Page 10 of Desired By you (Always & Forever #3)

Chapter Eight

Brad

When I walked into the gym after my early morning run, I did not expect to stumble upon Gabriella, bent over, panting, sweating, and stretching her insane body.

The woman is fire. Every inch of her toned and defined, and it’s doing things to me and evidentially my dick, if the tent forming in my running shorts is anything to go by.

Stand down, soldier, your services are not required at this time.

But, fuck, I wish they were. This little soft spot, crush, whatever the hell you wanna call it, that I have for her, is becoming increasingly difficult to manage.

I have control of every aspect of my life, but I worry this may be something I can’t.

Blurred Lines by Robin Thicke blasts through the gym speakers, and I step a little closer to where she stands, unmoving and silent.

“You okay?” I ask, concern in my voice that I’ve startled her.

I watch her throat bob as she swallows, and suddenly an image of Gabriella on her knees in front of me, opening up her pouty lips, flits through my mind, and I have to clear my own throat to stop a groan escaping.

She’s your friend, she’s your friend.

I couldn’t tell you when this shift happened.

When I suddenly started looking at her differently.

I think it’s always been there, but the feelings are intensifying, and add in that there is something about her that reminds me of the girl in the red mask at the club.

Maybe it’s the curves of her body, the way she moves, the thought of bending her over, claiming her, making her mine.

It has been my every thought, and I think it’s the reason I can’t seem to look at Gabriella as just my friend anymore.

“Gabriella,” I say slowly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you jump.”

Her wide eyes look at me, and it’s as if she fixes a mask back in place, and the sweet smile that always graces her face appears as she says, “No, I’m fine.

Sorry, I had my headphones on. I didn’t hear you come in.

Did… did you go for a run?” she asks, her words hurried as she bends down to pick up a white t-shirt and fumbles to place it over her head.

The fabric falls over her body, drowning her, hiding her.

I furrow my brows. “What the hell are you wearing?”

“I, erm, didn’t have anything appropriate to wear in the gym, so I had to go to the hotel gift shop. This was all they had. I heart Vegas, yay.” Her voice has a nervous edge to it.

“What’s wrong with what you were just wearing?” I question. She was wearing a matching yoga set that clung to her in all the right places. She looked incredible in an outfit most women wear in the gym.

“It, erm… was a little too erm… revealing. I needed something to cover up here,” she says quietly, gesturing to her stomach and chest. Sympathy, anger, I don’t know what simmers in my body. Who’s made her feel this way?

I close the space between us. “Hey,” I say, lifting her chin with forefinger and thumb. “You don’t need to hide or cover up. Do you hear me? You’re beautiful and don’t need to hide.” Her eyes widen at my words, and I worry I’ve overstepped.

I’ve noticed how she always hides in the background, how she never wears or says or acts in a way that would draw attention to herself.

The only time she does is when she lets her hair down and has a few drinks, but again, she only does that when she’s around her friends, around people she feels safe with.

It’s with that thought that I realize that maybe I make her feel safe, and that thought has my body tingling in an unfamiliar way.

I’ve done a lot of wrong in my life, let people down, made mistakes, and hurt people.

I didn’t think I was capable of making anyone feel safe, but I want to. I want to make her feel safe.

She reaches for the hand that still grips her chin and gives it a little squeeze. “Thank you,” she says softly.

“So lose the shirt, quit hiding, and anyway, I can’t be seen with you wearing a I heart Vegas t-shirt.”

She lets out a small laugh; it’s light and airy and makes me smile. “Yeah, it’s giving Joey in London vibes, right? Could I be any more of a tourist?”

The look of confusion on my face must show because she clamps a hand over her mouth and sighs. “Friends, you’ve seen the show Friends, right?” she asks.

I shake my head. I’ve never had the time to watch TV. I’ve seen the odd movie, but that’s it .

“No, not really my thing,” I say.

“I’ll make a deal. You promise to watch one season of Friends with me, and I’ll take off the shirt. No deal and the shirt stays on,” she challenges as she folds her arms across her body.

I mull over her words and smile. We’ve hung out together, but it’s usually as a group with the others. I like the idea of hanging out with her, so before I talk myself out of it, I say. “Deal. Lose the shirt.”

She grips the hem, and I think she will whip it off quickly, but to my surprise, she peels it off slowly, teasing me, revealing an inch at a time of her golden skin.

Her toned stomach muscles flex with the movement.

She pulls it a little further, revealing her perked breasts, pushed together by the black sports bra she’s wearing, creating a killer cleavage.

One I’d very much like to swipe my tongue through.

The last of the shirt goes over her head, and she tosses it to the side.

“Is that better?” she asks, giving me a challenging stare, hands on her hips.

I don’t know if she’s meaning to, but it’s as if she’s flirting with me and I grin, giving her body a once over with my heated stare, and say, “Good girl. Much better.”

An obvious tremor pulses through her body, and her cheeks pinken at my words. It brings me more joy than it should, knowing I may be affecting her in the same way she’s affecting me.

“I’m, erm, going to finish my stretches,” she stammers, before turning and walking back to the spot she was working out in.

‘I’ll be over here,” I say, pointing to the pull up bar.

I need to get my head together. Distract my wandering mind, I reach up to hold on to the bar above me.

I count to ten in my head, enjoying the burn in my arms and upper back as I pull my body up until the pull I’m holding reaches my chest. I fall into a steady rhythm, and new beads of sweat roll down my chest and back as my breathing grows heavier.

I make the mistake of glancing in the mirror where the reflection of Gabriella, twisting and bending like an elegant goddess, takes over my brain, and my movements falter.

My arms give out and my feet hit the mat below as I let out a frustrated growl.

“Are you okay?” Her sweet voice filled with concern rings from behind me. I turn to face her, my breathing ragged.

“Yeah,” I huff.

She walks toward me, sipping on her water, and my eyes focus on the way her throat bobs as she swallows and my dick begins to rise again.

Fuck’s sake, not again.

“I don’t know how you do those,” she says, gesturing to the pull up bar. “I have the upper body strength of a kitten.” I smirk at her comment, and because I am clearly in the business of torturing myself, I offer to help.

“I could teach you.”

“Teach me what?” she says just loud enough for me to hear over the music. Oh, there are many things I’d like to teach, Gabriella. But for now, I’ll settle with this. The thought takes me by surprise.

“Pull ups,” I say, taking the water bottle from her hand and taking a small sip before handing it back to her. I run my tongue along my bottom lip, savoring the taste of her cherry flavored chap.

“Erm, sure,” she agrees hesitantly. I point to the spot where I need her to stand. She is a tiny 5ft 2, so I know I’ll need to lift her so she can reach the bar.

“Do you trust me?” I ask her in a serious tone, but with a little wink to keep the moment lighter.

She nods and I take that as my permission to move closer. I place my hands on her slim waist She lets out a little gasp at the contact, and heat floods my chest at the feel of her warm skin beneath my calloused hands.

“I’m going to lift you on three and you are going to reach up and hold on to the bar. Got it?”

She nods again.

“One… two… three…” I lift her. She’s as light as a feather, so delicate and small in my hands. “Have you got a tight hold of the bar?” I ask.

“Uh huh.” Her body tenses under my hold, and truthfully, I feel wound as tight as she is. I don’t know why I am doing this, but I can’t stop now.

I release her from my hold, and ump up to hold on to the bar as well, getting myself in a comfortable position so we are face to face.

“I don’t think I can hold on,” she says hurriedly, a little panic in her tone as she looks up at her hands hanging from the bar above us.

“Swing your legs and wrap them around my waist, and I’ll guide you,” I say gruffly.

She looks at me with wide eyes.

I repeat the words. “Wrap your legs around my waist and rest your weight on me.” In a controlled way that only an experienced gymnast or dancer would do, she lifts her toned legs and hooks them around my waist; her crotch now pressed just above where my hardening dick sits.

Our chests pressed together so we are almost nose to nose.

I swallow, clearing my throat, needing a moment to focus before we move.

“When I move, you move with me and mirror me, okay?” I instruct.

“Okay.”

“Good girl,” I tease, earning a small smile from her and then I pull my body up, taking hers with me.

She does as I said and mirrors my movements.

I watch in fascination as the small muscles in her sculpted arms flex as she pulls her body up and down.

We make it to five pull ups before the friction of her body against the head of my dick becomes unbearable.

Her eyes flutter shut.

“Hey, eyes on me, Gabriella. You can’t close your eyes when you’re with me.”

She opens her eyes, her amber irises fixed on me as if she were trying to understand what I meant by that comment.

I’m unsure myself. We continue to move and the usual burn I would feel in my body is overshadowed by the sight of her moving up and down in front of me.

The placement of her hands above her head forces her breasts together.

Visions of her bouncing up and down on my hard cock while I pin her hands behind her runs through my mind and a groan works its way up my throat.

The noise startles us both, her eyes widen once again, and I grind my teeth together, angry for letting my thoughts get the better of me.

We reach fifteen pull ups and before I explode in my running shorts or lift her down and bend her over, I decide now is a good time to end this torture.

“Unhook your legs,” I say quietly. As soon as she does, I instantly miss the warmth her body gave me.

I jump down and then place my hands back on her waist to lift her down.

“See, you’re a natural,” I say through panted breaths, stepping away from her, needing to create some distance.

She gives me a weak smile and shit, I need her to speak. To say something. Anything.

“I… I better get going,” she stammers, walking over to where her t-shirt and headphones lie. “We have a reservation at one of the pool cabanas, and Ali will kick my ass if we’re late.”

She nervously stumbles around the mats, gathering her things. It’s clear something has affected her. Is it me? Is she imagining riding me the way I was picturing her.

“Thanks for your help. Catch you later,” she yells as she pulls open the door, and then she’s gone.

I need to get a grip on this before she becomes my new addiction.