Perfect Form

"Can you even lift that?"

Chloe paused, mid-sip from her water bottle, and turned. Ethan stood a few feet away, near the leg press machine, wiping down a bench with meticulous, almost annoying precision. His glasses were perched on his nose, reflecting the harsh fluorescent gym lights. He wasn't looking at her, not really. Just… observing. Like she was a specimen in a petri dish.

Asshole.

"Pretty sure I can handle it, brainiac," she shot back, setting her bottle down with a deliberate thud. She made a show of checking her perfectly tied ponytail in the mirrored wall. Everyone else in the mid-morning gym crowd either offered supportive nods or carefully looked away. They knew Chloe. She was a fixture here, friendly, usually smiling, the kind of girl other girls asked for workout tips and guys tripped over themselves to spot. Everyone except him. Ethan, with his perpetually serious expression, worn band t-shirts under thin hoodies, and an air that screamed 'I'm surrounded by idiots'.

He finally looked up, his gaze flat behind his lenses. "Form looked shaky yesterday."

Her cheeks flushed. Shaky? She’d been pushing her limit, yeah, but shaky? "Just challenging myself. You know, progress? Or is that too complex a concept?"

A ghost of something – amusement? Irritation? – flickered across his mouth. "Progress requires correct execution, not just enthusiasm." He went back to wiping the bench, his movements economical, precise.

God, he's infuriating. She hated how he could needle her with just a few, dry words. Hated how he never joined the easy banter, never offered a fake compliment. Hated, most of all, the unsettling way her eyes sometimes snagged on the defined lines of his forearms when he lifted, or the focused intensity in his grey eyes when he was deep in a set. Ugh. Stop it. He was annoying. Full stop.

She stalked over to the squat rack, purposefully adding more weight than she'd originally planned.

Petty? Maybe. Satisfying? Absolutely. She positioned herself under the bar, feet planted wide, taking a deep breath. She could feel his presence behind her, even though he hadn't moved. It was like a low hum in the background, a disturbance in the usual gym energy.

Focus, Chloe.

She executed the first squat. Deep, controlled. See? Not shaky. The second one felt heavier. The third, her legs started to burn. She pushed up, maybe a little too fast. The bar shifted slightly.

"Elbows in more. Keep your core tight." His voice was low, close. Too close.

She stiffened, startled. He was right beside her now, not touching, but near enough that she could feel the faint warmth radiating off him, smell the clean scent of his laundry detergent mixed with faint sweat. "I know what I'm doing."

"Clearly." The sarcasm was dry as dust. He reached out, his fingers unexpectedly strong as they tapped the side of her waist. "Brace here. Like you're about to get punched."

The contact, brief as it was, sent a weird jolt through her. Not unpleasant. Just… startling. His touch wasn't tentative or fumbling like some of the guys who tried to "help." It was confident.

Informative. Annoying. So annoying.

She gritted her teeth, tightened her core as instructed, and went down for the fourth rep. It felt… better. More solid. Damn him. She pushed up, racking the weight with slightly more force than necessary.

"Thanks," she muttered, refusing to look at him. She started unloading the plates, her movements jerky.

"Don't mention it," he said, his tone unreadable. He moved away then, heading towards the cable machines, leaving her feeling oddly flustered and exposed. Her skin still prickled where his fingers had tapped her waist. God, his hands… focused.

Like he knew exactly what pressure to apply. She shook her head, trying to dispel the thought. He was just a nerdy guy who happened to know form.

That’s all.

But later, cooling down on the treadmill, she found her gaze drifting back to him. He was doing pull-ups now, his back muscles rippling under the thin fabric of his t-shirt. Okay, so maybe not strictly nerdy. There was a quiet strength about him, an economy of motion that was strangely captivating.

He didn't showboat. He just… did the work.

Focused. Intense. And completely oblivious – or deliberately ignorant – of the little world of nods and smiles and flirtatious chatter that circulated around the gym floor. Around her.

Why doesn't he like me? The thought popped into her head, unwelcome and irritating. It wasn’t that she needed him to like her. But his indifference, bordering on disdain, was like a burr under her skin. Everyone else found her easy to talk to, easy to like. Why was he immune? Or worse, actively resistant?

She caught his eye in the mirror then. He wasn't looking at her body, not in the way other guys did.

His gaze was fixed on her face, analytical, almost critical. Then, it dropped, just for a second, to her mouth, before flicking away as if he’d caught himself doing something illicit.

Her breath hitched.

Wait. Did he just…?

No. Probably just checking if she was going to pass out from exertion. Or judging her treadmill speed. That was far more likely. Still. The air felt thick for a moment, charged with something unfamiliar. She quickly looked away, fiddling with the controls, her face suddenly hot.

Get a grip, Chloe. He’s just the weird, quiet guy.

The smart-ass. The one who makes you feel vaguely stupid and strangely… seen.

Days melted into a week, marked by the rhythmic clang of weights and the low thrum of treadmills.

The dynamic between Chloe and Ethan settled into a strange, prickly rhythm. He’d still make dry comments about her form, she’d snap back with sarcasm. He’d pointedly ignore her attempts at casual gym chat, she’d make exaggeratedly friendly conversation with someone else right beside him.

But something had shifted after the squat rack incident. The air between them crackled with an unspoken tension. Glances lingered a fraction too long. They seemed to gravitate towards the same equipment, bumping elbows near the weight stacks, reaching for the same disinfectant spray bottle. Each near-touch sent a jolt through her, a low buzz under her skin that was equal parts irritation and something else. Something she didn't want to name.

She started noticing things. The way his dark hair curled slightly at his nape when it got damp with sweat. The surprisingly broad slope of his shoulders under those unassuming hoodies. The focused intensity in his eyes when he read on his phone between sets, his brow furrowed. He probably reads astrophysics textbooks for fun.

And then, inevitably, her mind would drift… What would those focused eyes look like darkened with… something else? What would those quiet hands feel like if they weren't just pointing out flawed form?

God, I need to get laid, she thought fiercely one afternoon, catching herself practically staring as he executed a set of perfect dumbbell rows, his biceps straining against his sleeve. This is ridiculous. He’s rude. And wears glasses. And probably alphabetizes his sock drawer.

That evening, the gym was quieter. Rain lashed against the large windows, blurring the streetlights outside. Chloe was working on the rowing machine, trying to sweat out her frustration. Only a few dedicated regulars remained, scattered among the equipment. Ethan was over by the free weights, meticulously setting up for deadlifts.

She finished her interval, breathing hard, and reached for her water. As she stood up, stretching her tight hamstrings, she saw him watching her.

Not analytically this time. There was a heat in his gaze, a directness that made her stomach swoop.

He held her eye for a long moment, the usual barrier of detached observation seemingly gone. T

Then, deliberately, slowly, his gaze drifted down her body – over her sports bra, her leggings, lingering for a heartbeat on her hips before snapping back to her face.

Her breath caught in her throat. The air crackled. He hadn’t moved, was still standing by the barbell, but it felt like he’d crossed the room and pinned her against the wall.

Okay. That was… not indifference.

Someone dropped a heavy weight across the gym, the loud clang shattering the spell. Ethan blinked, looking momentarily disoriented, before turning back to his barbell, his movements slightly less precise than usual.

Chloe practically fled to the changing room, her heart pounding an erratic rhythm against her ribs. What the hell was that? One look. That’s all it took, and she felt stripped bare, hot and bothered and utterly confused.

She changed quickly, wanting to get out, away from the charged atmosphere, away from him. As she pushed open the changing room door, smoothing down her jacket, he was there. Leaning against the wall opposite, scrolling through his phone, looking casual. Too casual.

"Leaving?" he asked, not looking up immediately.

"Yeah. It's late." Her voice sounded unnaturally high.

He pocketed his phone, finally meeting her eyes. The intensity was back, banked but still there.

"Walk you out?"

Chloe blinked. "What?"

"It's raining hard," he said, gesturing vaguely towards the windows with his chin. "Streets are dark."

This was… unexpected. Ethan, offering chivalry? The guy who usually acted like she was an annoying gnat? "I'll be fine."

"Probably." He pushed off the wall, falling into step beside her as she headed for the exit. He didn't argue, just walked. The silence stretched, filled only by the squeak of their trainers on the rubber flooring and the distant drumming of rain.

Outside, under the small awning, the rain was coming down in sheets. The parking lot glistened wetly under the orange glow of the security lights.

"Well," Chloe said awkwardly, pulling up her hood. "Thanks, I guess."

He just nodded, looking out at the deluge. Then he turned back to her. They were close. Too close again. Close enough to see the flecks of grey in his irises, the slight dampness clinging to his eyelashes. Close enough to feel the pull, the undeniable magnetic force that hummed between them.

His gaze dropped to her mouth. Her own eyes flickered to his lips, slightly parted. Oh god. This was it. The moment she’d been strangely, stupidly, anticipating. The moment she should absolutely step away from.

He leaned in, slowly, his eyes holding hers. She could feel his breath, warm against her skin. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the rhythm of the rain. Don't do this, Chloe. He’s annoying. He’s…

His lips brushed hers. Soft. Tentative at first.

Then his hand came up, fingers tangling in the hair at her nape, tilting her head back slightly. And the kiss changed.

It wasn't soft anymore. It was demanding. Hungry.

His mouth slanted over hers, possessive, exploring. His tongue swept inside, tasting, claiming. It was the complete opposite of his usual careful reserve. This was raw, unleashed. There was an edge to it, a hint of the friction that always simmered between them, now channelled into something overwhelmingly physical. A low groan rumbled in his chest, vibrating against her lips.

Her brain short-circuited. All the witty comebacks, the ingrained annoyance, evaporated. All that was left was the shock, the heat, the undeniable fact that this felt… electric. She kissed him back, her hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath his hoodie. She could feel the tension thrumming through him, a mirror of her own sudden, desperate need. Fuck. His mouth… It wasn't tentative exploration; it was a claiming. He tasted like rain and mint and something uniquely, intensely Ethan.

His other hand slid around her waist, pulling her flush against him. She could feel the hard lines of his body, the solid strength she’d only observed from afar. Her fingers clenched in his hoodie. This is insane. He deepened the kiss, his tongue duelling with hers, a possessive dance that sent shivers down her spine.

A car’s headlights swept across the parking lot, illuminating them briefly in the downpour. They broke apart, breathless, staring at each other. Rain plastered his hair to his forehead, water trickling down his temples. His glasses were spotted with raindrops, but his eyes behind them were dark, burning.

"I…" Chloe started, but her voice failed. What could she even say?

"Get home safe," he said, his voice rough, deeper than usual. He didn’t step back immediately, his hand still tangled loosely in her hair, his thumb brushing almost absently against her cheekbone.

The gesture was surprisingly gentle after the intensity of the kiss.

Then, as if remembering himself, he dropped his hand and took a step back, creating a chasm of space between them that felt both too large and utterly necessary. He gave her one last, unreadable look before turning and jogging towards his own car, disappearing into the rainy darkness.

Chloe stood there for a long moment, rain soaking through her hood, the phantom pressure of his lips still tingling on hers. Her body felt like a live wire.

What the actual fuck just happened? The nerdy, judgmental guy kissed like… like that. Like he wanted to devour her. And the worst part? The most terrifying, exhilarating part?

She’d wanted him to.

The next day at the gym was excruciatingly awkward. Chloe avoided Ethan’s section like it was radioactive. Every time she caught a glimpse of him across the floor – adjusting his glasses, wiping down a machine, lifting with that same quiet focus – her stomach twisted, and the memory of his mouth on hers flooded back, hot and insistent. Did that really happen? Was I just overtired and hopped up on endorphins?

He, infuriatingly, seemed completely unaffected.

He nodded a curt acknowledgment when she walked in, then went back to his workout, his expression as unreadable as ever. No lingering looks, no awkward hovering. It was almost worse than if he’d leered or tried to talk about it. It made her question her own sanity.

But she knew. She felt the subtle shift in the atmosphere whenever they were near each other.

It was like the air itself was holding its breath. And she saw the way his gaze sometimes snapped to her when he thought she wasn’t looking, a flicker of that same intensity she’d seen in the rain before he masked it again.

A few days later, she was struggling with the lat pulldown machine. Not the weight, but the angle. She just couldn’t seem to get the full range of motion, couldn’t feel it working the right muscles.

Frustrated, she was about to give up when his voice came from behind her, low and even.

"You're pulling too much with your arms. Lean back slightly. Arch your lower back just a little.

Yes, like that. Now, think about pulling your elbows down towards your hips, not just pulling the bar down."

She stiffened but followed his instructions. She leaned back, adjusted her posture. He stepped closer, placing one hand lightly on her upper back, between her shoulder blades. His touch was electric, instantly raising goosebumps despite the thin layer of her workout top.

"Engage here," he murmured, his fingers pressing gently. "Feel those muscles contract?"

Oh, I feel something contracting, she thought wildly, heat pooling low in her belly. His proximity was overwhelming. She could smell that clean laundry scent again, mixed with the faint, musky scent of his skin. His breath feathered the top of her head. Just focus on the exercise, Chloe. Not on the fact that his hand feels incredibly good on your back. Not on the way his thumb is brushing against your spine.

She pulled the bar down slowly, focusing on his instruction, on the muscles he indicated. It felt… right. Smooth. Powerful.

"Better," he said, his voice still close. His hand lingered for a second longer than strictly necessary before he withdrew it.

She let the bar rise slowly, her breath catching. She turned on the seat to face him. "Thanks." It came out softer than she intended.

He was looking at her, his expression serious. "You have good instincts," he said. "Just need to refine the connection between mind and muscle."

Is that what we're calling it? she thought, slightly dazed.

"I…" He hesitated, a rare sight. He pushed his glasses up his nose. "I find… I like helping you."

Chloe's eyebrows rose. "You do?"

"Yeah." He met her gaze directly. The intensity was there, unwavering. "I like seeing you… succeed. Push yourself." His eyes dropped to her mouth again, briefly, before returning to hers. "And that kiss… the other night."

Her heart leaped into her throat. Okay, here we go.

"It wasn't… unpleasant," he continued, a masterpiece of understatement. "In fact, it's been rather distracting."

Distracting? Chloe almost laughed. It had hijacked her entire brain for three days. "Distracting how?" she asked, unable to help herself.

He took a step closer. The space between them shrank, buzzing with renewed energy. "Thinking about how your mouth felt," he said, his voice dropping lower, becoming rougher. "Thinking about how you tasted. Thinking about doing it again. Thinking about…" He paused, his gaze searching her face. "More."

More? The word hung in the air, heavy with implication. Her breath hitched. This quiet, controlled man was talking about… more? With her? A thrill, sharp and unexpected, shot through her.

"What kind of 'more'?" she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.

A muscle jumped in his jaw. "The kind where I find out exactly how you react when you're not just surprised by a kiss in the rain." His eyes darkened. "The kind where I take control."

Oh. Oh fuck. That wasn't the nerdy awkwardness she'd half-expected. That was… direct. Dominant.

It sent a shiver down her spine that had nothing to do with the gym's air conditioning. Her previous misconceptions about him being merely bookish and detached shattered completely. This was something else entirely. Something focused, intense, and maybe a little bit dangerous.

She should have been scared. Or offended. Or at least wary. Instead, a hot, wet knot tightened low in her belly. Take control? The thought sent a forbidden thrill coursing through her veins.

"And what makes you think I'd let you?" she challenged, lifting her chin, even as her pulse hammered against her skin. The old friction, the need to push back against him, flared up, mingling now with this new, dizzying current of attraction.

A slow, knowing smile touched his lips. It transformed his face, making him look predatory.

"Because," he murmured, leaning in until his lips were almost brushing her ear, "you kissed me back. And because, right now, even though you're trying to look annoyed, your pupils are blown wide, and your breath is catching in your throat." His voice dropped to a gravelly whisper. "And because, despite everything, you want to know what 'more' feels like just as much as I do."

He pulled back slightly, his eyes locking with hers. He was right. Damn him, he was absolutely right.

She did want to know. Desperately. The realization hit her with the force of a dropped weight.

She didn't answer. She couldn't. She just stared at him, trapped in the intensity of his gaze, her body humming with a mixture of fear and burgeoning excitement.

He held her gaze for another long moment, then nodded slightly, as if confirming something to himself. "Think about it," he said softly, before turning and walking away, leaving her sitting on the machine, trembling slightly, her mind reeling, her body aching with a sudden, undeniable need.

Think about it? It was already consuming her.

The gym closing announcement crackled over the speakers an hour later, but Chloe barely registered it. She’d gone through the motions of the rest of her workout in a daze, hyper-aware of Ethan's presence, even when he was across the room. The air between them felt thick, charged, like the moments before a lightning strike. Take control.

The words echoed in her head, igniting tiny fires low in her gut.

She saw him packing his bag near the entrance, seemingly waiting. Not looking at her, but waiting. Her heart did a frantic little flip. Is this happening?

Now?

She gathered her things, her hands slightly unsteady. Most people had already left. The only remaining sounds were the low hum of the ventilation system and the rhythmic squeak of her own trainers as she walked towards the exit.

Towards him.

He looked up as she approached. "Ready?" His voice was calm, but his eyes burned.

She just nodded, unable to speak.

He pushed the door open, holding it for her. They stepped out into the cool night air. The rain had stopped, leaving the pavement damp and gleaming under the streetlights. Instead of heading towards her car, he angled towards the side entrance, the one leading to the locker rooms.

Her breath caught. "Where are we going?"

"Locker room's empty now," he said simply, his hand settling lightly on the small of her back, guiding her. His touch was possessive, proprietary.

It sent a fresh wave of heat through her. This wasn't a suggestion; it was a statement of intent.

The corridor was dimly lit, echoing slightly with their footsteps. He stopped outside the women's locker room door, turning her to face him. He braced one hand against the wall beside her head, caging her in.

"Last chance to say no, Chloe," he murmured, his face close, his eyes searching hers.

She looked up at him, at the focused intensity in his gaze, the hard line of his jaw. The memory of his kiss, the promise of 'more' – it overwhelmed any lingering hesitation. Her mind was a battlefield of conflicting thoughts – this is crazy, he was an asshole just last week, what am I doing? – but her body hummed with a single, undeniable answer.

"I don't want to say no," she whispered, the admission feeling both reckless and inevitable.

A slow, satisfied smile spread across his lips.

"Good." He pushed the door open and nudged her inside, following close behind, letting the door click shut, sealing them in the echoing, tiled space.

The locker room smelled faintly of chlorine and old sweat, the air cool against her flushed skin. Rows of metal lockers lined the walls, reflecting the dim emergency lighting. He pressed her back against the cool metal, his body pinning hers.

"Fuck, I've been wanting to do this since that first day I saw you stumble on the treadmill," he growled, his mouth crashing down on hers.

This kiss wasn't like the one in the rain. There was no tentative start. It was pure possession, hungry and demanding. His hands slid under her workout top, fingers splayed across the bare skin of her back, pulling her tighter against him. She gasped into his mouth, her hands flying up to grip his shoulders. The cool metal of the lockers contrasted sharply with the heat radiating from his body, from his mouth.

Oh god… his hands… They weren't gentle now. They were exploring, learning the shape of her, claiming territory. His thumbs brushed the sides of her breasts through the fabric of her sports bra, sending shockwaves through her system.

He broke the kiss, breathing hard, resting his forehead against hers. His eyes were dark, dilated. "Take this off," he rasped, tugging at the hem of her top.

Her fingers fumbled slightly as she pulled the damp fabric over her head, leaving her in just her sports bra. The cool air hit her skin, making her nipples instantly pebble against the tight fabric. His gaze devoured her, hot and appreciative.

"Better," he murmured, leaning down to press a searing open-mouthed kiss to the side of her neck, sucking gently on the sensitive skin there. Chloe arched back against the lockers, a strangled moan escaping her lips. Ah... fuck… right there…

His hand slid down her stomach, fingers dancing over the waistband of her leggings. "These too." His voice was a low command.

Her breath hitched. This was moving fast. Faster than anything she'd ever experienced. But the look in his eyes, the sheer force of his focused desire, left no room for argument, no room for anything but compliance. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband and pushed the leggings down, stepping out of them clumsily. She stood before him in just her sports bra and panties, feeling incredibly vulnerable and shockingly aroused.

He looked her up and down, a possessive heat in his eyes. "Fuck, you're perfect," he breathed. He reached out, his thumb tracing the line of her hipbone, his touch sending sparks across her skin.

"Turn around."

She hesitated for a split second, then obeyed, turning to face the lockers, her hands resting flat against the cool metal. She felt exposed, anticipating his next move.

He stepped up close behind her, pressing his hardening erection against the curve of her ass through his pants. A low groan escaped him. "Hold still," he whispered, his breath hot against her ear.

His hands slid around her waist, thumbs dipping under the edge of her panties. He didn't pull them down. Not yet. Instead, his fingers began to trace patterns on the sliver of exposed skin above the lace, sending shivers down her spine. One hand moved upwards, cupping her breast through the sports bra, his thumb finding her nipple, rubbing it firmly. Mmm... yes...

"You like that?" he murmured, his lips brushing her earlobe.

"Yes," she gasped, leaning her head back against his shoulder.

His other hand slid lower, pressing flat against her stomach, then lower still, his knuckles brushing against the dampening fabric of her panties, right over her clit. She whimpered, instinctively pushing back against his touch.

"Eager?" he chuckled softly, a dark, low sound. His fingers pressed harder, rubbing small circles against her already throbbing centre. Oh fuck... he knows...

He moved his mouth to her neck again, biting down gently on the junction where it met her shoulder. Not hard enough to break the skin, but enough to make her gasp, her hips bucking against his hand. Ah! The combination of the pressure on her clit and the bite on her neck was overwhelming.

"Tell me what you want, Chloe," he demanded, his voice rough against her skin. His fingers kept up their relentless rhythm.

"I... I want..." she stammered, her mind clouded with sensation. What did she want? Him. All of him. Inside her. Now. "...you. Fuck... Ethan..."

"Want me to touch you?" His fingers slipped under the elastic band of her panties, finding her slick heat immediately. Two fingers pressed against her entrance. "Here?"

"Yes! Please..." she begged, pressing back against his hand desperately.

He chuckled again, a low, pleased sound. "Impatient." He slowly, deliberately, slipped one finger inside her.

Chloe cried out, her knees nearly buckling. Oh god… so wet… He was thick, filling her partially, stretching her. He didn't move it, just held it there, letting her feel the invasion, the possession. His thumb found her clit through the thin fabric, pressing down hard.

"Just one," he murmured. "Is that enough?"

"No," she choked out, hating the pleading tone in her voice, but unable to help it.

He pushed a second finger in, stretching her further. Mmm... fuck... He began to move them then, slowly at first, in and out, curling them slightly, hitting a spot deep inside that made her gasp again, her whole body clenching. His thumb never stopped its merciless assault on her clit.

"Ah... Ethan... fuck... faster..."

"Tell me how wet you are for me," he growled in her ear, his hips grinding subtly against her backside. "Tell me how much you need this."

"So wet... fuck... I need it... please..." Tears pricked her eyes, blurring the metal pattern of the lockers in front of her. It was too much. The pressure, the stretching, the relentless stimulation. He's so fucking good. Oh god. His fingers... mmmm...

He sped up the rhythm of his fingers, fucking her deeply, ruthlessly, while his thumb continued its magic. Her moans grew louder, echoing slightly in the tiled space. She was close, so close. Her thighs trembled.

"Look at me," he commanded. He used his free hand to grip her chin, turning her head just enough so she could see his reflection, and hers, in the polished surface of a nearby locker. His eyes were dark, almost black with intensity, watching her unravel.

Seeing herself like that – flushed, panting, eyes glazed, completely undone by him – sent her spiraling. He likes watching me. He likes seeing what he does to me. The thought was unbelievably hot.

"Come for me, Chloe," he rasped, his fingers moving faster, deeper, his thumb rubbing relentlessly. "Let me feel you break."

Her hips jerked uncontrollably. "Ah... ah... Ethan! Fuck!" Her orgasm ripped through her, sharp and violent. She cried out his name, her body convulsing around his fingers, pressing blindly back against his solid frame. He held her tight, murmuring dark praise into her ear, feeling every tremor, every clench, until the last waves subsided, leaving her boneless and trembling against the lockers.

He slowly withdrew his fingers, the slick sound loud in the sudden quiet. He kept her pinned there for a moment, his body pressed against hers, letting her catch her breath. His own breathing was harsh.

"Good girl," he murmured, pressing a final, hard kiss to her shoulder.

She sagged against the metal, utterly spent, her mind reeling. He just… wrecked me. Standing against the lockers.

He stepped back then, giving her space. She slowly turned around, pulling her sports bra down slightly, feeling exposed and shaky, her legs weak. He was watching her, his expression intense, possessive. His own erection strained visibly against the front of his pants.

He reached out, gently brushing a stray strand of hair from her flushed cheek. His touch was surprisingly tender now. "That," he said, his voice still rough, "was just the start." He leaned in, his lips close to hers again. "Now lie down. Let me taste you properly."

Her knees almost gave way again. Taste me? After that? But the thought, the raw demand in his voice, reignited a spark deep within her. She nodded mutely, letting him guide her towards the long bench in the centre of the room. This was far from over. And God help her, she didn't want it to be.