Victoria straight up growls. “I’m not afraid.”
Check. Mate. “Prove it.”
CHAPTER 41
Victoria
It’s a Friday night, and we’re both at the gym. Together. For a pump class.
Lauren and Phil are on the stage, benches, bars, and plates ready. The place is packed, there’s not a spare space on the floor, and Raffi’s bouncing on the balls of his feet. Once pump is over, we’re doing a combat class. Back to back thirty minute classes.
Mom’s staying at her new boyfriend’s house, and I love that for her. Wyatt’s at Raffi’s parents’. And with an empty house we could be doing anything in right now, we’re at the fucking gym.
Who am I?
My PCOS symptoms have gotten better since I started taking Metformin and working out at the gym. And while the scales aren’t showing any movement yet, I’m definitely losing inches and building muscle. I needed to buy new jeans a few days ago because I’ve dropped a size.
I’m not hyper-fixating on calorie counting, or pushing myself to go to the gym every day. I’m eating better, sleepingright, drinking water, and exercising a few times a week. I feel better, but for the first time in as long as I can remember, the numbers don’t matter to me.
Raffi has been cleared to return to exercise. We’re both training with Phil a couple times a week, and attending group classes, sometimes together, sometimes not. Raffi, overachiever that he is, also comes to the free training times to get his sweat on.
My guy’s a beast, whether he’s skating or not.
When the fans switch on, I know it’s going to be a moist one. Music pounding, purple lights bright, and a disco ball hanging in the middle of the gym, we’re ready to lift.
Halfway through the warm-up track, Raffi presses himself against my back. “You’re so hot when you squat, Firecracker.”
A shiver slowly snakes down my spine as I pop my ass back just a little. Yeah. He’s hard.
Trying to stay focused for the rest of the class is almost impossible. Having a loaded metal bar across your shoulders while you’re working out or lifting weights over your head is hard enough when you don’t have coordination. Add in your boyfriend’s raging hard on for you and the dirty, dirty things he wants to do to you, and, well, it’s distracting as fuck.
Just over an hour later, we head to the parking lot.
“I’m going to smother you in your sleep,” I mutter.
He loops his arms around me as I cross the lot to the car. “I love you too, Firecracker.” He kisses the sensitive spot just underneath my ear, and it makes me whimper.
“We’re in public, Raffi. Phil won’t let us come back if we fornicate outside his gym.”
“What Phil doesn’t know, won’t hurt him. Can you say fornicate again?”
I barely make it to the passenger seat unscathed. Raffi is a feral, sweaty mess, and he’s rock hard. After he starts the car and pulls out of the lot, he sticks his hand between my thighs.
“Raffi.” His name falls from my lips as the heat of his hand meets my already hot crotch.
“What’s the matter, Victoria?”
My hips buck against the seatbelt. What is it about exercise that makes you horny?
I should be tired. I’m a sticky hot mess, and there’s nothing about me that currently looks sexy, but I’m ready to strip down and ride my guy like a prized bronco.
Squeezing my nipples through my tank and sports bra as he grinds his heel against my crotch makes me mewl. I can’t take it anymore. Plucking his hand from the inside of my thigh, I toss him a wicked grin before shoving it down the inside of my leggings and panties.
“Hungry, pretty girl?”
“Finger me already, or I’ll do it my goddamn self.”
“Oh, fuck no you won’t. I was on the bench for long enough. You don’t get to take this away from me.” His fingers slide between my lips and find my clit with ease. “Ooooh. So wet, Firecracker. So deliciously wet for me.”
