glass shower wall.
A breath stutters from my lips.
He’s naked, obviously, in the amazing stone-walled shower. His round ass is visible without obstruction, but the front half of his body is blurred by partially steamed glass.
One of his arms is anchored to the wall, his head down as the spray beats the back of his head. Below the neck is a tantalizing, wavy view of his naked chest and, where the steam is most prevalently blocking my view, I notice his arm moving at a dizzying speed, his hand fisted around his—
I slap my hand over my mouth. I fully intend to dart out of sight behind the wall but remain frozen in place, mesmerized by what he’s doing and how beautiful he looks while doing it. He lets out a grunt I hear over the pounding spray and then tilts his face into the water. Droplets hammer his cheeks. His movements below the waist increase in both speed and ferocity.
My breasts grow heavy, my belly drops, and I become aware of a throbbing heat between my thighs. I spin around to leave—I have no prayer of concentrating now—when I hear him call my name.
Praying he didn’t catch me ogling him during an intensely private moment, I shield my eyes with one hand and call out, “It’s just me. I left your water bottle on the bench!”
No return greeting comes. I peek through my fingers to find his head poking around the stone wall. His hair is dripping, his eyelashes are spiked and wet, his mouth is smiling. His bare shoulder and buff chest are dotted with water. He’s an undeniably sexy sight. I might come in my panties without him touching me.
“Get your ass over here.”
They’re the most erotic words I’ve heard in my life. Helpless, I drift into the steamy room, and when I’m within arm’s reach I say the only thing I can think of. “Did you need a towel?”
“I need a hand. Care to help me out?”
My lashes flutter as I try to process.
“And I don’t mean I want you to wash my back.” That grin again. It’s going to be the death of me. “You get in, you’ll be glad you did. I have some fun planned for you too.”
He steps into the spray again and his, “Hurry up!” echoes off the walls. Before I can reason my way out of what I’m doing, I shakily strip out of my clothes and join him.