Page 79 of Set on You

CRYSTAL:

By the time I’m finally satisfied with each segment of the video, there’s a new text from Scott from a few minutes ago.

SCOTT:Need your help in the changing room.

I take stock of my surroundings. In the entire gym, there is only a woman on the elliptical watching something on her iPad, and a young couple taking turns on the window squat rack.

Excalibur Fitness gender-assigned changing rooms be damned.

I hold my breath as I creep into the men’s changing room, smiling to myself at the memory of the last time I was in here, under very different circumstances.

As I slink around the lockers, I spot Scott man-splaying on the bench. He’s shirtless, ripped abs prominent and glistening with a coat of dewy sweat. It’s a critical public safety hazard. No wonder shirts are required by the gym’s dress code.

He gives me an incendiary look, standing abruptly to pull me tothe back of the changing room, near the showers. I’m about to ask what he’s doing, but he covers my mouth. He nods to the right, signaling there’s someone in one of the private changing room stalls.

When the stall door opens, Scott swiftly pushes me into the shower, pulling the curtain to conceal us. We’re still, barely breathing as we listen to the man’s gruff voice. It sounds like he’s on the phone. “Whatever it takes, Janice. I don’t care what it costs. Don’t forget I bought you a Beamer for your birthday,” he grumbles.

We shake in silent laughter. The man’s conversation fades as he moves toward the lockers in the front.

“What are you doing?” I whisper.

Scott responds by closing his lips over mine, greedily taking all my air. He pulls back and playfully tugs my ponytail. “What I wanted to do the day you followed me in here and accosted me,” he whispers before his lips blaze a hot trail down to my neck.

The thrill of being in here and the possibility of getting caught are a serious turn-on. I turn to liquid instantly, my entire body vibrating with anticipation, desperately craving what he has to offer.

His kisses are eager as our tongues collide. He bites my bottom lip, holding it for a second too long before I moan into the salty taste of his mouth. Usually, his kisses start off slow. In fact, Scott usually starts everything slow. The aching buildup is his specialty. But this is different. This is pure need.

He hooks his fingers under the fabric of my tank top, practically tearing it over my head. We make quick work ridding ourselves of the rest of our gym clothes and shoes. As soon as we do, he runs the shower to muffle the sounds we can’t contain.

His fingers move over every inch of my body, lathering me with soap, dipping between my legs, massaging me in amaddening circular motion. My head falls back against the cold tile when his fingers begin to loop exactly where I’m aching for him. When he mouthsYou’re beautiful, the pleasure triples, because I know he means it.

I grab his face with both hands and press my lips to his, showing him how much I care about him in the only way I can. I can’t physically utter a word right now. Everything comes out in small, undiscernible moans.

He presses his free finger to my mouth, telling me silently to be quiet as the steam billows around us. I nod, but my promise is broken the moment his hand presses harder against my core.

“Fuck,” he whispers in my ear as his fingers smooth in and out of me, torturously slow.

In return, my hands dance around the hard, impressive ridges of his back, his stomach, and down, stroking his length. I revel in the sight of him, eyes stormy and wild with pure need, abs clenched and shaking in desperation.

When he can’t take my hand anymore, he brings his lips to my neck, pressing kisses all the way down my body, until his face is right where I want it. He smooths his tongue, rolling it over me in a perfect circular motion. Then he brings my leg up, deepening the angle.

I clasp his hair, still trying to muffle myself, to stop from crying out his name. It happens fast. I feel it coming, crashing, tunneling everything around me until all I see is him.

When it’s over, Scott comes back up, kissing me again before he presses himself to me. “You’re gonna have to be quiet this time. Promise?” he whispers, moving his thumb over my lips.

I nod dutifully as he drives inside of me so unexpectedly hardit’s impossible for me not to scream. He shudders, letting out a guttural groan of his own as he pins my wrists against the tiles above my head. He pulls my leg around his waist to hit me deeper, burying himself inside me.

Purposeful force and passion join us together, over and over, to the point where I can’t even remember how it feels to be without him. He’s so much better than any hope, dream, or fantasy I could conjure in my head. And he’s real.

He’s whispering how beautiful I am. How much he desires me every minute of the day. He’s here with me, cementing all the endless reasons he’s stolen my whole heart.

The sprinkle of the water ricochets off the tiles as we chase our release together.

•••

FULLY SATIATED ANDno longer requiring an early-morning leg workout tomorrow, I lie in bed scrolling through the photos Mel took of Scott and me on a beach outing last week. Mel has been asking me for weeks when I’ll give my followers a glimpse into my relationship with Scott. From a business perspective, she’s of the opinion that filling my grid with couples’ workouts will expand my audience. She isn’t wrong. For some reason, people love the catalog shots of perfect couples in matching cable-knit sweaters posing in pumpkin patches, cutting down perfect Douglas fir Christmas trees, or gazing into each other’s eyes in front of a crackling fire.

Business aside, I’ve always been an open book with my followers on a personal level. I genuinely consider many of them to be friends. Keeping them out of the loop of my relationship feelsstrange, as though I’m somehow being dishonest with them about a huge part of my life.

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