I couldn't resist eating her sweaty pussy after our workout - Part 2

The silence she left behind was a physical presence, heavy and throbbing with the ghost of her scent still on my lips. I stayed on my knees, the cold gym floor biting into my skin, a stark contrast to the heat still radiating from my groin. My shorts were a prison, and the aching hard-on she’d so expertly ignored was a sentence I had no idea how to commute. I replayed every second—the smirk, the command, the taste of her—on a loop until my head spun.

The next forty-eight hours were a special kind of torture. Every text notification made my heart hammer against my ribs. A reminder for a client’s protein order made me jump. But there was nothing from her. The silence felt like a test. Or a rejection. I started to wonder if I’d crossed a line, if the entire explosive encounter had been a mistake she now regretted.

Then, the morning of our next scheduled session, my phone buzzed.

See you at 7. Don’t be late.

That was it. No name. No emojis. Just a command. My stomach did a full somersault.

By 6:55 PM, the gym was empty, the only sounds the low hum of the refrigeration units and the frantic beating of my own heart. I was trying to look casual, leaning against the squat rack, when the door clicked open.

And there she was. Chloe.

She wore a different set of leggings, this pair a deep charcoal grey, and a tight black crop top that showed off a sliver of her toned midsection. Her hair was pulled back, and she moved with that same confident, fluid grace that had undone me completely two days ago. She didn’t look at me at first, dropping her gym bag by the door and taking a long sip from her water bottle.

“Evening, trainer,” she said, her voice cool and even. As if the earth hadn’t moved right here in this room.

“Chloe. Hey.” I sounded breathless. Get it together. “Ready to get started?”

She finally turned her gaze on me, and a slow, knowing smile spread across her face. Her eyes dipped down, just for a fraction of a second, to my shorts before snapping back up to mine. The audacity of it, the sheer, blatant check, sent a fresh jolt of blood south.

“Oh, I’m always ready,” she purred.

We started with light weights, but my focus was shot. I was supposed to be counting her reps, but all I could count were the ways her body moved. The flex of her powerful thighs as she sank into a squat. The shift of muscles in her back as she performed a bent-over row. The way the grey fabric stretched taut across her perfect, round ass, hinting at the shadowed cleft between.

I adjusted my stance, trying to find a comfortable position that didn’t exist. My cock was already half-hard, just from her presence, from the memory of what that body could do.

She finished a set and turned, catching me staring. Again. Her smirk was instant.

“Having trouble focusing today?” she asked, her tone dripping with faux concern. She walked toward me, wiping her brow with the back of her hand. The smell of her, a clean sweat and her signature jasmine scent, hit me like a drug.

“I’m… it’s fine. Just… keeping an eye on your form.” The lie was weak, and we both knew it.

She stopped right in front of me, well inside my personal space. “My form, huh?” She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper meant only for me. “Or were you staring at something else?”

I couldn’t speak. I could only look at her lips, at the playful, dangerous light in her eyes.

She reached out, and for a heart-stopping second, I thought she was going to touch me. Instead, she just slowly hooked her fingers into the waistband of her own leggings and gave them a slight, deliberate tug. The fabric tightened, outlining everything. Everything.

My breath hitched. A low groan escaped me before I could stop it.

Her eyes flashed with victory. “See something you like, trainer?”

This was the tease. This was the game. And I was powerless to do anything but play.

“Chloe…” It was a plea. A surrender.

“You know,” she said, taking another step closer until our bodies were almost touching. I could feel the heat coming off her skin. “I’ve been thinking about our last session. How… thorough you were.”

She placed a hand flat on my chest. I could feel the pressure of each individual finger through my thin t-shirt. Her touch burned.

“I was left feeling very… relaxed,” she continued, her fingers sliding down my chest, over my abs, making every muscle clench beneath her touch. “But it didn’t seem very fair. I got my workout. You…” Her hand drifted lower, skimming the desperate bulge in my shorts, and I jerked as if electrocuted. “…didn’t get yours.”

The world narrowed to the point where her hand hovered, a millimeter from granting me relief. The air crackled. I was panting, my hands clenched into fists at my sides, my entire being screaming for her to close that infinitesimal gap.

She leaned in, her lips brushing my ear as she whispered, her warm breath sending shivers down my spine. “I think we need to even the score.”

My control shattered. In one fluid motion, I closed the distance between us, my arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her hard against me. A gasp of surprise escaped her lips, but it was quickly swallowed by mine.

The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was a collision. A claiming. It was weeks of pent-up fantasy and two days of agonizing denial exploding at once. My tongue plunged into her mouth, tasting the mint of her toothpaste and the deeper, primal flavor that was just her. She moaned into me, her hands flying up to tangle in my hair, pulling me closer, kissing me back with a ferocity that matched my own.

Our bodies ground together, the hard planes of my chest against the softness of hers. I could feel the relentless throb of my erection pressed against her stomach, and she rolled her hips, a deliberate, grinding motion that made me see stars. I broke the kiss, trailing my lips down her neck, sucking at the salty skin there, nipping at her collarbone.

“God, Chloe,” I rasped against her skin, my hands sliding down to grip her ass, kneading the firm, glorious flesh through her leggings. “I’ve been going out of my mind.”

She threw her head back, a throaty laugh escaping her. “I know.” Her hands were everywhere, roving over my back, my shoulders, sliding under my shirt to feel my skin. Her touch was possessive, hungry.

I walked her backward until she was pressed against the cool mirror of the gym wall. Our mouths found each other again, a messy, desperate dance of lips and tongue. My hands fumbled with the waistband of her leggings, my fingers itching to feel her, to taste her again.

I broke the kiss, my forehead resting against hers, both of us breathing heavily. The air between us was hot and charged. My fingers were hooked on the elastic of her leggings and her underwear beneath, poised to pull them down.

She looked up at me, her eyes dark with desire, her lips swollen from my kisses. A fresh bead of sweat traced a path down her temple. She bit her lower lip, her hips giving the smallest, most inviting push against my hands.

“So,” she breathed, her voice husky and raw. “Are you going to even the score or not?”