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“Fucking hell, Carly,” he says on a half groan, half chuckle.
Two strides later, he’s wrapping me up in his arms and kissing the daylights out of me.
“Behave,” he whispers against my mouth.
“Or what?”
“Or else I’ll have to punish you with tongue-lashings.”
A few seconds later, he’s walking out of the bathroom, and I’m left to muse, If Ryan’s punishment involves the kind of tongue-lashings he gave me last night, then I’m about to be the baddest girl in town…
September 21st, Monday
Ryan
“The time is now five thirty, and we’re going to switch gears and see what Orlando has to say about the weather,” the female newscaster announces on the television, and I glance down to up the speed on the treadmill. My Nike sneakers pound gently against the quickly turning black track as I lengthen my stride and adjust to the increased pace.
“Thanks, Julie,” the meteorologist says, briefly pulling my attention back to the television hanging to the right of a wall of mirrors I’ve been using to watch my form while lifting weights—which just so happens to be my next agenda item of the morning.
First, quick and efficient cardio to get my body moving, my muscles warm, and my heart rate up. Then, a forty-minute weight workout focusing on all of the key areas.
For the past two weeks, this has become my near-daily routine while I’ve been staying with my dad in Sunny Creek. And for the first week and a half, it was my saving grace. The one time each day when I could relieve stress and frustration and come back to my dad’s place with a clear head. But now that a certain woman with gorgeous blue eyes and a sexy little body has grown to be a constant thought inside my mind, I can’t deny these workouts have lost most of their luster.
Now I’m just putting in the time to keep my mind and body in shape.
Otherwise, I’d much rather be sneaking into Carly’s bedroom and having my wicked way with her.
Hell, I’m tempted to text her that very thought, but when I realize it’s not even six in the morning, I choose not to risk waking her via the chime of a message.
Eventually, the pre-set timer on my treadmill beeps, and I hop off, take a quick swig of water, and move over to the weights.
First order of business is bench press.
Once I finish getting my weights evenly distributed on the bar, I lie back on the padded cushion. Arms raised above my head, I grip the bar and inhale and exhale a deep breath.
But before I can actually start my set, an all-too-familiar and extremely unexpected voice fills my ears.
“Fancy seeing you here.”
I lift my head just enough to catch sight of a smirking Carly striding through the gym, past the treadmills and the free weights, and she doesn’t come to a stop until she stands right beside my supine form.
“What are you doing here?”
“Couldn’t sleep.” She shrugs, and I can’t stop myself from noticing her current attire—tight-as-fuck neon-green leggings and a white sports bra that pushes her breasts up in the most glorious way. “Figured I’d try to fit in a workout before my day gets filled with keeping our parents out of trouble.”
Lately, on weekdays, while I’m busy with work, Carly has been the one keeping Sal and Stella occupied. Truthfully speaking, it’s been a godsend for me.
Although, what I’ve gained in free time hasn’t exactly equated to more productivity. Frankly, it’s mostly just revolved around texting, and thinking about and finding whatever secret, stolen moments I can with Carly.
Talk about one sexy-as-fuck game of cat and mouse.
“Trying to get back in the habit of your off-season runs?”
“Something like that.” Without preamble, she uses my chest to steady herself as she lifts one leg over my body and straddles my hips. “Need a little help?” she asks, grinning down at me.
Need a little help? I don’t even remember what I was fucking doing…
Too fixated on the fact that I can feel the heat of her pussy through the thin material of her leggings or the fact that she’s literally sitting right on my now-hardening cock, I drop my hands from the bar and reach out to grip her little hips. “What kind of help are you offering?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” She shrugs. Grins. Wiggles her fucking hips. “I’m game for pretty much anything.”
My cock is also one-hundred-percent game.
With my hands keeping her firmly pressed against me, I carefully avoid the bar as I sit up, and I don’t stop until we’re nose-to-nose.
“That outfit you’re wearing should be illegal,” I say, my voice quiet but firm. “Your tits look too good. Your ass too fucking perfect.”
“Too good?” She raises one challenging brow, and to my utter enjoyment, she reaches up and yanks her sports bra down so the top rests just below her now gloriously bare tits. “These look too good in the bra? What about out of it?”
