Page 76 of Every Move You Make

“C’mere,” I say, gently guiding Robyn away from the wall, but they refuse to fully detach. “Don’t mind me,” I chuckle. Kneeling behind her, I remove her gym shoes, socks, and leggings. I chuckle to myself because these two can’t seem to register that I’m stripping them. When I take off her tank top and sports bra, it’s only then that Isaiah really understands what’s happening, and he pulls his mouth away from hers long enough to take in her naked beauty.

“Fuck,” he breathes, trying to slide his hand over her small breast where her light-pink nipple perks.

I smack his hand away. “Not so fast.” I turn to him and remove his clothes too. When I’m kneelingbefore him and taking liberties with his ridiculously muscular rugby quads, he chokes in realization.

“I—I can’t. I can’t… with her.”

“I know you can’t. Because you made a bad decision, Isaiah.” I stand up between them and look down on him while only being an inch taller. After I remove his shirt, he stands there buck naked and completely, gloriously vulnerable. “Which is why I will be making the decisions from here. You chose to make her miserable in wanting you. You also chose to make yourself miserable in wanting her. You chose to stalk her and cockblock her. And now that you’ve had your taste, you’re going sit over there on that weight bench, and you’re going to watch me fuck her.”

Robyn’s breath shudders behind me as Isaiah’s pupils dilate.

“Off you go,” I tell him, and of course he listens. Of course.

I turn my back on him and guide her down to the mats where I push a medicine ball out of the way. “You can tell me to stop, too.”

She props herself up on her elbows. “I know. I want this.”

Reaching into my back pocket, I pull out my wallet and plant a kiss on her soft lips, lips that now taste like Isaiah. The condom falls to the mat beside her, and my shirt follows. I’m not in the mood to be one of those Doms that keeps their clothes on as a power move. I want to feel Robyn’s skin against mine. I want Isaiah to lose his ever-loving mind with desire.

I want to teach him how to please her.

Coach him.

Train him.

Removing the rest of my clothes and laying her all the way down, my lips trail across her neck and down her chest. While her chest itself is large and built, her breasts are small, with just enough lovely, soft tissue to press my lipsagainst and indulge in. And indulge I do. Why did I ever think my No Dating Clients rule should apply to them? This is so much better. This is the real deal.

“Tell her how good she’s doing, Isaiah,” I say without looking over to him, pulling a stiff peak into my mouth and flicking my tongue across it.

“You’re… you’re doing great,” he stammers.

“More,” I growl, hiking her bare leg around my waist. “Our girl likes to be praised, don’t you, darlin’?”

“Yes,” she breathes.

“You’re… so… beautiful,” he says with some grit to his voice. “You deserve to feel good. You deserve to be worshiped.”

“I agree,” I rasp, rubbing my hard-on against the tantalizing warmth of her cunt. “Tell me, Robyn, how do you like to be pleasured?”

“Um,” she hesitates.

“Do you like it hard? Spanking? Do you wanna feel used?”

She shakes her head. “I like it to be gentle, and soft.” The way she says it momentarily breaks me; like she’s afraid of what that means or to even ask for it. There’s a sudden bite of anger that flashes like a splash of water in a hot pan at the thought of her being reluctant to speak her truth. I never want her to feel like that when she’s with us.

Anger whirls with confusion too. I don’t know why her answer surprises me, but I pull away from her chest and search her worried eyes. “Of course you do,” I smile, smoothing my hand over her head, cradling it. “You’re this big strong athlete. Of course you crave softness.”

I think of what she wears off the field and outside of the gym. She’s sleek and feminine. I think about all the hurtful things people say about her on social media—saying she has a masculine body, outright calling her a man—and it fucking clicks. “You wanna be treated like a princess, don’t you?”

Nodding, she bites her lip, and my cock stirs against herheat.

“Oh darling, I’m your man. Relax and let me take care of you.”

Releasing her leg, I lower down her toned body and swipe a flat tongue against her wet center. That kiss with Isaiah must have revved her up. Me too. Humming against her, I settle in and languidly feast. I pull on her sensitive lips and push my tongue inside to get a better taste—to memorize her arousal. Her warm scent fills my senses and I freefall into a hedonistic haze.

God, how I’ve wanted this. I’ve been watching her workout for two years now, pretending I could keep my infatuation under wraps. But I’ve dreamed of tasting her. Pleasuring her that night after the bar only made my thirst more insatiable. There’s a push and pull of two equal measures happening in my brain all at once: a boyish glee that can’t believe I’m really doing this—that she’s really letting me do this—and a dominating, egotistical male satisfaction that knows I am going to make this woman see stars.

“That’s it,” Isaiah says. “Let him take care of you.”

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