Page 32 of Gigi and the Gym Rats

Well, an adult child, let me clarify this. I want all the cookies, all the candy canes.

Ahem.

I want to say no, but instead, I nod. “Sure.”

When he takes my hand, I let him. I follow him in a daze down the hall into a room. He closes the door behind us. Locks it.

Then he turns toward me and walks me back against a table. We’re in the staff room, I realize. And he’s just cornered me against it. My ass hits the edge, and I fall back on it, on my elbows.

He braces his hands on either side of me and gives a wolfish grin. “Well, I’ve dreamed of this moment for the past year and a half,” he says.

“You have?” I swallow hard. “I thought you wanted to talk.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Let’s talk.”

* * *

This is starting off weird, I have to say. I’m on my back on the table and he’s standing there, between my legs, his hands on either side of me. His dark eyes blaze and his scent is intensifying. Looking at that hard mouth of his, tilted in a sharp smile, I wonder… can I come just from this?

It’s possible.

I’m so aroused, and the way he’s wedged his thick, muscular thighs between my legs, pressing deliciously where I’m throbbing, is likely to blow my mind.

Is it his spicy scent? Is it his gorgeous face? Is it his powerful body? I’ve spent practically every single class with him wetting my panties—every time he came near, every time he brushed by me.

“Let’s talk,” he says and I blink. Really? He really wants to talk?

“I thought it was a ruse to bring me here,” I confess.

“It was.” His eyes narrow. “I’ve seen how you look at me lately.”

“No comment,” I say quickly. “Do I get a phone call?”

He frowns. He obviously doesn’t get the joke. “All this time I’ve been looking at you, waiting for you.”

“You have? I didn’t realize.” I place my hands on the table, push myself up until I’m resting on them.

He looks serious. This isn’t a joke. “I know. I didn’t want to push. You’ve been… lost inside your head.”

I want to deny it, but… he’s right.

That word again…lost.

“What do you want, Gigi?” He’s frowning and it suits him, dark tall and broody, though his smile is even better. “Do you want anything from me or should I back off?”

“Don’t…” I’m not even sure what to say.

That feeling of being overwhelmed is back but he shifts, one of his thighs pressing more firmly between my legs, and my mind blanks out. I don’t think he’s even doing it on purpose. He simply leans lower over me, looking into my eyes as if trying to read my expression—given that I’ve left him without a verbal answer.

Let me do an interpretative dance, then, becauseoh…

“You like this, don’t you?” His eyes are like coffee, black, no sugar—but they seem to darken even more when I squirm, his mouth tipping to one side in a smirk. His thigh presses harder between my legs.

Okay, now he’s doing it on purpose and it feels… amazing and… My head drops back, my hips rock, and I’m not in control. It should worry me, that my body has taken over, bypassing the masterplan, any plan, any discipline, regimen and rule. The need for relief is too strong, a primal urge, I suppose, which makes me a cavewoman.

I don’t care, I just need a bit more pressurerightthere…

A bit more of his cinnamon roll and pine scent…

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