The Trainer’s Longing
Two weeks apart had felt like an eternity for Riky. As a fitness instructor with a sculpted physique, he was no stranger to attention, but his heart belonged solely to me. While I had spent my vacation traveling, Riky had stayed behind, claiming the only release he found was in solitary thoughts of my body.
When I returned to the gym, the tension was electric. I spent the afternoon teasing him, letting my gaze linger on his muscles and brushing against him in ways that left him breathless. He eventually pulled me into the locker room for a stolen moment, his tongue claiming my mouth in a hungry kiss while his hands gripped my hips. “Tonight,” he whispered against my ear, “I’m going to show you exactly how much I missed you.”
By nine o’clock, I was waiting for him, wearing nothing but a sheer robe. When he entered the room, his eyes darkened with a raw, unfiltered desire. He didn’t say a word; he simply crossed the room in three strides and lifted me against the wall, his touch searing through the thin fabric. The longing that had built up over the fortnight exploded into a feverish encounter, every touch a desperate reclamation of what belonged to him.