Page 9 of Kiss-Fist
Thom: ‘The up aro increaes the tension, down aro makes it ez.’
There’s a thousand percent chance my phone’s autocorrect fixed the word tension for him. A small part of my brain wants to laugh, but the teacher part who isn’t a total dickhead knows that it’s probably a learning disability, and I’d be the biggest asshole on the planet if I mocked him for this.
And honestly, it makes him even hotter.
I tip my hand from my chin and nod. ‘Thank you. I’ve got it from here. Run along, hot man.’
He clearly only understood thank you, but he lets go and takes a step back, then folds his arms across his chest. His biceps bulge. God almighty. He looks like he has cleavage in his V-neck, and I have a feeling I’m going to be dreaming about burying my face in his pecs tonight.
How would I sign motorboating? Can I motorboat a man?
I don’t know the answer to either of these and will have to spend a lot of time researching this.
I turn away because this time, my dick no longer wobbles and is now sporting half a chub. It will be visible through my pants if I get any harder. So I hit the Start button instead, and there’s a little countdown on the screen in red numbers. The machine vibrates gently under my hands, which are clinging to the metal parts of the handles.
I wasn’t really intimidated before, mostly horny, but suddenly, the elliptical dashboard looks like it belongs on a spaceship. I really am going to die. I wait for my legs to move, but they don’t.
I glance over at Thom, and my brows fly up, and I hold my hands up like, ‘What the hell?’
Thom laughs again—and this time, I feel a little bit like it’satme, but I probably deserve it. Thisisquite pathetic. He steps forward, then kneels down and puts his hands behind my knees. Oh, fuck me, they feel nice. So warm and— “Oh!” I feel the noise slip out as he begins to gently rock my legs in a marching motion.
The machine moves when I do. It’s not like a treadmill that’s going to fling me into the wall in those workout disaster videos that Mellie loves so much. My heart settles a bit as I use the handles to help me pick up speed.
My dick bounces.
Yeah, okay. This isn’t so bad after all. It’s kind of nice.
I can totally do this!
No. I totally can’t do this.
Oh my god. This is how I go. I’m pretty sure I’m having a heart attack. I can feel the beat in my throat, and my chest, and pretty much every body part with access to an artery.
And my dick is now ten sizes too small. I bet it’s fallen off.
It’s been what, an hour of this torture? Two hours? No, probably more like ten.
I glance at the timer and see a little blinking 7:22.
Seven minutes? Is this hell?
I can’t breathe, and I’m pretty confident that he can hear me wheezing. I’m almost positive this sound is not hot.
A large arm reaches past me and hits the Stop button. My legs slow on their own until they’re just gently rocking, and eventually, they still. I swear I can taste my pulse. My gaze wanders over to him, and in the process, I think I go a little cross-eyed. But he doesn’t do anything but smile at me, lifting his hands and flicking his wrist in a very well-done sign.
‘Finished.’
‘Where did you learn that?’ I ask him. Maybe the seven was for seven hours, and he became conversationally proficient on a website? But it’s obvious from the expression on his face he doesn’t understand.
I hop off, and my legs wobble so hard I almost trip. Mr. Nipple Dimple Thom catches me with a firm arm around my waist, and in spite of hating him and the damn beefy gym horse he most assuredly rode in on, I lean against him. Jesus, a man who works at a gym has no right to smell so nice.
I take a deep breath as he guides me over to the weight benches, and I collapse with a sense of gratitude I’ll be regretting later. He offers non-crotch water in a plastic bottle, and as I gulp it down, it soothes my dry throat.
‘Thank you.’
‘Welcome.’
Two signs. Interesting. I’d ask him where he picked them up, but my arms are too shaky to reach into my pocket for my phone. I stare up at him instead, and he stares back. His eyes are full of mirth, his lips twisted up in a small smirk. I’d loveto kiss that expression off his face. I’d love to see that mouth form pleas.
