Page 63 of Killer Confections
I go through two more songs, letting the music drown out whatever the hell is going on in the far corner before I’m glistening with sweat and cutting the treadmill.
I think of removing my sweatshirt, but shake my head as I walk over to the racked weights near the window. I have a yoga bodysuit underneath that leaves little to the imagination. Usually, I wouldn’t mind the break from the smothering warmth wrapped around me, but with the level of testosterone in the corner, I think I’ll pass.
I grab the twenty-five-pound weights, drowning out everything as I stand in the wall-length mirror, ready to observe my form.
I nearly drop the dumbbell in my hand when my eyeslock with icy blues in the mirror. I whirl toward the window, a hand flying to my racing heart as I take in the figure just outside the glass.
Atlas stands there, his hands in his pockets and his balaclava pulled up as he watches me with an intense interest. His eyes crease in the corners before he nods his head in a subtle greeting.
I place a hand on my hip and push my headphones back, turning to face him. “What? Gonna stalk me in the gym now too?”
He lifts a shoulder, nodding as if to say, ‘Yeah, that’s the plan.’
I scoff, shaking my head as I set my weight down. “I’m onto you, you know. Don’t think I don’t know who you are.”
His brows lift, mirth playing in his stare. His eyes trail my figure, the perusal slow and almost sensual as he takes in my shapely legs and the flair in my hips.
I shift in place, the butterflies and warmth in my gut unmistakable at his devouring gaze.
Fuck me.
I look around, seeing if anyone has noticed the massive man outside the window ogling me. Gym Bro is starting his next set, breathing loudly and making sounds that should only be heard during private settings, and the kid at the counter hasn’t looked up once from his phone.
When I turn back to Atlas, he mimics lifting a weight before his eyes roll back in his head and his body convulses like he’s having an orgasm.
I snort, a hand flying to my mouth as I peer at Gym Bro over my shoulder, making sure he isn’t witnessing the man on the sidewalk making fun of him. When the coast is clear, I whirl back to my friend in the window, biting my lip to hold in my laughter.
His eyes darken as they snag on the movement, his nostrils flaring under the mask. Slowly, he tugs at the bottom of his shirt before imitating taking it off.
He wants me to take my sweatshirt off.
I’m not a bold woman by any means, but with the heated and hungry look in his eyes and knowing he can’t get to me in a public place, I feel powerful. I’m the one calling the shots and he’s just an onlooker in this game.
I grab the hem of my sweatshirt, slowly peeling it away from my body. The air hits my heated skin, but it does nothing for my pebbled flesh as it tingles with awareness.
The top of the green bodysuit is a tank top, showing my shoulders and part of my neck while the bottom flares around my calves. It’s one of my favorites and super comfortable to work out in.
But as I hold my sweatshirt out to the side, dropping it seductively to the floor, the workout gear feels more like lingerie.
Atlas puts his hands on his hips, lifting his head to the sky as his eyes close. He brings it back down before moving to the window and gently beating a fist against it as he shakes his head in an overly dramatic display of ‘You’re killing me.’
I roll my shoulders, lifting my chin and feeling far more confident than I usually would. “Now, I’m going to finish my workout and you can stay out there. Like a good boy.”
His head whips up, eyes sparkling with lust and excitement as I bend over, giving him a front-row seat to my ass, and collecting my dumbbells from the ground.
There’s a low groan from the window and I smirk, going through my sets as if he doesn’t exist. My body is acutely aware of his presence outside, my skin feeling tight and my nipples are hard against my sports bra.
I lose count multiple times, just going through the motions as low-lidded eyes watch me. At one point, he lights a cigarette, lifting his mask to take a long drag.
That shouldn’t be as sexy as it is.
I falter again, forgetting what exercise I was on and replacing it with another to make it seem like I didn’t just forget what I was doing because I was so caught up in the hot-as-sin man on the other side of the glass.
“Those are bad for you,” I say, loud enough for him to hear, but not loud enough for the other occupants to eavesdrop.
Atlas’s eyes crease in the mirror as he takes another long drag. Then, he winks before flicking the half-smoked cigarette onto the pavement and stepping on it.
Hmm, complain enough and he’ll stop. Good to know.
