Sofia was never more beautiful than when she ran—as if she was made for it. Her shoes landed on the track with an elegance so incongruous I simply had to look up that first time I spotted her a few months ago. My gaze had shifted from her toned thighs to the sweat shimmering on the skin of her arms and I had ended up looking straight into the cockiest smile I’d ever seen. Everything about her oozed dominance. From the way she tilted her head when she addressed me, eyes blazing with confidence, to how she untied her shoelaces after a run. As if the miles she’d just put in were nothing but a leisurely stroll in the park.
I rounded the bend and increased my speed, prompted by an urgency to see her face. I ignored the stitches in my side and ran alongside her. She shot me a crooked grin, accompanied by a quick wink. She allowed me to run by her side for a few strides before taking off. I cursed myself for allowing my desire to catch a glimpse of her dark stare, to be with her in the moment, knock me off my game. But I wasn’t ready to throw in the towel just yet. I fixed my eyes on her behind, and pushed images of my flat hand landing on it—leaving the molten gold of her skin flushed a delicate red—out of my mind.
My breathing grew shallower and sweat trickled down my temples. It was neither a case of being unhappy to submit to Sofia, nor a matter of pride. I just knew this was the only way she’d ever let me. Sofia would only willingly surrender if I beat her at the one thing she considered herself unbeatable at.
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