Page 40 of Going Viral for Christmas
I’m mid-sit-up when he suddenly kneels beside me. “Don’t engage your neck so much,” he says. “You’re going to strain it.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re going to hurt tomorrow.”
“I write for a living. My entire body already hurts every day.”
“Here. Try this. Lift from here.” Before I can slap it away, Soren’s hand slides behind my shoulders and adjusts my form.
His palm warms my back while his other rests lightly on my stomach, above the waistband of my leggings. The heat of his touch and the soft steadiness of his voice manage to flip a switch I didn’t want turned on. Especially by him.
Soren doesn’t say much else. He helps, then backs off. No lingering. And somehow that makes it worse because if he were only being cocky or flirty, I’d know how to deal with it. I’ve been defending myself against his charm since the ShelfSpace algorithm started feeding me his stupid, seductive videos.
I don’t have defenses for this quiet, gentle,helpfulSoren.
Sitting up, I grab my water bottle, trying not to let him see how flushed I am. My eyes betray me, darting back to the weight bench where he’s racked a barbell stacked heavier than twice my weight.
Gripping the bar again, his arms tense, veins standing out along his forearms. With his brows furrowed in concentration, Soren lowers and lifts with impressive control, and my mind... wanders.
Suddenly, I’m not at the gym—I’m in a full-blown fitness musical where Soren’s biceps are the leads, and I’m just the understudy forWoman Who Melts in Public.Backup dancers in neon leotards chantpress it, Pembry,while a disco ball drops from the ceiling and fog machines kick in for dramatic effect. There’s even a key change as he grunts through a rep, which feels personally targeted at my hormones.
That’s about when I catch myself mid-daydream and nearly drop my water bottle. Nope. Absolutely not. My brain is officially on time-out.
Soren completes another few reps, and I imagine those arms bracedon either side of me, holding me down while he drives his cock into me with punishing strokes. His muscles flex with every thrust. His jaw clenches, muttering filthy praise in that sexy, coarse voice of his.
Moaning his name, my back arches, thighs shake. Soren’s hand slips between us to toy with my clit as his hot breath dances across my neck.
“Bells?”
Snapping back to reality so fast, I nearly choke on my sip of water. “What?”
“You okay?” He curiously asks, wiping his hands on his towel.
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”
Soren’s gaze lingers, like he wants to say more. And then he does. “Because you moaned my name, soooo… thought I’d check in.” There’s a teasing lift to his brow. A mischievous gleam in his eye.
I want to die. Right here. On the mat. On this day.
“I did not,” I deny it.
“Okay then. My mistake.” Grabbing his towel, Soren heads for the door, and I don’t exhale until it clicks shut behind him. Even then, his absence doesn’t help because the flutter in my chest isn’t frustration. It’s desire.
Oh my God, I want to fuck Soren Pembry.
I don’t want to feel that. I want to cut it out with a dull blade and kill it, then burn it to ash. But it’s already taken root, and I’m the idiot watering it.
Soren strolls by the glass windows on his way back to his room, then disappears.
Falling back onto the mat, I stare up at the ceiling and exhale, but more visuals enter my brain, and before I can fight against them today, they launch a full-blown attack.
Questions take over next.
What exactly would Soren do to me if he turned around and stormed back into this gym?
Would he drag me back to the corner, pin me to the mat, and fuck the tension right out of me until I forgot every insult I’d ever thrown at him?
Or would he fuck my sassy mouth with thatrumored-to-be-hugeflesh sword of his—one hand fisted in my hair, the othergripping my throat with enough pressure to make me behave… until I begged for him to spill his pleasure down my throat?
