Page 18 of Unraveling with You

CHAPTER 4

THE NEXT THREE WEEKSfly by, but I’m in agony. I can’t stop thinking about the next time I’ll see Remington, wishing away the days. So the next time I see him, I’m determined to make it count.

I want to challenge myself. Showing up at the gym with my jacket unzipped, I don’t cover my form-fitting sports bra, and I switch to high-waisted exercise shorts I bought earlier this week that dip in a V-shape at the end of my spine to accentuate my butt.

Remington never comments on my physical appearance, and he doesn’t comment on it today. If anything, I catch him staring just a bit longer when he thinks I’m not looking. I want more of it. On top of enjoying his attention, I’ve performed better without fears about my appearance, trusting him not to judge me.

But my physical strength has increased as much as mental, allowing me to steadily increase my workout regimen. Our agreement has stirred something deeper in me: a confidence I’ve never felt safe enough to express.

We took a break from pulldowns, so myproblemhasn’t repeated itself.

Until I lay back on the leg press machine, pushing the heavy slab of metal away from me with only my legs. Tingling sensations whisper between my legs on the third rep. By the fifth, it melts into a widespread ache in my pelvis. I gasp through my deep breathing, half from confusion and half from how quickly this pleasure builds.

Remington is still at my side. “Are you okay?”

Viewing him towering over me, a heavier jolt pierces my core. I retrain my eyes ahead. Opting to imagine boring, non-sexual things like cookies or flowers, I mutter a shaky “Yes.”

“Are you in pain?”

I huff through another rep, and the pleasure blooms even wider now. “No.”

Remington doesn’t reply. When I dare to look at him again, he looks gravely concerned. “Let’s stop and give you a breather for a second.”

Oh, God, is it that obvious that I’m feeling different? I flush, hurriedly locking the machine to step off of it. But my core is still pulsing so rapidly that I stumble off the machine, my knees weak and panties soaked like I was just having penetrative sex. Remington has to catch me when I stumble, and I right myself quickly, speeding for my water bottle.

“You good?” He asks after me, setting up the machine for himself.

“Yes,” I lie.

The orgasm that was building wasn’t like those puny little ones I’ve had from rubbing myself on my pillow when I’m too tired at night after work. This one was deep - like the ones from my G-spot rabbit. After stopping and leaving myself intensely frustrated, I almost wish I had let myself secretly finish.

When Remington finishes his set, he suggests switching to upper body. We head straight for the pulldown machines. My feet slow.

Remington pauses. “Do you want to skip this one?”

I open my mouth to speak, but close it again. I don’t want to skip it, but my reasoning isn’t for the innocent workout we planned.

He frowns, stepping closer. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

I drop my head, wrapping my arms over the small amount of bare skin on my lower ribs. “Y-yes. I just– I’m worried how it’ll feel.”

“Ah,” Remington says.

My heart hammers into my throat. That “ah” was loaded far beyond what I was prepared for. How much does he really know?

But he lowers his voice. “We can skip this, seriously. Or we can keep going, even if it’s– Even if you feel sensitive again.”

I bite my lip. “You don’t– You don’t mind?”

The Remington I know would playfully shrug this off or make a sly joke. But the dark, longing eyes I find staring back flip my heart into my throat.

“I definitely don’t mind.”

---