This is going to be the best orgasm I have ever had. I know it.
“I want to hear my name on those perfect lips when you come for me. I want to fucking hear you scream it,” he growls, fucking me with his fingers and tongue, sending me barreling toward the edge of the cliff.
BEEP BEEP BEEP
I jerk awake, wiping the sweat off my brow and groaning at the fact I can still feel the touch of his hands on my skin and the fact that I’m so wound up that I know I’ll have to take care of myself in the shower before I head into work. My head slams back against my pillow as I close my eyes and wish I could sleep for another eight hours and forget about everything that happened last night.
BEEP BEEP BEEP
I groan, slamming my hand down on my alarm clock, cursing Mel for begging me to go out last night and Josh for being the reason I’m so unsatisfied right now. I slowly make my way out of bed, wiping my eyes and cursing the fact that I chose a job that makes me get up at the crack of dawn, but I can’t see myself doing anything else right now. It took a lot of convincing from my uncle Henry to even step foot in the gym after my father died. He owned half, along with my uncle, and when he died, that half was left to me. His only daughter. As I walk into the hallway, heading toward my bathroom, I stop in front of my favorite picture of my dad and me. We’re standing on the field of Hawks stadium after he won the world series and he has me on his shoulders and I’m grinning from ear to ear. My toothless smile only adding to the adorable nature of the moment. My eyes soften as I take in the man in that picture, because that is not the man that emerged later that year. It wasn’t long after that picture was taken that everything in my life changed and I had to grow up faster than any child should.
“‘Morning, Dad,” I murmur, kissing the tips of my fingers as I place them in the center of his chest and walk into the bathroom to get ready.
Growing up, baseball was all I knew and since it was my dad’s passion, it became mine. Being on that field, feeling so incredibly small in a place that was so important to so many was a rush, and I will always remember the words my father said to me when I questioned why he still loved playing. He would say, “It never gets easier, you just get better.” He was always working to get better, stronger and faster. Better than the rookies trying to steal his job, stronger than the heroes he grew up watching and faster than the man he thought he was.
After my shower, I go back into my room and dress in my usual work uniform, which consists of yoga pants and a loose T-shirt. I spend most of my days walking the gym floor, cleaning equipment and helping out clients so there’s really no need for me to dress in fancy clothes when I’m just going to sweat the whole day.
Walking up to the front doors of the gym, I smile at the flyer taped to the front door. I’ve been bugging Henry to advertise that we’re looking for a new yoga instructor since Tommy quit last week. He’s been dragging his feet, and from the basic nature of the flyer, I can tell he spent all of five minutes on it. When Tommy left, Henry asked if I would take over until we found someone else… I laughed in his face. I can’t even walk in a straight line sober, let alone do a warrior pose, or downward dog without falling on my face.
“Buttercup!” Henry yells as I walk into the gym, shutting the door behind me.
I smile at my childhood nickname that only he is allowed to use. He pokes his head out of his office and a sense of warmth passes through my chest.
“What are you doing here so early? I thought I’d be the only one here this morning.”
He shrugs as he comes out to meet me, wrapping his big arms around my shoulders. He stands a head taller than my five-foot-five, so his chin rests comfortably on top of my head, making me chuckle into his chest. He looks so much like my father that at times, when I’m passing him, I wonder if I’ve seen a ghost. His chiseled features with messy blond hair, warm blue eyes and a grin that I know makes most women swoon, are what others see when he enters a room. But me? I see the man who took me under his wing when I was lost and confused, when my mother refused to help, and made me the woman I am today.
“You know me, can’t keep me away for long.” He winks, chuckling as his laugh reverberates through his chest.
“I better get started,” I admit, untangling myself from his embrace and step back, looking around the room. “This place looks like a storm ripped through it.” There are yoga mats scattered all over the floor, probably from the night class, and there are used towels everywhere and I can tell just from the smell that this place wasn’t cleaned at all. “Who closed last night?” I ask, hoping it’s not who I think it is.
“Angela.”
Figures. I eye the back of the room, the door that leads to the practice field is wide open as I give Henry a sidelong glance. He follows my gaze and rolls his eyes, leading me toward the door.
When Dad opened this gym, it was supposed to be a place where his teammates could come and work out on their own without distractions.
