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R EMINGTON AND I HAVE a gym buddy system down: I complete the basic level of each exercise, and he adds weights or extra challenges to his, but we trade off performing each task together as a team before moving to another machine or floor exercise. The more I’ve settled into our groove, the more open I’ve felt around Remington.

Especially when he’s so encouraging.

He nods to my lunges, even as he gulps massive mouthfuls of water. He breaks away from the bottle with a gasp, his wet lips creating an odd fuzziness in my stomach. “Hell yes! Look at yourself in the mirror, Lilibeth. Your movements have become so fluid lately that you look like a goddamn pro.”

Catching my reflection, I boost through my next few reps with newfound pride; he’s right. I look like a natural.

And I love pleasing Remington. I lunge a little deeper, aching to do a good job for him.

Except with my extra pushing, an acidic burn rages throughout my thighs, almost too heavy to withstand.

Remington’s dark brows furrow. “You okay? You’re doing more than usual.”

“I’m fine,” I huff, struggling to steady my heart rate.

But the second I bite my lip, pushing through the burn in my legs, Remington waves his hand.

“Okay, okay. Take it easy. You’ve done plenty.”

I flush, dragging each heavy foot as I fetch my metal water bottle. When Remington breaks into his first lunge, my stomach plunges further; he’s not smiling anymore.

“S-sorry,” I mutter.

His eyebrows scrunch. “How come?”

“I made you upset.”

He breathes evenly through each lunge, keeping his elbows slightly bent as he holds the dumbbells at his sides. “It’s not about me. I’m just a little concerned, is all. I hope it doesn’t feel like I’m pressuring you to push past your boundaries.”

My heart flips. “O-oh, no, I–” Crossing one arm over my chest, I grip my opposite shoulder. “It’s all me. It sounds silly, but I wanted to do a good job in front of you because I–”

I swallow hard. How do I explain that I not only want to please him, but also that I enjoy his praise? And “enjoying” doesn’t fully cover it since I really like him too. Romantically.

But Remington’s expression softens. My heart jolts at his serious, aching stare. “I’m sorry, Lilibeth. I don’t think I made something clear: I’d rather you be safe because I’m already proud of you. You don’t have to do anything except show up, and you should feel proud of yourself for it. If you need to stop early, that’s honestly impressive too. It takes a lot of courage to know your limits.”

My heart hammers harder than when I was exercising. As Remington stops lunging, we face each other directly. I can’t bear to return to the mat’s center for my turn, a magnetic pull tying me close to Remington’s heaving chest instead. The longer my eyes zip over him, the deeper my longing is to belong in Remington’s world.

I don’t want to only be his gym buddy. I want to know what he likes, what he hates, and what he does when he’s bored. And I’ve never felt like this with anyone else before, but I might even want to go to Club X with him to experiment my deepest fantasies.

But we’re nowhere near that. With how awkward I am, I don’t know how to bring us closer.

But I want to try. I swallow hard, landing on a terrifying question: even if Remington isn’t on the same page, does he even like me back romantically? I don’t know if I should voice it, but I don’t think I can hold in my feelings for him any longer. It hurts.

If only I had an ounce of the cool, sly courage he carries in those broad shoulders. Rather than seeing myself as a badass wild cat, Remington is more of a panther than anyone I’ve met.

“Can you show me how to have more courage, in general?” My voice comes out soft and shaky.

Remington tilts his head, taking a step closer to soften his voice too. “What do you mean? Like, in all of life?”

But seeing him this close, my tiny shred of courage melts beneath his stare. I fidget with my waistband. “I-I don't know. Never mind.”

Remington doesn’t say anything for at least ten seconds, thrusting my heart into another gear. But then he places his overheated hand on my shoulder, passing behind me.

“Okay. No worries.”

I can hardly breathe. Remington dropped the heavy subject for my comfort, but now that he’s been extra sweet about my awkwardness, guilt stings my core for accidentally holding in other secrets: Remington still has no idea that I know he works at Club X, and I haven’t known how to bring it up. What if he’s angry when I tell him I talked about him with someone else? Or thinks I’m clinging to him just to fuck him?

He seems to trust me. The longer I wait to admit what I know about him, the higher the chance my accidental secret will expand into offensive territory. And I want to grow closer to him, not hurt him.

Remington has already moved to the pulldown machine to set up my weights. I fetch my tote, chasing after him.

Before I can overthink it, I sputter my first thoughts as I halt at his side. “I told my friend Gabby I met a nice Remington, and she said she knows you.”

Remington freezes. When he looks at me, genuine shock freezes over his usual, neutral coolness. “Gabby, who?”

I swallow hard. “Gabby Ricchetti. We cook together at Salucci’s downtown. She–” An unspoken knowing crosses Remington’s dark eyes, and I’m terrified. But I have to keep going. “She said she knows you from Club X.”

He still hasn’t moved. Taming his expression, Remington’s eyes drift over my parted lips, shifting eyes, and fidgeting hands. “What do you think about that?”

“Well, I’m–” I huff through light, fuzzy breaths. I’m not sure what his eyes are saying to me, but the way they’re lingering makes me dizzy. “I’m curious.”

Remington turns back to the weights with a hum. He slaps the barbell collar on one-handed like it’s nothing when it’s a struggle between the two of mine, then stands to face me. With less than a foot between us, I have to crane my neck to keep looking at him. His extra seven inches of height have never been so clear.

“If that’s what you meant about finding more courage and figuring out your limits, I can tell you more about it sometime. Feel free to ask, okay?”

I open my mouth to speak, but I’m crushed by a never-ending bout of burning shyness. All I can mutter is, “Thanks.”

We resume our workout as if nothing has changed.

Except it has. Remington didn’t seem opposed to discussing Club X, which feels enormous. But he didn’t invite me to play with him in the dungeon either. Although, that’s ridiculous of me to hope for; from what I’ve researched, it could take months or years to build enough trust to play together, so our measly two months of knowing each other is nothing. Of course he wouldn’t invite me to play.

But imagining Remington at the club - trusting me to hear more details about what he does there - stirs hope in me. I feel so safe around him that I don’t want to stop opening up. I want to reach a place of security where I can confidently fling open that solid door in my heart, exposing my honest self to him.

And he just left one of his private doors open, just for me.

But I can’t solve this now; I need to focus on my pulldowns.

Plopping onto the machine for my second set, I sigh. “It’s still really difficult for me to keep my posture straight on these. I feel like I can’t focus on everything at once.”

“I hear you. It is pretty involved.” Remington pauses as I reach for the bar. But when he steps forward, I freeze. “Hey, I have an idea. Maybe I can create a barrier with my hands around your lower torso to help you remember to activate your core?”

My heart flips. I want him closer to me, so I nod. “Okay, if you’re okay with that, then thank you.”

Remington kneels beside me, his head at my shoulder level. I keep my eyes trained straight ahead, hardly able to contain the rising excitement in my chest to have him so close. As he hovers one hand over my abdomen and the other behind my lower back, the mere suggestion of his touch flusters my breath from me. My heart refuses to settle in front of Remington, especially when I know he’s watching me.

“Are you okay with me touching your stomach or lower back?” He asks.

Keeping my voice as even as I can, I force myself to sound confident despite my stumbling heartbeat. “Yes, I’m okay with it.”

“Alright. Start your pulldown for me, and I’ll check your posture closer.” Remington’s eyes track my core as I lower the bar. The body heat from his palms tingles my spine. As I finish the rep, Remington says, “Okay, freeze.”

With my arms stretched above my head, I hold myself in place.

That’s when Remington finally settles his palm over my stomach.

I suck in my belly, startled by the tingling rush his touch bursts in my gut. But Remington’s deep, satisfied purr redirects that excitement straight between my legs.

“There you go, now you’re activating your core. Right away, I could see you’ve been arching your back too much. How about this: imagine your spine lengthening like I’m pulling a string from the top of your head, straightening you toward the ceiling.”

Oh, God. The second I straighten my spine, my lower back bumps Remington’s palm - right where I’m most sensitive. I catch a gasp just before it leaves my lips, distracting myself by adjusting my sweaty grip on the bar. I test out another pulldown, but in this position, the tugging pressure in my core amplifies from the bar pulling me upright. Dare I say this pulldown feels good?

Oh, no, it feels really good. As a cozy pleasure settles between my legs, Remington’s warmth vibrates through my back, climbing to my reddening face. My rocky breath moves Remington’s hands, shifting their pressure gently over my torso.

“You’re doing so great. You’re almost done, okay? You’ve got this,” he says.

Oh, no . The bar’s tugging sensation morphs into a deeper, tempting ache in my pussy. I chew on my lip, refocusing myself. What the hell is my problem? Poor Remington has no idea what’s happening, and I absolutely wasn’t planning on feeling aroused around him today - especially not in a public gym.

But my arms are pulled over my head, and Remington’s mention of a string paints vivid images of being tied up with my arms trapped above my head. The longer I picture a rope pulling my torso straight, the more stuck I feel between Remington’s palms. And that’s not a bad thing. My lungs pick up the pace.

“Are you still doing okay?”

I clear my throat, steadying my voice. “Yes.”

Get a grip, Lilibeth. I’m not going to let myself be aroused any further. I only have five more reps, anyway.

Okay, no. With the fifth-to-last pulldown, it’s absolutely this exercise heightening this pressure in my groin, spurring my pussy into flexing in delight. Am I a total weirdo for feeling like this?

But I can’t stifle it. My legs weaken, lifting my ass off the bench, but not for the reasons Remington might think.

His soft voice carries an extra allure to it from beside me. “There you go. You’re doing so well activating your core. Can you try to keep your hips on the bench, or would you like some help holding down your body for the last few reps?”

Oh, maybe that would actually take pressure off my aching core.

“Sure, thanks,” I say.

Remington’s hand lifts off my belly, but his right hand on my back slides to my hip. The left settles on my other hip to match, and he applies firm pressure with it - pressing my ass tight to the bench. I breathe through my nose, doing my best to hide the luminous, raging fire in my belly.

“Ready,” he says.

Okay, Lilibeth. You can do this. This is just an innocent physical exercise. Just a pulldown. It’ll be over in less than a minute.

But with the slow, rooted stretch of my core, Remington’s added pressure on my hips blooms a bubbling, expanding pleasure in my lower belly. I gasp for air, but with the rep’s full stretch touching my most sensitive nerves, the extra effort this rep requires pushes a high-pitched, airy moan from my lips.

Shock erases all pleasure I’m feeling. My arms zip back up in fear. Remington looks me straight in the eyes in the mirror in front of the machine. I pant, unable to stop my entire body from flushing bright red.

“S-sorry,” I breathe.

Remington hums. “It’s all good, as long as you’re okay. You’ve only got one more.”

He knows that moan wasn’t my regular workout exhale. He has to. Embarrassment stings my eyes.

Ignoring the heavy, pointed weight of his hands pressing my thighs tight to the bench, I struggle through my last pulldown with a deep quiver down my spine. I’ve never let someone touch my back in that spot before, and his hands are so warm and big, and he’s complimenting me, and it’s all stacking onto the low, building ache in my groin.

What if it isn’t the pulldowns after all, and it’s mainly Remington making me feel this way - just with his eyes and words? Is this okay to feel? The pleasure in my pelvis expands to an almost unreachable level. What if I really am about to come? Panic strikes my heart again, and I know it’s seeping through to my face.

“Pause. Don’t finish that one.”

Remington’s sudden request zaps my nerves. I release the bar, allowing it to clatter to the top with a resounding clang .

Neither of us speak at first. I stare at Remington, wide-eyed and mortified as I anticipate his response to my inappropriate feelings, but his expression remains cool. He removes his pressure on my hips, but he doesn’t step away, keeping one hand softly settled against my lower back. We’re still gazing at each other in the mirror, even as I suck in an extended inhale at his buzzing touch on me.

“Are you sure you’re okay with me having my hands here?” There’s a silent, sultry question in Remington’s eyes that throws my heart overboard. I don’t want to lie to him. I can’t.

“Yes. But I’m– I’m just a little flustered, since it feels nice to have your hands there,” I whisper.

My body buzzes like I’ve been sprinting, clinging to the bench with clammy hands. I can’t believe I just voiced that. Have I lost all blood to my brain?

But Remington hums quietly, his tone lower than ever. “It does seem sensitive.”

He’s speaking so softly that my pussy clenches. Thank God I can’t get a boner. I open my lips, breaking into a pant. I can’t stop my whisper from spilling out. “I have an embarrassing mark on my skin on my lower back, so I haven’t let anyone else touch my back or hips on purpose before.”

Remington freezes with a smoldering, pointed stare, effectively taken aback by my confession.

But he runs his thumb over my back, blasting pleasure up my heaving chest. “That’s a real gift you’ve given me. Thank you. And I—” He lets out a quiet, slow exhale at my side before softening his voice even further. “I do like having my hands there too.”

Remington’s words ripple through me, stirring desire deep in my belly. I pause, giving myself a second to breathe. I feel so inexperienced and ridiculous for getting close from just words, simple touches, and exercise, especially beside who I’m fairly certain is a sex king. I hope he doesn’t notice the depth of what he’s doing to me - or if he notices, that he isn’t grossed out.

But I don’t want to stop staring at him in the mirror. Our eyes linger for far longer than usual.

He studies me for a while before muttering, “Do you want to keep going?”

I swallow hard, glancing at the bar over my head for mercy. “Yes.”

He’s not talking this time. Maybe I can handle my feelings without his praise amplifying them.

But a few reps in, Remington’s hot breath on my back and the intensity of this workout creates a powerful, flourishing warmth in my groin - even more potent than the first time. Panic flips my heart. What’s going on today? The next rep feels way too good, enough to replace the burn in my arms.

Am I really getting off on this exercise? Is that even possible? Glancing at the mirror, my anxiety amplifies from how close Remington is sitting to me. I’ve never let a man watch me come before.

My voice quivers. “I-I need a break.”

“Okay.” Remington immediately steps back, allowing me to stand and stop straddling the bench. My knees wobble as I pull back from it, and Remington grabs my searching hand before I tilt too far.

“Hey,” he says softly.

I peek at him, still flustered from the radiating warmth in my groin.

But Remington smiles. “Thanks for being so honest with me about where you’re at.”

My gaze drops to the floor, but Remington says nothing else. He plops beside me on the ground as we rehydrate. I drop my head back and close my eyes, hoping the sensual ache dissipates. Nothing about Remington is helping, but I’m mortified that I feel this way without him knowing. I feel like a creep.

After a full minute, the feeling thankfully disappears. But when I open my eyes, I laugh at our reflection in the mirror; I’m a haggard, raccoon-eyed mess, and Remington looks like a tattooed, emo edition of Michelangelo’s David. Remington looks at me with one eyebrow raised, then follows my gaze to meet our reflection. His half-up smile greets me.

He chuckles. “What’s up, L.L.B.? You see something funny?”

I laugh. “L.L.B.?”

“Yeah - your new nickname. Unless you want me to keep turning you bright red every time I say Lilibeth.”

I slap my hands over my face before erupting into giggles. “Remington...”

He rumbles through a quiet, deep laugh. When he speaks, I can hardly hear him. “I didn’t say it didn’t work on me when you say my full name either.”

Tingles fizzle in my belly. I peek from my hands, unsure if I heard Remington correctly, but he’s standing with his hand outstretched.

“Alright, I think we should switch to another exercise. You ready for more?”

I’m ready for more than he might realize. I’ve never been this attracted to someone before.

Taking his hand, I hop to my feet with a smile. “Ready!”

Remington pauses. As his gaze lingers on me, he gives me a smile I’ve never seen on him before: rather than lifting one cheek, he keeps his mouth shut as it curves on both sides. Except this smile reaches all the way to his eyes. Then he laughs. A gentle, brisk laugh that speeds my heart into a sprint.

“You’re adorable. Let’s go.”

I bite my lip, strapping weights onto my wrists. Usually, people use words like “adorable” or “cute” to infantilize me, but the gentle, earnest way Remington speaks makes me feel like he saw all the way through me to the excitement in my heart and decided to meet it there.

“You’re adorable too,” I mutter.

Remington has his back to me, but the huff of air from his nose tells me he’s genuinely smiling again. And the tremendous, building desire in my gut tells me it’s too late to stop my heart from chasing after him.