I drop my head and grin. So I guess Ryder does know I’m here.
After the trainer leaves, I approach Ryder, stepping in my bare feet onto the springy square mat. He takes off his gloves, revealing his hands wrapped in white elastic cloth as he looks me over. “Is that my Kings of Leon t-shirt?” he says. Deciding that a party dress might be overdoing it for the gym, I grabbed a t-shirt and pair of running shorts from one of Ryder’s dresser drawers. The shirt is only a large, but still several sizes too big for me, and the shorts are folded over three times and still loose, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
“I’ll take good care of it,” I say.
He puts his arms around my waist, and I inhale the smell of him, salty and woodsy. “Maybe you should just take it off,” he says.
I look toward the door. “Maybe you just like to get caught.”
“That’s possible,” he says. “But we won’t. I’ve got it reserved in here for another hour.”
I put my hands on his naked pecs and look up at him. “I’ll show you mine,” I say, touching my tongue to my top lip, “if you show me yours. One of your fighting moves.”
He grins. “You thinking about getting in the ring?”
“You never know,” I say. “If this whole accounting thing falls apart, I need a backup plan.”
“Okay,” he says. He takes a few steps back. “Try to punch me.”
“Just throw my arm out?”
“Yeah, like this,” he says. He bends his arm in front of his face, making a fist with his right hand, then shooting it forward. I try to imitate it.
He takes my fist, repositions my fingers so my thumb is on the outside. “Wouldn’t want you breaking your thumb, tiger. Now open your legs a little.”
I shake my head and tsk at him. “That’s after you show me a move.”
He shakes his head, “Oh, don’t worry,” he says, kneeling down in front of me. “You’ll do it then, too. But right now, if you’re going to learn to punch, you need a wider stance.” He puts his hands on the inside of my thighs, spreading them and pushing one to the back. “Now, once you have the position, think about the power coming from your legs, not your arms. Twist,” he says, grabbing my hips and turning me. “And swing with your whole upper body as you let your arm go.”
I throw my arm forward. “Think about hitting with your knuckles instead of your fingers,” he says. “You want to break the guy’s nose, not your hand.” I nod, landing my fist on Ryder’s open palm over and over and over. “Not bad,” he says. “Everyone should learn how to punch, even though it won’t help you much if someone does this.” He reaches under my outstretched arm and crosses his arm over my chest, stepping behind my front leg, tripping me. I fall backwards, his hand cradling me as I go down flat. On all fours, he climbs on top of me, pinning my wrists. “I win.”
“So is this how you treat all your guests?” I say, smiling, arching my back so that my pelvis rubs against the stiffness in his thin, black, nylon pants.
“Just the ones I like to see naked,” he says.
“And how many would that be in the last six months to a year?”
He grins. “I quit counting when I ran out of bedpost to notch,” he says.
“Is that so?” I slug him in the arm with my new and improved punching skills, and he has the decency to wince even though I’m sure he barely felt it.
“Okay okay, that might be an exaggeration,” he says. “But don’t worry. I’ve been tested and I’m clean as the books you keep at Altitude.”
“Well, then,” I say. “What are we waiting for?”
His hands slide from my wrists down my arms to my face, and he runs his fingers down my cheekbones as he kisses the hollow of my neck, our pelvises pressed together, his hard cock nudging me through his pants, pleading for my attention.
Which I am more than willing to give.
I kiss his shoulders, his chest, tasting his sweat and skin in every part of my mouth. He slides his hands underneath my shirt, cupping my breasts, his thumb and forefinger pinching my nipples, sending waves of energy directly to my clit.
But I’m done playing now. I push him off me and roll him onto his back, dying to get my mouth on his bare torso. Moving my lips down his sternum and across his flexed abs, I push down his waistband and run my hand up and down his cock, the skin soft and delicate, such a complete contrast to its firm, solid thickness.
“Fuck,” he groans, pulling the shirt over my head, running his hands down my back to my ass, his splayed fingers reaching almost to my opening.