Sunday Snog: Personal Training

It’s been scandalously long since I last posted a Sunday Snog. Let’s get the snogging train rolling again with a snippet from Personal Training, a brand new short story set in (you guessed it right) the gym.

Blurb
Jan works out people for a living, but one day her client Ali, the one she’s been lusting after for months, turns the tables on her and gives Jan the work out of a lifetime.

Maybe it’s the tension, but I can’t suppress a giggle bubbling up from my throat. “Any interest I have in your backside is purely professional,” I lie.

Her mouth widens in feigned surprise. She shakes her head and corners me next to the TRX cables. “Is there anything else I should know? Now that you’re being so honest.”

My back hits the wall and Ali is so close I can smell her. The scent of her sweat stirs something in my blood. When I dreamed of this moment, and I’ve spent hours picturing it, I was the one backing Ali into a corner. I was the one in command. I imagined it would come naturally to me. Now that the moment is here I feel I’m losing more control with every passing second. I respond by grabbing her arms and pulling her close.

Her breath warms my already flushed face. Her blue eyes bore into mine. As far as truth goes, I can only repeat my previous actions. I move my hands upwards, trailing my nails along the flesh of her arms, and pull her in.

This time, she responds to my kiss by parting her lips and allowing my tongue to slip into her mouth. She withdraws and traces a moist path to my ear with her lips. “You have no idea,” she whispers. And it’s true, I have no idea what she means. But I don’t care as I inhale her closeness and revel in it. My nipples harden under my top. They poke into the fabric of my sports bra and I can’t wait for them to be freed.

I make a play for Ali’s tank top, wanting to lift it and expose the abs we’ve been working on so hard, but she’s quick to intercept me. She grabs me by the wrists and, in one swift movement—as if it’s all she does in life—she pins my hands above my head.

Her eyes don’t leave mine. Her face is unreadable. Maybe this is what she does in life.

Do hop over to Victoria Blisse’s blog for more snogs!