Page 38 of Win You Over
“Who exercises on holiday?” I ask, each word punctuated with a sharp inhale as I work to catch my breath.
Next to me, Remington, who surprise, surprise, is shirtless, sweat glistening on his torso, slows his pace.
“People who plan to spend two weeks eating gelato and wedding cake.”
I groan, but he has a point.
Decreasing the speed further, I go into a warm down, before stopping the treadmill altogether and stepping off.
Remington does the same, throwing a towel my way, which I dab against my forehead.
This area, much like the den at his house, sits in the villa’s basement. Once again, tastefully decorated by his mother, with dolphins and starfish replacing the lions.
We round the treadmills, coming to stand on a foam black mat that covers much of the floor in this section of the basement. I spy yoga mats and resistance bands and a punching bag secured to the ceiling.
Remington throws his towel over the side of the treadmill, then punches me on the arm.
“What the fuck?” I ask, turning my body fully towards him.
“Fight me, Booker,” he suggests, spreading his legs and bouncing on his heels, his body poised for a fight. He lunges at me and I sidestep, moving further onto the foam mat.
“I’m not fighting you!” I remark.
“Why? Scared of losing?” He smirks, and I grit my teeth.
“Fine. Bring it, Langford.”
Remington advances closer and I lift my hands in front of my face, punching out as he steps forward. He blocks me, lifting his hands to mirror my position.
“Is that all you’ve got?” he taunts, hopping from side to side. I launch myself forward, punching him hard in the ribs. He lets out anoomph,retreating, and I follow, punching him again, this time getting him in the jaw, before spinning and landing a foot to his kneecap. His leg buckles, but his balance is on point and he rectifies himself before I have the chance to bring him to the ground.
Remington advances forward, getting his arms around my shoulders, and I punch him repeatedly, using less force than I would in an actual fight.
When he swoops his leg behind me, lifting my foot off the ground, he uses his full weight to unsteady me and we both crash to the floor, him on top of me.
The move steals my breath, and in the fleeting moment it takes me to catch it, Remington pushes up on his arms, one hand on either side of my head. A diluted sense of panic washes over me before I remind myself that I’m safe.Heis safe. But the fight is not over. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, buck my hips and flip us. He tries to resist, but I have the upper hand, his back hitting the mat as I splay my body over his.
“Fucker,” he says on a ragged breath. Remington tries to copy my move, bucking his hips while his arms grapple for purchase. The way his fingers dig into the flesh of my lower back and the movement of his body beneath mine has my cock thickening behind my shorts, taking me by surprise. I’ve never gotten hard fighting anyone before, let alone Remington. I have no time to consider what any of this means before his eyes widen, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. There is no doubt in my mind that he can feel how hard I am.
Mortified is an understatement as I try to shimmy out of his hold, my cock appreciating the friction far too much.
“Stop moving, Holden,” Remington commands, his voice thick like molasses. I stop, looking down at him. Both of us are breathing heavily, his naked chest is slick with sweat and is rising and falling with each stuttered breath. His eyes are hooded, his pupils dilating as he squeezes my sides.
I whimper when he rotates his hips, then I close my eyes and suck in a deep breath.
“Look at me,” he commands. When I don’t open my eyes, he moves his hips again, holding my body tighter and sending zapsof electricity through me. My lips part on a groan and I lift my lids, taking in the hunger in his emerald blue eyes.
“Do you want me to stop?” he asks, and my head is moving to signal no before the question is fully out. He grins wickedly.
“Move your hips, baby.”
Baby. The word plays on a loop in mind as I do as he says, grinding my lower body against his.
Our eyes stay locked together and my heart bangs wildly against my ribcage, a gentle pressure starting in my groin, heat radiating to every corner of my body.
“I’m going to roll us over, okay?” he asks, his eyes dark with need.
I nod again and he slides his hands up my back, shifts his legs and, in one swift move, rolls us until I’m under him. Instinctively, I grab his shoulders, his skin hot and clammy in my hold. Remington’s hands land next to my ears, and he dips his head, bringing his face closer to mine.
