“I said nothing of the sort.”
“You implied it.”
“No,” I say. “You implied it.”
She smirks. “And then you told me to wear something comfortable.”
“This—” I gesture helplessly at her entire body “—is not comfortable.”
“It’s very comfortable,” she says innocently. “Feel.”
I choke on air. “Absolutely not.”
She laughs, low and wicked.
I clear my throat and force myself to focus.
“Alright,” I say, stepping closer, my voice going rough. “Lift.”
She lifts.
And she’s strong.
Strong in a way that’s unfairly attractive. Something about watching her focused, controlled and fluid does something to me.
Her hamstrings tighten, her shoulders engage, and she brings the bar up with perfect form.
I swallow hard. “Again.”
She does it again.
“Again.”
Her breath starts to deepen. Sweat forms at the base of her throat, glistening faintly under the overhead lights.
Damien doesn’t stop staring.
He isabsolutelywatching us, and the thing is, I don’t care at this point.
“Good,” I murmur. “Let’s add weight.”
“More?” she asks, wide-eyed, breathless.
“Yeah,” I say. “You can handle more.”
She holds my gaze too long.
“You really think so?”
My voice drops. “I know so.”
Her lips part just slightly and she looks away fast, as if the intensity startled her too.
I add plates to the bar.
“Hip thrusts next,” I say.
She blinks. “Oh.”
