Page 40 of Forgotten Comeback
Oh, I’m landing a blow, alright.
We reach the main floor, and he ushers me to the wall of equipment. Grabbing a jump rope, he hands it to me. “Two-minute warmup.”
I try not to think about him and every other person in this gym watching me, while simultaneously regretting my wardrobe decision. Why didn’t I wear my maximum support bra? Oh yeah, because I was too lazy to hand-wash it, and it’s still in the dirty clothes bin.
I bring the rope over my head, keeping my gaze straight ahead as my breasts jiggle uncomfortably with each jump.
Chapter
Sixteen
Gavin
I keep my eyes firmly planted on my stopwatch, avoiding how Taylor’s tits bounce in that flimsy excuse for a sports bra. I’m keenly aware I’ve seen this woman naked; I’m also keenly aware all the men in this gym are imagining seeing this woman naked.
Why do you even care?
Still a good fucking question.
“Time,” I call, pocketing my stopwatch and taking the rope. Her chest rises and falls, her nipples hard enough to cut diamonds.
Grabbing a roll of tape, I wait for Taylor to down a gulp of water before I say, “Give me your hands.”
She tosses her water bottle down, flipping me the double bird.
“That’s ten pushups,” I bark.
“What?” she gasps.
“Twenty if you keep up the attitude,” I promise her.
Cursing me under her breath, she falls to her knees, and I tell my dick to sit down and shut up.
She shifts to plank, and I begin counting. “One. Two. Three.” Taylor’s tits are nearly spilling out of her bra, and I slide over, blocking the spectator’s view. “Four.” Her form’s becoming sloppy, her back arching. “On your knees.” The command comes out huskier than I intended.
“Excuse me?” she gasps, her arms shaking as she hits the floor.
I clear my throat. “Finish the set on your knees.”
She does so, hammering out the rest in modified push-up form.
I extend my hand to help her up, and she ignores me as she shifts to her haunches before standing. “Let’s get you wrapped up and move to the ring.”
Taylor
I’m still a bit shocked at the intensity of Gavin’s training demeanor. Or why my pussy fluttered when he ordered me on my knees.
I still despise this man, and I’m really confused why my ovaries won’t get on the same fucking page about that.
“Again,” he barks, and I smack the pads with a left jab, right jab, uppercut combo, sweat dripping down my face.
Glancing over to the clock, Gavin announces, “We have five minutes left in your session. You wanted to punch me. Do yourworst.” Tossing the pads out of the ring, he stands defenseless, motioning me with his fingers.
If the man insists.
Advancing, I throw a solid right hook at his face. He easily rolls, my glove punching air.
I go for a left body blow, but the man’s footwork is something else. He easily sidesteps.
