Her hands around me.
So close.
The overstepping.
The way she moved my body over her thigh.
The way she provoked me.
The looks.
The breathing.
I roll my hips from thinking about it.
I can’t lose control like this again. Stop it!I tell myself in my head, but it doesn’t stop. Even worse, I get turned on more and more with every minute passing.
“Urgh,” I curse and get up and dress in my fitness clothes at two in the morning.
I leave Doug a note, telling him I’m in the hotel gym. We’re out of routine, no one will be there at that time of night, so I feel safe going there alone, and he needs some rest. He’s been working more hours than I have in the past weeks, and I need him to be at his best.
I take the elevator to the level with the gym and wellness area. As expected, no one is there. As a precaution, I don’t put my headphones on and start warming up. I walk for a couple of minutes before I switch to running. Faster. And faster. All the energy needs to get out.
Sweat runs down my temples and between my breasts, but my mind still won’t be quiet.
I stop the treadmill and stretch. There’s a punching bag in a freestyle area of the gym—exactly what I need right now.
I strike it. Again. And again. Harder. More power. I picture the punching bag to be her.
How dare she?
Dare to overstep the boundaries.
Dare to ignore my rules.
Dare to challenge me.
Every punch gets more valiant.
And instead of releasing energy, I feel even angrier.
“That bad, hm?” asks Doug's voice suddenly behind me.
“You were supposed to sleep,” I tell him off between my heavy breaths.
He walks up to me and grasps the punching bag, holding it in front of him.
“Try to think differently,” he says. “You’re bracing for impact. What you need to do is to prepare to move. Boxing is an interaction, not blind hitting at a wall.”
“I’m in no mood for a lesson right now,” I say under my breath to signal my dislike.
“Focus your mind on the movement, on your technique, your breathing, and you won’t have the time to think about anything else,” he says, and I’d really like to murder him.
I lock my knees and hit even harder.
“Soft,” he says and steps around the bag to tap the back of my knee. “Back and forth, with the movement. Flow with it.”
I hit again, full force.
