Chapter 4: The Sauna

The sauna at Sonoran Strength was a cedar box at the end of the men's hallway.

By six on Saturday morning it was already a hundred and sixty degrees.

I had switched it on myself.

I had the fob key the owner gave members who trained before open, and I had told Rudy to meet me outside the door.

He stood there in a towel with his hair damp from the shower.

He held a bottle of water he had not been told he could drink.

"Inside," I said.

He opened the door, and the heat rolled out and hit us.

The room was small and dim, with two tiers of cedar benches and a stack of stones in the corner that ticked as they warmed.

I came in behind him in a towel of my own and shut the door.

"Take it off," I said.

He dropped the towel.

"Sit. Top bench. Hands on your knees."

He climbed up and sat with his back against the wall and set his palms on his knees.

He looked at me with his chin up.

His skin was already shining.

I stood in front of him in the thick air and let my own towel fall.

The cedar bench burned my feet through the thin soles of my flip-flops, so I kicked them off and stepped up between his legs.

"You don't move your hands," I said. "Not for any reason."

"No, ma'am."

"And you tell me when."

"Yes," he said.

I knelt on the lower bench in front of him.

My knees ached on the wood, and the heat pushed against my face, and sweat was running between my breasts and down my stomach.

I put my hands on his thighs, then slid them up.

He was already hard.

I wrapped my fingers around him and he hissed, and I leaned in and put my mouth on the head.

His whole body jerked.

"Hands," I said, around him.

His hands went flat on his knees again, gripping.

I took him in my mouth, slowly, an inch at a time, and the taste of him was salt and clean skin.

I moved my head up and down in a long, deliberate rhythm, my tongue pressed flat underneath, and my hand working the base in time.

He groaned.

The sound bounced around the cedar walls and came back at me.

I looked up the length of his body.

His head was tipped back against the wall, and his throat was working, and his eyes were shut tight.

"Look at me," I said, pulling off.

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