“This honest, messy thing,” I say softly, fighting the urge to bend her over right here, “is my favorite.”
She places her hand on my uniform, and my cock jumps at her touch.
“And the more of you I learn…” I unbutton her jeans, and she nods frantically. “The more I want to catalog every part of you. Dig deeper.” We’re both pretending this moment can last forever, that the outside world won’t eventually intrude. But in this quiet gym, where it’s just us, maybe it can.
“Come here,” she whispers. Her hands are on me, and coherent thought becomes impossible. “What would you do if you wanted some control? How would you take it?”
I want to give her everything.
“I’d find someone willing to show me how to tune into it. Control isn’t about force, it’s about trust,” I say softly, watching the conflict play across her features.
“And do you trust me?” Her expression turns ravenous.
“I do.”
“I trust you too, Dante.” And it feels like she’s saying something bigger, and maybe so am I. But right now, our bodies can speak for us.
I lift up her hand, bringing it to my throat. “How does that feel?”
“I can feel your heartbeat.” She shivers, her hand sliding tentatively down my neck.
“Perfect,” I breathe. “What do you want to do next?”
Her eyes are dark as she thinks, skimming my face as she pulls back the Velcro at my throat. “This uniform. What’s underneath?”
“Find out.”
She obliges, peeling back my white fencing jacket. The protective gear falls away piece by piece. First the plastron, then the chest protector.
“If denim is your kryptonite, these compression shirts are mine.” The grin on her face has turned wicked. God, this isn’t just physical anymore. It hasn’t been for a while. “So many layers, like a present.” She pushes my shirt up slowly. I lift my hands, bending so she can take it off of me.
She traces old scars and fresh bruises from training. “Beautiful,” she whispers, pressing her lips to a particularly dark mark near my collarbone. I shiver as she works her way down, mapping my skin with her mouth.“Mine.”
Fuck. I am. I want to be.
She strips off my fencing knickers and kisses down my leg muscles, built and defined from years of lunges and footwork. My compression shorts do nothing to hide how hard I am.
“Last layer,” she says, dragging them down until my cock springs free, precum waiting for her. It would be so easy to tell her how I feel, but maybe letting our bodies talk is safer. Maybe this is all she’s ready for.
She sits back on her heels, drinking in the sight of me fully naked. Her pupils are blown wide with desire, her chest heaving beneath her open blouse. Whatever conversation we need to have can wait.
“I want…” Reese’s eyes lock with mine as she picks up my fencing mask from the floor. With careful precision, she slides the mask over my face. “You to keep this on and show me how you…” She swallows. “Touch yourself.”
“When I’m thinking about you?”
“Yes.”
Easy.
Reese struts away from me, and I fist my cock. She bends down to slip her heels off and twists, turning away from me with a sultry smile as she slowly slides her jeans off.
She’s stripping for me, my perfect Reese. The mesh of my mask distorts my view. I fucking want to tear it off and go rip theblouse she’s slowly tossing to the floor. She puts her heels back on and stands before me, a fucking warrior in stilettos and lace.
“Get on the floor, please,” she says with a shy smile.
I drop to my knees, feeling the cold against my skin. The piste is hard and unforgiving, but I find I don’t mind.
“Now what, baby?” I beg.
