Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56208 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56208 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
She’s in the home gym wearing shorts and a tank top. The shorts give me a delicious look at her sweat-coated thighs as she works the squat rack. Fuck. Double fuck. I shouldn’t be watching her in there. The camera is facing her back, giving me a view of her ass, her thick mounds becoming shapelier with each rep. I switch on the audio and hear her let out what sounds like a moan with each breath.
She racks the weight and turns, stopping when she sees the red light on the camera. She bites her lip, stares at me, takes a step forward, and keeps staring. It’s almost like she’s challenging me, like she wants to say, Stop watching me. Or maybe she wants me to keep going.
“Hello, Gray,” she murmurs.
My dick stiffens, my tip aching, my heart pounding. I look at my office door. But nobody comes in here without my permission. It’s never happened. My balls feel so full and ready for a release.
I press the microphone button. “Hello, Callie.”
She bites her lip again. Is she doing it on purpose? Driving me nuts?
“Are you watching me for technique tips?” she says with a note of irony. “I’ve only started working out recently. I’m not very good.”
I clear my throat. It’s like we’re playing a game. “Maybe I could give you some tips.”
“Hmm…”
The hmm noise is again too close to a moan. It makes the tension even more challenging to contain.
“What exercise were you going to do next?” I ask.
“I was going to practice deadlifts. But without any weight. I just wanted to see if I could get the movement right. Maybe you could help with that?”
She says it so innocently, making me wonder if this is really only one-sided or if I’m just a savage, and she has no idea what’s going on. But there’s a lilt in her voice, almost a challenge, and I’m almost certain she knows. I’m almost sure she’s playing the same game I am.
“Show me what you got,” I say.
She faces me this time, then squats down. Her tits jiggle with each movement. She’s not wearing a sports bra, just a regular bra. I’m almost salivating, goddamn it. My mouth is watering. I’m hungry for her. If I were there, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from grabbing her, pulling her against me, letting her feel my rock-hard rod and the desire coursing through me.
“That’s good,” I say. “But try pushing your hips forward more. Keep your back straight—more upright.”
“Like this? Oh, oh.”
I ball my hand into a fist. She does another rep, moaning at the end. Conceivably, the moan could be a regular workout noise. It’s the same way I groan at the end of a rep.
“That’s better,” I say huskily, my voice trembling, my resolve threatening to crumble. I have to keep my hand tightly balled to stop from stroking up and down my length, to stop from jacking off in my office. The thought should be laughable. But it’s there. I can’t deny it. “Maybe if I record you,” I go on. “I can watch it later. I may think of something that doesn’t occur to me now.”
She stands up straight and arches one eyebrow sassily. Another challenge. She knows why I want to record this. She understands what I’m really asking her. Give me footage of your tits jiggling, your body covered in sweat, your hips thrusting forward as if your curvy body is getting ready for my shaft. “Record me,” she whispers. “Do it, Gray.”
I hit the screen record button to save this particular time frame. “Do another rep,” I say.
“Is that an order?”
“You’re damn right it is.”
“Hmm…”
There’s that noise again. I grit my teeth hard, my temples pulsing, my balls feeling so full I could explode. She kneels, thrusts up, kneels, thrusts up. Each time, she does it faster. It’s like she’s riding me. It’s like I’m in there with her, slipping my cock between her slick thighs, finding her haven, and pushing in hard, deep, owning her.
“Like—that?” she gasps.
“Yes,” I moan. “Keep going.”
She whimpers at the urgency in my voice. But all the while, I’m thinking, we have an excuse. We have a get-out-of-jail-free card. We can say this was innocent.
But then she sinks her hands into her hips and squeezes greedy handfuls of her flesh that are meant for me. I almost crack my phone, I’m holding it so hard. I’m shaking all over. She’s bouncing on the spot, shaking, trembling, moaning.
“Gray?” she moans.
“I’m here.”
“Am I doing it…”
“You’re doing it,” I growl. “Jesus, Callie, you’re doing it, all right.”
“Good.” All breathy, sweat sliding down her chest, between the tempting valley of her cleavage. “It feels… so good.”
“It looks perfect.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she moans. “Are you still recording?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
My hand strays under the table. I stroke my palm along my shaft through my pants. But when I reach for my button, I snap back to reality. It’s like I see myself from a third-person point of view—a man sitting at his desk, dry-humping himself, staring at his nanny.