Page 8 of Kiss-Fist
And really. Me?Run? The only time I run is to my couch after a long day at work.
And trust me, when my legs pick up any kind of speed, my dick does not bounce. It shrivels up, scared of what all the movement is for. It’s fight or flight for my privates, and, I’m sorry to say, it flights.
Flees?
Whatever. It ends up much smaller than it should be, which means if I listen to Thom, I’m going to embarrass myself in this room full of hot men. So, no, thank you.
I scoff and fold my arms across my chest.
He cocks his head, and I arch an eyebrow at him. With a laugh, he glances at his hand, frowns, and tries again.
‘Sun.’
My other eyebrow flies up, and I hold up the letterR, correcting him.
He grins at me, nods his head, and copies my hand motion, fingerspelling correctly this time. When I nod, he grins like he’s just won some kind of award. I hate how good he looks when he smiles.
But I can’t even be mad about it because he’s so hot, anddamn, his face is adorable.
I shake my head. Imayget on this machine, but I’m notrunning. Especially not in front of him. I would probably end up dying, and this is not how I want to go.
My eyes flick to his chest, and I hold back a long-suffering sigh.
Mr. Nipple Dimple cocks his head toward the death machine and smiles. Fuck me. I’m helpless. I find myself reaching for the handles as I lift one foot, then the other. The pedals are like a little tray where my feet fit, but it moves precariously, and I feel a noise rumble against the back of my throat as I clutch on for dear life.
This is harder than it looks.
Those dick bouncers are skilled athletes. I didn’t give them enough credit.
Shame on me and my pervy eyeballs.
From the peripheral, I see Thom laughing, but it doesn’t seem like he’s laughingatme. I hate that. Why can’t he be an asshole about this? It would make everything so much easier. Instead, he gently places one hand on my arm and then makes a V with his fingers and touches both eyes, then taps his chest. It’s not exactly a sign, but it’s close enough.
‘Watch me.’
He touches a button on the machine that says Start. Like I couldn’t have figured that on my own. I’m a damn doctor. I mean, I have a doctorate, but still. It counts. As I start attempting to move, I laser focus in on his chest, and I swear his nipples are saying hello.
Perhaps an illegal gas is filtering through the gym vents and I’m getting high.
That’s a very probable possibility.
Mr. Nipple Dimples touches an up arrow and then lifts his hands.
‘F A R D E R.’
Nope. Not a clue. ‘Again,’ I repeat, then almost lose my balance after letting go of the handles. He’s got me though, his fingers landing on my hips. I don’t wobble much, but my dick does. Wobbles right out from between my legs.
Thom licks his lips—obscene, really—then spells the same word again, but his lips form a word, and I’m pretty sure it’s ‘Harder.’
Oh god. Harder. Yes.
Please.
Holding on to one handle, I take my phone out of my pocket and offer it to him. Listen, I’m already in this, I might as well just go all the damn way. And not the fun kind either. It’s not like I’ll be back.
No, I’ll just envision him in my dreams, cum in his dimples and my cock in his hole.
Thom smiles at me, not knowing my pervy thoughts, and my dick threatens to get hard. I take a deep breath and deliberately refuse to watch his fingers fly over the screen. He taps my handand offers it back.
