Page 95 of Kept in the Dark
“One more thing.” I move quickly, removing the clips and then adding the heavier weights back to each side.
“Dimitri?” she asks, confused. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to lift that.”
Once I have finished, I nod. “Correct.”
Her sharp inhale is filled with sudden understanding. She is in no danger of the barbell falling on her neck, but she cannot sit up. She is laid flat, immobilized by too much weight for her to lift away.
With a forceful breath out, she pushes against the bar. It rolls forward, then falls back into place with another loud clank. “Dimitri, what… What are you doing? Let me go,” she finishes with a laugh.
“I will. When I am ready,” I reply casually, moving around to the end of the bench and settling onto my haunches between her splayed legs, which hang off the edge of the bench. I grip her waist with both hands and watch as the skin around her middle dissolves into goosebumps. Her nipples suddenly poke through the bright, stretchy material of her bra.
She has some freedom of movement, and if she really wanted to get away, she could, but she will not. I know she will not. Her grip on the bar has gone from pushing at it to holding onto it for support, and the protests she is making are half-formed, undercut by the dilation of her pupils and slight rolling of her hips in excitement.
I reach out and shove her bra up, revealing her breasts from underneath the blue fabric, then hook my fingers into bike shorts and panties, dragging them down. She wiggles her hips to help me with a soft, needy noise. “What if someone comes in?” she manages as I tug her shorts down around her ass and thighs.
“I locked the door,” I reply. I hope the confidence in my tone will convince her to take me at my word. “Lift your legs.”
The tight shorts get stuck around her sneakers, but they pull off with some maneuvering. Then she is bared for me, mostly naked, laid out on a weight bench. I swallow, memorizing the erotic sight. I will have to replace this bench—unbolt it from the floor and steal it away—because no one may use it but the two of us now.
Her breasts are heaving, rising and falling with her quick, excited breaths. I kneel next to her, reach down to cup both at once, and she moans loudly. Flicking across her nipples with my thumbs, I admire how eagerly they respond, hardening from the sensations.
“I don’t think I—” she cuts herself off, groaning as I bend forward and take one into my mouth. I swirl my tongue around the peak, enjoying the texture of her pebbled skin and the musky, salty flavor of skin and sweat. I take the very tip between my teeth and bite down gently.
“Ah!”
I pull back, blowing cool air, and she groans as it beads even more tightly against the sudden, wet cold. Bending forward, I give her other nipple the same treatment until she is writhing against me, squirming and panting.
“I don’t think I want you as my trainer anymore,” she manages.
“No?” I ask teasingly, lifting my head. I tweak the one that was just in my mouth, and she jerks against my hand.
“This is very… oh God… unprofessional!”
With a small, dark smile, I rise, only to sink back to my knees at the very end of the bench, finding my place between her legs and staring. The skin glistens, some moisture pooling onto the faux leather under her slit. I place my hands on her hips and tug her just a little closer.
Her head comes up, and she tries to see what is happening without choking herself on the bar. The tone of her false outrage changes into something sharper. “What are you doing? Dimitri, wait.”
I pause, eyeing her with something halfway between curiosity and suspicion. “You are too sore or tired?”
“No. I’m…” she trails off and laughs again, though this time it is an entirely self-deprecating noise, like she cannot believe I am going to make her say it out loud. But I am. And I am going to keep making her say things out loud so there can be no confusion and no embarrassment between us. “I got all sweaty on the treadmill, and I probably smell. I need to shower before you—”
“Of course you have a smell,” I say, pausing and staring at her naked skin in a way that makes her inner thighs tense, as if she is trying to close her legs. “I like it. Very much. Now, hold still.”
“Dimitri—” she begins, even sharper this time with irritation.
“Do it,” I command.
Her squirming takes on a new urgency. She is pushing at the bar again, wiggling like she is trying to roll off the bench. I slide my arms under her knees, sandwiching her legs in the crooks of my elbows so she cannot go anywhere and will not hurt herself trying.
“You will not deny me. Your desire smells sweet, mymed. I cannot wait to have it in my mouth.”
“Dimitri!” she cries at the swipe of my tongue. Her hips still, then buck upwards, seeking more of the pressure against her clit.
I will never tire of the sound of my name on her lips. I hum against her heated, soft, wet skin. “Like a sour fruit on my tongue. Not so sweet, but tangy.” I wet my lips using her liquids and create a circle around the most sensitive place on her body, and suck gently.
Her nails scratch gently against my scalp as she reaches down to hold my head in both hands. I am pleased she has realized she retains the use of her arms, even if she cannot move from her position on her back easily.
“Fuck,” she hisses. “Oh… fuck. You’re good at that. Keep going.”
