My Gym Trainer Counted Every Rep and Then Counted Me In novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: The Rack

She straps his wrists to the power rack and rides him slowly, and tells him Saturday he will not finish at all.

On Thursday I stopped at nine again, on purpose, to see what he would do.

He stood behind the bench with his hands open under the bar.

My arms locked at nine, and I racked it, and he let me.

He didn't touch the bar.

He didn't say ten.

"You could've helped," I said, lying there.

"You didn't ask."

"You counted for me Tuesday."

"Tuesday you let me," Rudy said. "I'm not going to finish your rep for you. If you want it, you do it."

I sat up and looked at him.

The lights over the free weights were low, the way I liked them, and the rest of the gym was dark glass and black rubber.

He had come in on the dot of six with coffee in a paper cup for me.

He had not once said my first name.

I took the cup, drank half of it, and set it on the floor.

I was wearing black shorts and a gray sports bra.

In my gym bag I had brought a pair of lifting straps, the long black cotton kind that wrap around a wrist and a bar.

I took them out.

"Lie down," I said.

"On the bench?"

"On your back. Head toward the rack."

He lay down.

The bench was short for him, and his feet came off the end and rested on the floor on either side.

I stood over him and held up the straps.

"Hands over your head."

He lifted his arms, and the muscles in his shoulders slid under his skin.

I took his left wrist, wrapped the strap around it twice, and looped it around the steel upright of the power rack, behind his head.

I pulled it tight.

I did the right wrist the same way.

I tied it off with a knot I had learned at fourteen, tying hay bales for a cousin.

He tested it, once.

It held.

"Can you get out?" I said.

"If I wanted," Rudy said.

"Do you want?"

"No."

I put one knee on the bench beside his ribs and leaned over him.

His eyes were dark and fixed on my face.

"You count," I said. "I'll tell you what."

"Yes, Ms. Ruelas."

I swung my leg over and sat on his stomach.

Then I slid down until I was sitting across his hips, with his cock hard under my shorts.

I was still dressed.

He was in his gym shorts and nothing else.

I settled against him and moved.

It was only a roll of my hips, a slow drag of my clit over the ridge of him through two layers of cotton.

I watched his face change.

"One," he said, hoarse.

"Don't count that. Count what I do with my mouth."

I bent and kissed him, open and wet, and then I pulled back and ground down hard.

His hips lifted to meet me.

"No," I said, and put my palm flat on his sternum and pressed him back down.

"You don't move."

He lay back, breathing hard, and the straps creaked on the rack.

I rocked on him.

The friction was good, and then it was better, and I felt the heat start to gather low in me.

I had not known I could get there like this, in a gym, on top of a man who was trying not to breathe.

I looked at his hands, his fingers curling and straining toward the upright, white at the knuckles.

"Tell me when," I said.

"I'm there."

"You are not," I said.

"I am. Ms. Ruelas, I'm right there," he said.

"Then hold it," I said.

I slid off him and stood beside the bench.

He turned his head and looked at me, flushed to the throat.

I hooked my thumbs in my shorts and pushed them down and stepped out of them, and then the sports bra.

I stood naked over him, in the dim light, and let him look.

"You're allowed to look," I said. "That's all."

"You're," he said, and stopped.

"What?"

"You're the best thing I've ever seen."

I felt that in my stomach.

I pulled his shorts off over his knees, and he lifted his hips to help, and his cock sprang up against his belly.

I climbed onto the bench over him and took him in my hand and guided him in.

I sank down slowly, facing him, my knees on the vinyl on either side of his ribs.

It was a stretch, and a good one.

I took my time, and I watched his mouth open and his head press back against the bench.

"Look at me," I said.

He looked.

When I was seated I stopped.

I put both hands on his chest and rolled my hips once, a slow circle.

"Oh God," Rudy said.

"Don't talk. Count."

"One."

I lifted and sank.

"Two."

I rode him long and slow, with my hands on his chest and his heart going under my palms.

Each time I came down I clenched, and each time he made a sound from deep in his stomach.

The bench shifted a little on the rubber with us.

"Seven," he said. "Eight."

"Tell me when."

"Now. It's now."

I stopped.

I sat there, full of him, not moving, and his whole body shook with it.

"Please," he said.

"No."

"Please, ma'am."

I laughed, breathless.

"Breathe," I said.

He breathed.

When the worst had passed I started again, and I took him to the edge a second time, and a third.

By the fourth "tell me when" he was gripping the straps so hard that the knuckles looked ready to split.

His abs were slick, and sweat ran down the side of his face into his ear.

"Marisol," he said, and it came out broken.

"I didn't say that yet."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he said.

"Say it when I let you," I said.

I reached down between us and touched my clit with two fingers.

I was so wet that it ran down to his skin, and I rubbed in small circles and rode him slow.

It built quickly, rep on rep, and I stopped thinking about nine.

I thought, ten, and I came.

I came with my head thrown back and my fingers moving and his cock held deep inside me.

I clenched around him and felt every muscle in my legs lock.

I cried out loud in an empty gym.

I didn't stop.

I kept my fingers on myself through the aftershocks, and I rode him through them.

I felt a second one coming right behind the first.

I put both hands flat on his chest and ground down.

It hit me again, longer, and my vision blurred.

When it was over I sat there shaking, with sweat dripping off my chin.

I had nine reps in my body.

He had just taken ten out of me, twice.

"Rudy," I said.

He was looking up at me with his mouth open.

"Yes," he whispered.

"Tell me when."

"I'm close," he said. "I can't, I can't hold it."

"Hold it."

"I'm trying," he said.

"Try harder," I said.

I lifted my hips and sank, slow, and again.

I watched him fight for it.

His jaw worked, and his eyes were wet, and the straps bit at his wrists.

"Please let me," he said. "Please."

"What do you want to say?"

"Your name," he said.

"Not yet," I said.

I rode him one more time, hard and deep, and I leaned down until my mouth was at his ear.

"Now," I said.

He came.

He came with a shout that rang off the mirrors at the far end of the room.

His hips jerked up off the bench and his arms strained against the rack.

I felt him pulse hot inside me, again and again.

"Marisol," he said, thick and ruined.

"Yes," I said. "Now you can."

I stayed on him until it stopped.

I kissed his forehead, which I had not planned to do.

Then I reached up and undid the knots, first the left and then the right.

He lowered his arms slowly, and there were red stripes on both wrists.

I took his left hand and held it in both of mine and rubbed the mark with my thumb.

He watched me do it.

"Is that okay?" I said.

"Yes."

"Good."

I got off the bench and found my shorts.

My legs were not steady.

I pulled them on and picked up my coffee, which had gone cold, and drank it anyway.

He sat up, slowly, in the dim light, with his hair wet and his chest rising and falling.

I looked at him for a long moment.

"Saturday," I said, "you don't come at all."

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