Page 41 of Charlie

I whip around, coming face to face with him. I gasp like a fish out of water as all the oxygen is sucked from the room.

"Charlotte." Surprise flits over his face, but he hides it quickly. He's wearing gym shorts that are on the shorter side, showing off very developed leg muscles. A white tank top hangs from his frame, his bulging muscles on full display.

"I was lonely, so I brought her along," Isla says, dropping down into another squat.

"Do you guys have family workout sessions or something?" I ask, smirking at the thought.

"Yes, actually." Lachlan walks up from behind Jack, slapping him on the shoulder in greeting.

"We don't always get to see each other as much as we'd like, but this helps." Jack shrugs.

"You guys are lucky to have each other," I say, envious of their bond.

"We really are," Isla says, the other two nodding. "I don't know where any of us would be if we didn't have each other." Emotion wells as I watch the three of them share sappy smiles. She claps her hands, "Okay, enough of the sappy stuff – time to get to work!"

The guys settle in the free-weight area with us, Lachlan at the barbells, and Jack on a bench. I do my best to focus on Isla and follow her instructions: sit back farther, weight on your heels, don't rotate your leg, but my eyes keep wandering over to the guys. I watch as Jack's torso arches above the bench with each press. I wonder if his back bows like that when he comes. I bite my lip as a vision of my head bobbing over his cock flashes through my mind. Fuck.

My eyes meet his as he cradles the bar. He holds my gaze as he stands up, lifting the hem of his shirt to wipe his forehead. His abs are hard and tight, covered in a dusting of dark hair. I get a peek at one pec jutting out from his chest before his shirt drops back into place. I knew he had a good body, but never in my wildest imagination had I thought he would look like this.

"Just go over there!" Isla says, laughing. "You two are hardly getting anything done because you're mooning at each other. Plus, he can teach you how to bench correctly."

"That seems like a horrible idea," I say, my voice cracking.

"Don't be ridiculous." She hands me my water bottle and pushes me toward him. "Jack, teach her how to bench and do some leg stuff, okay? I'm going over to the machines."

"Sure," Jack says, looking utterly unsure despite the heat in his eyes. He motions for me to lie on the bench as he pulls the plates off the end of the bar. "The bar is heavy on its own, so we'll start empty and go from there, okay?" I nod. He walks behind the bench and looks down at me. An image of him stretching over me flashes across my eyes, and my stomach clenches. I squeeze my eyes closed and take a couple of deep breaths.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine." That's a lie. I open my eyes again, only to look directly at his crotch. I jerk my gaze up to his face, mortification flooding my cheeks. He doesn't say anything, to my immense relief, only motions for me to grip the bar.

"This is a simple movement. You lower and raise the bar keeping your elbows perpendicular to your body. I'll hold on for the first couple of reps in case the bar is too heavy, okay?"

I nod, keeping my eyes glued to the bar. He raises it out of its cradle and then lets me take most of the weight as I lower it toward my body. It's heavy, but the weight doesn't even register as he bends over me, my eyes directly in line with his torso. This is way too close to 69ing. His gaze locks with mine as I run through the movements. He grabs the bar from me when my arms start trembling, and I jump up, putting some distance between us. His steady gaze stays on me. Dark. Heated.

"Ready for squats?"

I'm ready for more than just squats.

"This is called a Smith machine," he says, stopping at what can only be a torture device. "You load the plates here, then twist the bar to unlock it so you can do your lifts." I force myself to keep my eyes above his shoulders as he demonstrates a squat. "Your turn."

I step under the bar and settle it over my shoulders.

"Feet apart," Jack says from behind me, tapping the inside of my right foot with his toe. I widen my stance and lower myself. My knees pop and crack like Rice Krispies.

"You need to sit back more to take the pressure off your knees."

I try, but it doesn't feel any different.

"Pretend you're going to sit on my knee," he says, kneeling behind me.

I follow his instructions, feeling the strain in my thighs this time.

"Good. Now ten more." He doesn't move.

I touch down on his leg a little harder each time, my muscles shaking more and more with each rep. By the last one, the heat between my legs is nestled snugly against his knee. I should be mortified, but I'm too fucking turned on to care. I rack the bar and turn toward him, surprised to see he's sitting on a bench ten feet away, his gaze everywhere but on me.

"You good?"

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