The Athletic Aesthetic Page 2

  His manipulations ceased, and he cupped her mound. His breath was harsh in her ear, the rise and fall of his chest heavy against her back. She hoped that he was hard, that his cock was straining against his jeans, aching to fill her, needing to fuck her as much as she wanted to fuck him.

  “One goal,” he whispered to her. “Your only thoughts should be on winning. About presenting the perfect form. You want to be the best? There’s only one way to do that. Total commitment.” His grip tightened on her hip, and he ran his slick fingertips up the back of her thigh. “Now raise your leg higher.”

  Everything in her screamed that she could not do it, that there was no higher, that she was at every limit she could ever possibly endure, but his fingers returned to her clit and she reached deep into herself, deep down into the very core of her stubborn, competitive will, and raised her leg higher.

  “That’s very good,” he purred.

  Her body burned to come, burned to relax. Her muscles strained, her pussy ached. She wanted to collapse. She wanted to ride his cock like a wild cowgirl. It was too much. She did not want to hold back any longer, not when the reward was so very sweet.

  His middle finger eased down her slit and tapped her entrance. Her pussy contracted, wanting to draw him in. He pushed inside and her head fell back against his shoulder. Liquid coated his hand as he pushed deeper, and when his finger curled, she was done. She had maintained the position longer than any gymnast would ever be asked to hold it, she’d stood still while he spanked her, while he tormented her, while he made her wet and needy and hot. But this was too much. Too good. She’d fight later. For now, she was going to be satisfied. She let herself go, exploding with a cry, her cunt drenching his fingers. He worked her hard as wave after wave rocked her, stroking her orgasm to insane heights until she was literally screaming for mercy, for him to stop, for it to never end.

  And then he pulled away. Without his support, she dropped to the floor, a wretched pile of mush. Her pussy thrummed, her legs shook, her whole body was flushed. The aftershocks quaked through her as she lay there, sprawled at his feet.

  He stood over her for a long moment before hunkering down beside her. “You have no discipline.”

  And that was it. He rose to his feet and turned toward the exit. Once he crossed that threshold, it was all over. She slammed her fist against the hardwood floor. She was not going to let him walk out of there, leave her alone and defeated, forced to vacate his house with her head hanging and her tail between her legs. That was not the way this story was going to end. She gritted her teeth and dragged herself to her feet. She could feel him pause, sense his attention. Tenacity had to count for something. Everyone fell once in a while. It was how you got up that made you a woman. She had to believe that was true or everything was lost. Her muscles screamed in protest, but she raised her leg, and despite the pain, the fatigue, the erotic pulse vibrating in her pussy, assumed the position once more.

  Everything was still in the office, the sound of her own breathing loud in her ears. Her body ached, but she held her ground by sheer force of will. She was not going to fail. Not today. Not ever. What felt like hours passed. The floor creaked as his weight shifted. Her heart jackhammered. This was it.

  “You’ll be staying in the guest bedroom, down the hallway, the second door on the right. I expect you to be in the basement gym at five a.m.” He paused. “I’ll have my housekeeper bring dinner to your room at seven. Perhaps you should spend the night mediating on what you truly want. There is only one way to be a champion.”

  She stood there, exhausted but triumphant, and listened to the sound of his footsteps grow faint as he walked away.

  Chapter Two

  Christy paced the room for the hundredth time. Dark blue walls, bookshelves, queen-size bed, wood dresser, sliding glass doors, and then back around again. There was nothing else to do. No TV, no internet. She’d already eaten dinner, and she wasn’t hungry for any more food. There were books, but she’d never been much of a reader, and she was far too keyed up sit still anyway.

  She contemplated taking another shower, but dismissed the idea. It hadn’t worked the first time, and she doubted the results would be any different now. After her “interview,” she’d taken a hot shower to try to soothe her poor, overworked muscles. She might as well have taken a cold one for the good it did. Her muscles might have been tired, but her pussy was wide awake and begging for more attention. The torment of his clever fingers was fresh in her mind, and she’d touched herself, reliving the way he’d messaged her clit, the long, deep stroke that ended it all. But, no matter how hard she concentrated, she couldn’t make herself come. She’d rubbed herself raw and only achieved frustration. The problem was, she needed more than her own fingers and the memories of his touch.

  She spun on her heel and walked back up the length of the room. He told her to meditate on what she wanted. Well, she wanted him. Right now. Her pussy was already slick and ready for him to slide all the way inside her, to fill her up with his tongue, his fingers, his cock. How she’d love to climb her way up that toned body and ride him until he was the one moaning and writhing. Dig her fingernails into his fine ass and use him until she was spent, fucked dry. And then maybe ride him some more.

  She went for the door, but stopped as her fingers closed around the knob. It was that attitude that landed her ass on the floor. She’d fuck him—that was totally going to happen—but now was not the time. If she went to him tonight, he’d send her home for sure, and she needed his help.

  She turned away from the temptation and crossed the room to look out the sliding glass doors. The lake glimmered in the moonlight, beautiful and serene. She hadn’t taken a nighttime run in a long time, not since she left her parents’ ranch in New Mexico for the big city and fame, and the notion seemed almost romantic in its perfection. Even more importantly, it would be a productive way to burn off some of her restlessness.

  She threw on some shorts, sneakers, a sweatshirt, and slipped out of the bedroom. The back patio was lit by subtle track lighting, creating a soft, warm glow around the house. She set off along the path around the lake, passing trees and shrubs and plants that she had no names for. The feel of dirt and dried twigs crunching beneath her feet was comforting. The air held a woodsy, clean scent, and the moon and stars gave the world a silvery luster. She’d forgotten how big the sky could be, how many stars there were out there when the night was not muted by city lights.

  Her breathing steadied as she found her pace, falling into a nice, smooth jog. Her mind wandered, touching on little things—she needed to pay her phone bill when she got back, she should arrange for a better suite in the hotel she would be staying at in Atlanta for the trials, and then finally settled on Kyle Weston and his piercing blue gaze. She smiled to herself as a whole different kind of warmth heated her muscles. Dear God, but he was hot. Infuriating, but downright fucking sexy. He played her hard; and she, as much as she hated to admit it, she had liked it. Hell, loved it. She already felt more competitive than she had in years. That fire was back, alive again in her blood, combating the desperation that ruled over her ever since the trials. It had been a long time since anyone had challenged her, since she’d had any reason to fight. It felt good to be taken to the edge again. It felt right.

  And then, when he made her great, when he took her to the level where she needed to be, then she would sink her hands into his short, blond hair and guide his mouth down to where she wanted him to be.

  A wolf howled in the distance, and Christy blew out a deliberately hard breath. She wiped the sheen of sweat off her forehead with the back of her forearm and rubbed her eyes to dispel the images. She needed to get sex off the brain. Thinking about him was not relieving any of her tension. It was only making it worse.

  All she ever wanted was to be a world-famous gymnast. Not a good a gymnast, not even a great one—the best. She knew at age six when she entered her first class tha
t it was what she wanted to do with the rest of her life, to be able to move her body gracefully, be beautiful and strong. The moment she won her first competition and got that heady taste of victory, she was hooked. Nothing in life felt as good as competing hard and winning.

  Making the team again should have been a non-issue, but the unthinkable had occurred. She had nearly failed. That had never happened to her before. It was unacceptable, and she was afraid. For the first time in her life, she might not succeed. Her competition was younger, more vibrant, and though she’d never admit it out loud, some of her confidence had snapped right along with her tendon. She was still good, but there was a whisper in the back of her mind now that had never been there before, the worry that it could happen again. And maybe that had made her a little complacent, a little soft. Maybe she hadn’t been pushing herself as hard she should have, maybe she had been giving in to her more selfish needs, allowing herself a little too much “comfort.”

  Whatever the reasons, all that had to end. Because what if she didn’t make the team? A terrifying thought, but one that she had to seriously consider. Where did washed-up gymnasts go? Was there some kind of gymnastic equivalent of the Ice Capades out there? Could she really spend the rest of her life on the road, wearing garish face paint and spangly suits?

  No. Just—no. That could not be allowed to happen. It was not too late. She was going to succeed, and Kyle Weston was going to help her do it.

  She rounded the curve of the lake leading back to the house and light from the master bedroom caught her eye. The curtains were drawn back from the sliding glass doors, but the room was dim, shadows obscuring most of her view. She drew closer and movement in the depths of the room made her pause. Some instinctual part of her brain demanded that she hide, and she dropped off the path to crouch in the shrubbery.

  Nothing stirred in the darkness, but something was going to happen. It was like electricity in the air. A few seconds passed, then a minute, and then he came into view. She gasped, but pressed her hands over her mouth to muffle the sound. He was stark naked and gorgeously backlit by the low light in the room. His body was perfect, sculpted and lean, and the shadows played along the curves and contours of his muscles. She slowly worked her gaze over every inch of him, eating up the sight—broad chest, wide shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist, six-pack abs, powerful thighs. And his cock, semi-hard and nestled in patch of dark blond hair.

  He looked out into the night, at the sky, the lake, the woods, and finally, her. The threat of discovery pinned her to the ground and she held her breath. She tried to calm her thundering pulse with the knowledge that she was good distance away from the house. He probably couldn’t see her. Yet it seemed like his eyes lingered over the spot where she hid, located her in the darkness, and then moved on. It was foolish in the extreme, but she crawled backward, deeper into the foliage nonetheless.

  He stood there for an eternity, naked and stunning, and then he started stroking his cock.

  Christy gulped, her pussy instantly wet. Her eyes followed his hand as it glided over the shaft. His dick grew in his fist, big and succulent and fat, and she licked her lips when he gave the head a squeeze.

  His head tilted back as he found a rhythm, stroking himself a little faster. His Adam’s apple bounced in his throat when he swallowed. She hoped the images playing out behind his closed eyes included her and featured multiple scenarios of bending her over his desk and giving her every inch of that luscious cock. She’d spread her legs for him anytime, as long as he promised to give it to her hard and not stop until she was fully sated.

  “Oh, yesss …” she breathed out. She was down on all fours, not the position she liked to be in when she touched herself, but she didn’t let that deter her from slipping her hand under the waistband of her shorts and diving into her panties. Her middle finger touched her clit, and the electric thrill made her nipples hard. She shivered as she moved her hand lower, then groaned in total satisfaction when she slid her finger deep into her wet cunt.

  He slapped the glass door, and she jumped, the sound clear and sharp even over the distance. His hand pressed against the glass, his fingers splayed as he braced himself. The tendons stood out in his neck as he stroked faster, pumping his hips into his fist. She knew that he was close, and she panted, working hard to catch up with him. She found her g-spot and pressed. Her hips bucked from the white-hot surge of pleasure and a low moan escaped her parted lips.

  The large muscles in his thighs tensed just as a warm flush spread over her body. She stroked herself faster, rocking on her knees to get where she needed to be. She looked up just in time to see the cum shoot from his cock, hit the glass, his stomach, drip down over his knuckles. It was the hottest thing she’d ever witnessed, and it took her right over the edge. Her muscles went stiff as the orgasm shook her, rattling her brains and making her whole body buzz.

  She pressed her forehead to the ground to catch her breath, and when she was able to lift her head again, she swore their eyes met across the distance. It was a punch in the gut that lasted a single heartbeat, so short, it had to be imaginary. She watched him turn away from the window, the shadows heightening the deep dimples over his fine ass before he moved out of sight, leaving her alone in the dark.

  Five a.m. came early, but Christy was up and ready with ten minutes to spare. She found the basement door easily enough and walked down the short staircase. She wasn’t sure what she expected, but it certainly wasn’t the gleaming expanse before her. State of the art equipment lined the mirrored walls—all sorts of weights and machines on the mat while ropes and rings hung from the ceiling. It was an athlete’s wet dream come true, a totally custom gym that was probably larger than the house above it. And there, right in the center of it all, was a regulation-sized floor mat.

  It took her minute to notice that he was already there, leaning back against the pommel horse, looking sexy in basketball shorts, a gray T-shirt, and bare feet. That shirt pulled tight over the muscles in his chest, and she was instantly reminded of how he looked naked, how defined that torso really was. He twirled a thick black cane around with his thumb and wrist, the sliver handle flashing as it slowly rotated in his hand.

  She crossed the mat to stand before him, but she couldn’t quite meet his gaze. Her eyes wandered to the rowing machine, the weight benches. Did he know? There was no way he could know. Her gaze flicked to his crotch and then quickly away. No, she couldn’t let her mind go there, no matter how tempting the thought.

  “Start with your usual warm up exercises.” He pointed the tip of the cane at her, waved it over her body. “And get rid of that thing you’re wearing. I need to see your muscles working.”

  She looked down at her sleeveless workout leotard, confusion knitting her brows. “You want me naked?”

  He frowned. “Am I speaking a language that you don’t understand?”

  She snapped back to attention. “No.”

  “Then do it.” He slapped the stick against his palm. “Let’s go!”

  She stripped as quickly as she could and began her routine of stretches, lifts, splits, cardio. He sat on top of the pommel horse, watching her closely, holding the cane between his thighs. She could feel his gaze on her through every leap, every stretch, but if he was moved at all by the sight of her naked body bending and twisting, he showed no sign.

  Her body warmed to the familiar exercise, and she felt good, confident and loose. His attention stimulated the ever-present lust bubbling deep down in her core, and she added little flourishes to the routine for his benefit, an extra little bounce here, a longer wiggle there, and she ended it all with a high kick that gave him a flashing peek at her pussy.

  He raised an eyebrow at her, and though he appeared mostly unimpressed, she definitely noticed a faint smile on his lips. He picked up the remote control resting beside him atop the horse, and her signature music came on—the jazzy, bebop composition that accompanied
her floor exercise. “All right,” he said. “Show me your floor routine.”

  She started off strong with a double layout. Her landing was solid, and she smiled as she went right into her standing split. She met his eyes when she lifted her leg, the position allowing him a full, unrestricted view of her sex. She held the split slightly longer than necessary and then rolled into a tumble that gave him a great view of her ass. Another split, another chance to show him everything from cleft to clit. Moisture tickled her inner folds, her body heating in a million different ways. Her gaze danced over him, the memory of his cock swelling in his fist inspiring a delicious throb deep in her cunt. Goose bumps pricked her skin. If he fucked her half as hard as he’d jerk himself off she’d be screaming for—

  “STOP!”

  The music cut out and Christy froze, her arms raised artfully in the air. Her eyes went wide as he stormed across the mat toward her.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Wha—?” A thought didn’t have time to form in her head. He brought the cane down on her ass, one swift move that sliced the air behind her back and delivered a stinging bite to her buttocks.

  “What. Was. That?” He enunciated each word carefully. “I don’t know what you were thinking about, but it certainly wasn’t your routine.”

  She stared at the hollow of this throat, heat radiating out across her butt cheeks. The bulk of the cane rested just below her ass, right at the top of her thighs. The weight of it sent chills of fear and ghastly anticipation rolling down her spine.

  He leaned down, his lips close to her ear. “What was going through your mind when you made a tragedy of that beautiful routine?”

  “I … ah … wasn’t really …” What could she say? Her mind was blank. There was only the cane, the heat of his body, his breath on her throat.