Page 42 of The Pucking Proposal

“It gets easier with practice,” I say sweetly, showing off as I slow-split and then fold my upper body forward toward my knee, using my outstretched arms to stay balanced.

“All right, Pilates Princess,” Dalton says easily, but still there’s an undercurrent of appreciation in what he’s witnessing. “I see you.”

Rayleigh guides us into the next segment, changing her lingo for Dalton’s sake. “You’re basically going from plank to down dog, but the floor glides back and forth beneath you. Here, watch Joy.”

I do the move she’s requesting, making sure it’s my best attempt ever. When I’m out in a plank position, I risk peeking over to see if he’s impressed. Instead, I fumble a bit because he’s definitely looking at my ass. And not even being subtle about it. He’s basically leaning off his machine to get the best view possible of my butt cheeks clenching tight.

“Pervert.” The accusation holds no heat, and in fact, I have to bite the insides of my cheeks to hide my pleased grin.

“Proud, card-carrying member of the Joy’s Chapter of the Pervert Club. In fact, I’m aiming for Member of the Month for December, but I’ve got to make up some ground after a sketchy November,” he says, sounding disappointed in himself. “More leering, less whistling.”

A bark of laughter escapes before I can stop it, and my form falls apart. Luckily, I manage to get a foot to the ground so I don’t break my face on the carriage. “Memberof the Month?” I echo through my laughing fit.

He chuckles, flashing me a one-sided cocky smirk. “I didn’t even mean it that way, but when you put it like that, I’m pretty confident I’m alwaysthatMember of the Month.”

“Dalton!” I exclaim, my eyes jumping to Rayleigh. But he doesn’t seem to care given he simply shrugs and moves into position for his own down dog to plank flow.

And yep, I look at his ass too. It’s a nice one, and I’m convinced I could bounce a quarter off it and hit the ceiling.

Rayleigh stays professional through what can only be described as a clusterfuck of a session, with us bantering, putting each other’s formdown while simultaneously staring at each other’s bodies and trying not to lose focus.

“And two more ... two more ... two more ... and pulse,” Rayleigh says almost sixty minutes later.

Dalton’s been a good sport through the whole thing, and watching him try all the exercises has been entertaining as hell.

And arousing.

He’s sexy as fuck, his body a prime example of what training and care can do to the human form. Not that I care about what he can bench or how many calories he eats in a day. My only thoughts are “Can he pick me up and throw me around while fucking my brains out?” and “How well could he eat me out?” Neither of which are likely to be found on Fritzi’s training plan.

“She forgets how to count around the number two,” I tell Dalton faux-sadly as I watch him fight to keep pace with Rayleigh’s counting. He’s sitting in a V-position, balancing on his ass with his legs up in the air, pulsing two handles out at his side in a fly move. The straps are spring-loaded with the maximum resistance the reformer provides, yet Dalton’s been doing the move with ease, at least until Rayleigh started doing her usual challenge to exhaustion.

It’s for his own good. But I’m enjoying the view.

“See anything you like?” Dalton asks through gritted teeth.

“Hmm,” I hum thoughtfully. “Not really. You’re kinda sweating everywhere and it’s gross.”

It’s not. Despite the rivers of sweat running down his face,grossis the last word I’d use to describe Dalton. He looks rough, tough, and strong, but the sexiest thing about him has been his willingness to try new things with an open mind.

I prejudged Dalton, assuming he would talk down the workout’s intensity, or call some of the moves stupid the way Shepherd would, but he’s done nothing of the sort. He’s been respectful and kind to Rayleigh, and funny and flirty with me.

As we wrap up at the end of our hour, Rayleigh asks, “I’ll see you this week for our usual session?” Her eyes dance to Dalton before returning to me.

“Yeah, Wednesday morning. Thanks for putting up with us today. Hope he didn’t annoy you too much.” I throw a thumb out, pointing at Dalton as if he deserves all the blame for today’s unusual session.

He freezes, the towel he’s swiping over his face covering his mouth, which seems to be hanging wide open given the amusement in his eyes. “Me? I’m not annoying,” he argues, laughing at that absurd claim. His laughter turns into an arrogant grin as he lets the towel drop. “I’m awesome!”

“Oh, you mispronounced it,” I tease, and without thinking, I pat his chest. “It’s awww-full-of-shit.”

I feel the vibration in his chest as he growls—at my touch or the tease?—and try to pull my hand back before Rayleigh gets the entirely wrong idea. But Dalton grabs hold of my hand, keeping it there so I can feel his heartbeat slamming against my palm as his dark eyes hold me in a trance.

The ease with which I touched him shouldn’t surprise me, but it does. It feels comfortable and right to help myself to his chest, his bicep, his smile. But I don’t let myself kiss his full lips this time, not even when they lift into a smile and I can feel the zinger coming back.

“If I’m awww-full-of-shit, then you’re a cuntcake—sweet to taste and pretty to look at, but will rip your soul out if you’re not careful.” His tone is light and jokey, but it feels like there’s a thread of something deeper in the way his eyes are locked on mine.

Rayleigh gasps, offended on my behalf. “I’d prefer if you didn’t use that type of crude language here. Especially about my friend.”

I can’t help but feel glowy inside. She’s a great friend, albeit quite unaccustomed to the way guys show familiarity and camaraderie. That’s not surprising, though, since she doesn’t spend time around men the way I do.

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