“I hate slow.”
“I know, but that’s how you build up your stamina.”
He waggles his eyebrows at me. “I have excellent stamina.”
My eyes roll and I begin to turn on my music when Emery stops me. “Hey, what’s your name?”
“Mitch.”
“Mitch, the badass bitch.”
My lips twitch at that and he watches as I stand on the treadmill and start at a slow pace. He copies me, trying his best, but he taps out after a few minutes, lying on the floor and panting loudly.
He doesn’t move until I finally get off twenty minutes later and then scrambles after me.
“What are we doing now, Mitchy?”
I sigh, realizing that I can’t get rid of this guy. I already told him my name. Seems I’m stuck with him.
“Arms.”
I lead him to a machine and show him how to use it. He oohs and aahs over the amount of weight I can press and when it’s his turn, I make sure there are no weights attached to the machine at all.
He scowls at me.
“You couldn’t even lift five pounds the other day.”
His lips turn up in a smile. “I know. I’m just kidding.” And then he starts to move the machine frantically. The metal bangs dramatically as he pumps his arms, and I sigh.
I slow him down and tell him to work at it a little more carefully. He listens and pretty soon, we’re in an odd little routine. He follows me around to different machines, babbling most of the time about random shit while I try to listen. And when it’s time to leave, he holds out his fist for me to bump.
“I’d hug you, but I don’t think you’d like that.”
“You’re right. I wouldn’t,” I say and then knock my knuckles with his.
He grins and then pulls a lollipop from his pocket and pops it into his mouth.
“See you later, Mitch Bitch!”
People turn their heads to stare at me, but I ignore them, disappearing into the locker room to shower. When I head home, I’m thankful I didn’t run into Gideon. Although, why would he be here on a Friday night? He’s on a date with that guy.
I frown the entire way to my house and only let it dissolve when I go through the door and Shitty Pantaloons rubs up against my ankles. I pick it up and let it nuzzle into my neck.
“It doesn’t fucking matter who he’s out with,” I lie to myself and then head into the kitchen to make myself dinner.
That night I have a dream of him, his hands on my neck, his body between my spread legs. His warm breath hits my cheek as he ruts against me.
“More,” I beg, my body arching into his, vibrating with need.
“Say please,” he rasps, and I feel myself melt in that moment.
“Please, please.”
His hands leave my neck and he pushes my knees up to my chest, and then I feel it, the press of his cock at my hole.
And with a cry, a desperate moan, I open up for him…
I suddenly shoot up in bed, my cock hard and aching, my asshole clenching around nothing.
