Page 19 of Unraveling with You

Oh, my God. Does that mean what I think it does? If he likes witnessing me become aroused, my boosted hormones beg me to let him watch me exercise even more.

And I decide to listen, taking the initiative to finish leading us to the machines.

I’ve never done anything like this. Even when I’ve had actual sex, I’ve always made sure my partner felt pleasure first, or at the very least, at the same time. It’s what I was taught men needed. But one quick glance at Remington’s workout shorts leaves no bulge for me to see.

He’s not aroused. Maybe he’s not understanding that it’s not simply a “good burn” and that I’ve actually beensexuallyaroused? Or maybe he’s just plain not attracted to me.

My heart hurts. But this workout isn’t supposed to be for sex. Shame compresses my sternum. I need to control my urges like an actual adult.

Diving into the workout, my melancholy thoughts erase all arousal in my body. It’s not until my heart is racing on the last set that Remington spots my form wavering.

“Would you like me to help you correct it again?” He asks.

I’m still too bummed and anxious to feel aroused, so I nod. “Sure, thank you.”

But with my heart rate elevated and Remington helping me to activate my core, it doesn’t matter how disappointed I am: the introduction of his warm hands on my stomach plants a desirous seed in my core. Huffing through the workout, I part my lips as that same creeping pressure builds in my lower abdomen - each pulldown mimicking the sensation of my muscles stretched by a long, stiff object entering me.

“Good job,” Remington says.

My pussy flutters.

“But don’t forget to breathe.”

Shit, I’m holding my breath to stave off the sensation. My nipples harden enough to poke through the thick fabric in my sports bra, and I have no idea if Remington has noticed yet. I have to breathe through my mouth, unable to suck in enough oxygen through my nose with my body’s rising temperature.

“I-I’m sorry,” I choke out.

Remington straightens to meet my eyes in the mirror. “What do you mean? Is it feeling sensitive again?”

I tremble through the tail end of the next rep. “Yes, I don’t understand why. Is it weird for you? I’m so sorry.”

“There’s no need to be sorry. Do you want me to step away?”

I bite my lip, my eyelids fluttering as I let myself hang on the bar. I thought it’d relieve me, but the deeper stretch only makes my voice come out even breathier. “N-not unless you want to.”

Silence hangs between us.

But Remington lowers his voice. “There’s nothing wrong with it feeling good. It happens to more people while exercising than you think.”

“R-really?” I whisper.

“Really. So please, don’t push yourself. Either let yourself stop if you feel too uncomfortable or just roll with the feeling and enjoy it.”

“O-okay,” I whisper.

I’ve always kept sexual pleasure to myself, but the way he phrased that carried such ease that he erased all shame from my predicament. I settle into his touch, sinking into the pleasure swirling through my lower abdomen. This is human nature, isn’t it? Maybe it’s not as embarrassing as I thought to feel a little good, unexpectedly.

And maybe I can make it to the end without orgasming, anyway. I rarely ever orgasm in general, especially not without direct stimulation. But with just a single extra rep - now containing the knowledge that Remington is willingly watching me feel good - it feels like I’m having deep, delicious sex. I sputter out a heaving exhale, accidentally meeting Remington’s eyes. It’s almost enough to take me over the edge, so I quickly raise my eyes to the ceiling.

What the hell has happened to me? This is so unlike the old Lilibeth, but I feel so good that my judgment evaporates. I just have one more rep, then I’ll be done. If I happen to come, so be it.

But just as I draw the bar to my collarbone, Remington lightly adjusts his hand on my lower back, sparkling fizzy sensations over my tender mark. It’s just enough movement in just the right direction to nurture my tingling core. Pleasure blasts to my face, and before I know it, I’m having a deep, full-body orgasm. I’m so shocked by its force that I can’t stop my weakened muscles from allowing the pulldown machine to hoist me into the air. I’m left hanging as I come, squeezing my knees together with a whimper and rock of my hips – all for Remington to watch.

Remington grabs me by the waist, holding me steady. “Shit, are you okay?!”

The second lust clears from my head, I crash to reality. Every shadowed possibility of what Remington might think of me tears through my mind at full speed - how slutty, repulsive, or classless I must appear. Mortification throws me from the machine. I crumple onto the bench with a thud, bursting into instant tears. I know it’ll make Remington even more concerned, but I can’t stop myself from sobbing. I can’t bear to face him anymore, curling over myself.

Remington hovers over me, stroking the back of my head. “Oh, sweet girl, are you hurt?”

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