Her voice at midnight was pure sex—low, smoky, stripped bare of the crisp professionalism she wore like armor during the day. It slid over his skin like a tongue.
He stepped fully into the gym, the elevator doors whispering shut behind him.
"Impossible not to."
"Then quit pretending you weren't staring." She didn't turn, just held his gaze in the mirror while she shifted her grip on the bar, shoulders rolling in a way that made her breasts threaten to spill from the deep side cutouts. "Two weeks of stolen glances. Looking away the second I catch you. Like I'm some fragile thing you're afraid to break."
"I was being respectful."
"You were being fucking infuriating."
She sank into another squat—deeper, slower, deliberately lewd. At the bottom she paused, thighs spread wide, back arched impossibly, ass pushed out until the bodysuit became nothing more than a thin grey string disappearing between slick, swollen lips.
