Surely exercise could help him literally work out his aggression.
The gym was a small but well-equipped one, divided into two areas. In the first one was a couple of treadmills, a tread-climber and an elliptical machine which faced the wall with a forty-inch flat-panel television that Victor had recently purchased to replace the heavy, out-dated television that was previously mounted on it. On the opposite wall there was a weight bench, a hanging punching bag and three different machines with weights and resistances. A row of benches casually separated this section from the other area of the gym, which provided an open space for running or group activities. Three of the four walls were nearly covered in mirror, and the room had three doors: the entrance, one that led to the women’s locker room and one that led to the men’s.
“So here we are. It’s not the greatest gym ever, but it’s got decent equipment and should do … just … fine,” she turned to face him and found him standing close upon her. Too close. “ … for our purposes.”
He grunted as he easily stripped off his shirt. “I hope so.”
She watched as he got on the treadmill, wearing a pair of shorts and sneakers she’d bought for him a few days ago, and immediately broke into a six miles per hour jog. His legs flexed and moved with ease, and his large feet thudded heavily as they landed one after another on the belt. Within a minute he increased the speed to eight, nine, then ten, his body moving like a beautiful, living machine as it easily adjusted to the faster rhythm each time. The racing of her own heart alerted Celise that perhaps she should join him in some exercise instead of standing there watching him like a horny fool.
She went into the locker room, removed her lab coat and stripped off her dress, shoes and stockings before putting the lab coat back on—making a mental note to see if she could go home and grab some appropriate workout gear—and going back into the gym. She considered one of the machines, but all she’d had with her were those heels, and it was neither smart nor sanitary to get on one barefooted. So she moved to the other side of the room, removed her glasses and did some stretches and Pilates while he ran.
Within fifteen minutes he shut down the treadmill and trumped off of it, his face twisted in an angry scowl.
“Did that help any?”
“Not intense enough,” he replied without making eye contact at her. He marched over to the free weights and threw himself down on his back upon a bench.
Even from several feet away, Celise could see clearly the way his body rippled and flexed as he pumped the iron, his tan skin glistening with perspiration, his green veins bulging with life. He was man, all man, all fine, riled-up man. She tried to turn her head so as not to stare at him, but the walls of the gym were practically covered in mirrors. That delectable body of his was everywhere she turned. Taut and taunting and tempting. Reflecting into infinity.
Celise hiked up the stiff lab coat a bit and began doing her squats more aggressively, finding herself needing to work off some steam of her own.
Then Jaxon began attacking the long punching bag with his big fists and raising those thick, sculpted legs of his to kick at it. His body rippled whenever his hand or foot made a thudding contact against the bag. She tried closing her eyes to shut him out of her head, but a guttural grunt accompanied each thrust. It was as if every move the man made reeked of sex. And that was when Celise almost lost it.
She eyed the door, tempted to leave and come back to fetch him when he was done. But she was supposed to be keeping an eye on him; she was supposed to be supportive. Surely she could control her carnal thoughts long enough to let the man finish his workout. Lying upon the floor, she closed her eyes and began doing crunches until his rough voice jerked open her eyes.
“I’m going to hit the shower,” Jaxon
The gym was a small but well-equipped one, divided into two areas. In the first one was a couple of treadmills, a tread-climber and an elliptical machine which faced the wall with a forty-inch flat-panel television that Victor had recently purchased to replace the heavy, out-dated television that was previously mounted on it. On the opposite wall there was a weight bench, a hanging punching bag and three different machines with weights and resistances. A row of benches casually separated this section from the other area of the gym, which provided an open space for running or group activities. Three of the four walls were nearly covered in mirror, and the room had three doors: the entrance, one that led to the women’s locker room and one that led to the men’s.
“So here we are. It’s not the greatest gym ever, but it’s got decent equipment and should do … just … fine,” she turned to face him and found him standing close upon her. Too close. “ … for our purposes.”
He grunted as he easily stripped off his shirt. “I hope so.”
She watched as he got on the treadmill, wearing a pair of shorts and sneakers she’d bought for him a few days ago, and immediately broke into a six miles per hour jog. His legs flexed and moved with ease, and his large feet thudded heavily as they landed one after another on the belt. Within a minute he increased the speed to eight, nine, then ten, his body moving like a beautiful, living machine as it easily adjusted to the faster rhythm each time. The racing of her own heart alerted Celise that perhaps she should join him in some exercise instead of standing there watching him like a horny fool.
She went into the locker room, removed her lab coat and stripped off her dress, shoes and stockings before putting the lab coat back on—making a mental note to see if she could go home and grab some appropriate workout gear—and going back into the gym. She considered one of the machines, but all she’d had with her were those heels, and it was neither smart nor sanitary to get on one barefooted. So she moved to the other side of the room, removed her glasses and did some stretches and Pilates while he ran.
Within fifteen minutes he shut down the treadmill and trumped off of it, his face twisted in an angry scowl.
“Did that help any?”
“Not intense enough,” he replied without making eye contact at her. He marched over to the free weights and threw himself down on his back upon a bench.
Even from several feet away, Celise could see clearly the way his body rippled and flexed as he pumped the iron, his tan skin glistening with perspiration, his green veins bulging with life. He was man, all man, all fine, riled-up man. She tried to turn her head so as not to stare at him, but the walls of the gym were practically covered in mirrors. That delectable body of his was everywhere she turned. Taut and taunting and tempting. Reflecting into infinity.
Celise hiked up the stiff lab coat a bit and began doing her squats more aggressively, finding herself needing to work off some steam of her own.
Then Jaxon began attacking the long punching bag with his big fists and raising those thick, sculpted legs of his to kick at it. His body rippled whenever his hand or foot made a thudding contact against the bag. She tried closing her eyes to shut him out of her head, but a guttural grunt accompanied each thrust. It was as if every move the man made reeked of sex. And that was when Celise almost lost it.
She eyed the door, tempted to leave and come back to fetch him when he was done. But she was supposed to be keeping an eye on him; she was supposed to be supportive. Surely she could control her carnal thoughts long enough to let the man finish his workout. Lying upon the floor, she closed her eyes and began doing crunches until his rough voice jerked open her eyes.
“I’m going to hit the shower,” Jaxon
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