Page 33 of Shackled

He starts lifting. I need to find something that will distract him.

Oooh. Glutes.

I stand in front of him, feeling the weight of his gazes as I grasp a bar. With deliberate slowness, I position it across my shoulders. I glance in his direction to make sure I have his full attention then focus on the mirror in front of me. I make sure to capture his gaze in the mirror as I descend into a deep squat, my form perfect and my movements controlled. I rise, the muscles in my legs and glutes tightening with the effort, knowing he can’t look away.

I repeat the motion, each squat a blend of controlled seduction. His focus shifts entirely from his lifting to watch me, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. I add a little extra sway to my hips as I come up from each squat, my eyes never leaving his. The tension in the room thickens, charged.

His reaction is immediate and intense. He pauses mid-lift, the weights hovering as he struggles to maintain focus.

“I didn’t know you were so skilled,” I taunt.

His eyes narrow on me, a mix of amusement and admiration flashing in his gaze. He shakes his head from side to side. “You’re not making this easy,” he mutters, the low growl of his voice carrying in the quiet of the room. I watch him set his weights down with a controlled click, never breaking eye contact.

“What?” I ask with mock innocence. “I’m working out. It’s not my fault you can’t keep your mind out of the gutter.”

He leans back against the bench, crossing his arms over his chest, and openly watches me, his eyes darkening with every squat I do.

Is it hotter in here?

“Impressive form,” he finally says, his voice laced with challenge. “But can you keep it up?”

His words feel like a dare. I know as well as he does that he isn’t talking about squats.

I can’t look away and neither can he.

My lips curve into a playful smile as I do another squat, holding the position a beat longer just to tease him. I rise slowly, my movements fluid and deliberate. When he approaches me, there’s a flicker of challenge in his eyes. He steps behind me, grabs a few more weights, and adds them to the bar, his movements deliberate and calculated. I raise an eyebrow at him.

This isn’t about the weights, and we both know it.

“Think I can’t handle that?” I tease. I chose lighter weights than normal just so I could taunt. I also didn’t really want him knowing just how fucking heavy I can lift.

“Let’s find out,” he says, leaning back against the wall and folding his arms again.

I shake my head and begin another squat. It’s heavy. I manage the first few reps easily, but I’m getting tired.

Wordlessly, he grabs two more plates.

“Keep going,” he orders, his eyes on me. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Bastard.

I squat again, straining with the effort. Again, I make it down and with effort push to the top, only to find him waiting for me with two more plates.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“You said you could take it. Show me.”

I do another squat, then another. I can’t breathe. My legs are shaking.

I will not let him win.

I explode to the top with a shot of adrenaline, fury racing through me. I lift the bar off my shoulders and before I can throw the damn thing his way, he braces it with one hand and lifts it effortlessly. He turns from me and hurls it away where it slams to the ground and rolls away, the plates spiraling away like tightly wound springs unraveling.

Before I can react, he spins back to me, eyes blazing. He moves toward me with predatory grace. I back away, but I waited too long. He’s too fast. I struggle, but I’m exhausted from working out and my reaction time is impaired. In seconds, he’s got me pinned to the floor.

“You don’t fuck around with weights.”

“You started it!”

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