In the Gym

"Evelyn, you look smokin' hot in that getup. Marcus is gonna be green with envy that I'm the one who gets you at home." Arthur stood in the doorway, his eyes raking over my body.

He'd insisted on buying me this new workout set, a pair of skin-tight leggings that left damn near nothing to the imagination, paired with a sports bra that pushed my breasts up high, making them strain against the fabric like they might spill out any second.

"Isn't this a little... too much?" I tugged nervously at the hem of my top.

My husband Arthur had been on my case lately about getting in shape, griping that I lacked energy, that it was killing his fun in the bedroom.

He'd pretty much bullied me into signing up for his buddy Marcus's personal training program.

Truth be told, ever since we tied the knot three years ago, sex with Arthur had left me high and dry every single time, but to spare his ego, I'd convinced myself it was my fault, my body, my responses, whatever excuse fit the bill.

"Don't be ridiculous. It's the gym, everybody dresses like that. Plus, Marcus is my best friend. He's the top personal trainer there. I've already paid for the sessions. He'll take real good care of you." Arthur grinned, but there was this weird, feverish glint in his eyes that I couldn't quite pin down.

Half an hour later, I was standing in the VIP private training room at Iron Blood Fitness.

The place was soundproofed to hell and back, crammed with heavy iron machines, the air thick with that faint whiff of male pheromones and sweat.

Marcus strode in, his muscles carved, veins bulging along his arms and across his broad chest that strained his tank top

His dark eyes swept over me from head to toe, lingering hungrily on the swell of my chest and the tight roundness of my ass outlined by the leggings, and under that gaze, a sudden flush of heat bloomed across my skin, unbidden and confusing.

"Arthur wasn't bullshittin'," Marcus growled, his voice low and raspy. "You're fuckin' gorgeous, Evelyn."

"Thanks... Coach," I stammered, crossing my arms a bit to shield myself.

"We'll start with some basic squats, see if your form's on point," he said, moving right behind me.

I positioned myself in front of the mirror and started squatting. On the third rep, a massive, scorching hand clamped onto my waist.

"Your posture's off, you'll tweak your lower back." Marcus pressed in close, his rock-hard chest brushing my back. His other hand slid down, landing heavy on my outer thigh, thumb grazing dangerously close to my groin. "Push those hips back, feel the stretch right there."

A jolt of electricity shot straight through me.

"Coach, this isn't right," I whispered, my breath coming quick.

"My husband's your best friend, touching my leg like that..." Marcus's grip didn't budge; if anything, it tightened.

In the mirror, our eyes locked. His were dark, predatory.

"I'm just fixin' your form, Evelyn. How'm I supposed to know if the muscle's firing without touchin' it?" His voice rumbled right in my ear, hot breath sending a shiver down my spine.

His towering frame, the heat pouring off him, it was all too much.

I tried to zero in on the squats, but all I could think about was the rough calluses on his hand burning through my thin leggings against my skin.

A weird, forbidden thrill bubbled up inside me, the kind I hadn't felt in the three years since marrying Arthur.

It was the first time in my life I'd realized a man's touch could be so dangerously addictive.

I fought to drag my focus back to the squats, but Marcus's body loomed like a wall of heat, pressed tight against my back.

His pecs crushed into my shoulder blades through the thin fabric, that musky scent growing thicker, choking the air from my lungs.

His palm crept up from my outer thigh, thumb teasing the seam of my leggings.

"Yeah, that's it... sink those hips a little lower." His voice rolled out deep from his chest, hot breath fanning my earlobe, making me shudder.

I dropped into the squat like he said, and in the mirror, I saw his crotch nudge forward, silent as sin.

That hard bulge in his shorts slotted right against my ass crack through the fabric.

At first, it was just a light bump, like an accidental adjustment, but when I rose up again, he didn't pull back, instead, he ground in harder.

That thick cock, scorching and rigid through our thin layers, rubbed slow and firm up and down my crease, testing me out.

"Coach... you..." I bit my lip, voice barely a whisper, legs going weak.

Marcus's hand slid from my waist to my belly, palm flat against the bottom of my sports bra, thumb pressing my pubic bone.

"Relax, Evelyn. Your core's not engaging right, I gotta help you feel the right muscles." His other hand boldly cupped my ass, fingers digging deep into the flesh, guiding me through each rep.

Every squat, that hot rod thrust in harder, grinding over my most sensitive spot through the leggings, the rhythm blatant now, straight-up teasing.

Sweat trickled down my back, mingling with his body heat. My breaths turned ragged, cheeks flushing crimson in the mirror.

That taboo rush electrified from the friction spot, surging deep into my core, I could feel my body heating up, getting slick without my say-so.

Arthur's face flickered in my mind, but it drowned quick under the building intensity.

Finally, as he drove deep into my crease again, that fat cockhead grinding precise over my now-swollen clit through the fabric, a stifled moan ripped from my throat.

"Mmm... ahh..."