Page 21 of Savage in the Sweets
I put a sign on the shop door saying I’ll be back in twenty minutes, then walk over to the newly renovated space that now holds: Mind and Might.
The door is hyper-masculine, gunmetal gray, and heavy. It’s closed, but people go in and out throughout the day, so I slip inside with ease.
The front desk is empty, as is the gym floor. I make my way to the back, where the offices are.
There’s a door slightly ajar with a light on inside the room.
I adjust my breasts, making sure they’re up and high, and approach the lit office, stopping suddenly in my tracks when I hear a low moan.
Apparently, Mr. Tracksuit isn’t having sleepovers because he’s busy railing some woman inside his gym.
Fuck…this one carnal act of bliss has totally ruined all my plans. This works so much better if he’s sex-starved and susceptible to my girlish charms.
As I’m about to leave, a sudden thought occurs to me.
What woman agrees to fuck in a man’s office without being allowed at his house? It might be a long shot, but I would guess it’s someone that has something to hide. Especially in this small town.
I tiptoe up to the door, trying not to draw attention to myself.
Another moan escapes the room, giving me pause.
I’m about to get an eye-full of a man who is the epitome of physical perfection. What if he gets angry?
I’m quick, I reason, and I seriously doubt he’s going to want to chase after me naked, covered in sex fluids.
I take the last remaining step to the door, boldly look inside, and see something so shocking, that instead of running, I stand paralyzed, mouth ajar.
His eyes lock with mine, the unmistakable look of fear flashes in his steel-blue eyes.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I finally blurt out when I’ve regained my speech.
He chews slowly on the bite of Mounds already in his mouth, then swallows.
“How dare you act like I’m some kind of nefarious crack dealer as you sit in your office, shoving low-quality sugar and other additives into your face!”
“You’re not supposed to be here,” he says, his mouth still full of candy.
“Is that what you say to every guest wanting to join your gym?”
I bring my phone up and snap a picture of him clutching his Mounds wrapper in his hand, a second bar poking out of it.
“See you at the next school board meeting,” I say, spinning on my heels to leave.
“Wait!” Mr. Tracksuit calls from his office, but I continue on toward the door.
Just as I’m about to leave, Mr. Tracksuit darts past me, placing himself between me and the exit.
With a body like his, this man could be a professional athlete. How is it possible that so much sexy was poured into one arrogant man?
His intense eyes drill into mine, and it takes extreme measures of self-control not to start panting.
I gather my wits enough to say, “Are you planning on holding me captive because I caught you eating a candy bar and acting like a big old hypocrite?”
I fold my arms across my chest, trying to appear braver than I really am.
“Of course not!”
“Then step out of my way.”
