My Gym Trainer Counted Every Rep and Then Counted Me In novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: Count It Out

In the locked yoga studio she lies back, then rides him and stops him twice, and sets her terms; his notebook falls out with her name on it.

I took him by the front of his shirt and walked him backward into the yoga studio.

It was a small room at the back of the gym, with blue mats stacked against one wall and a mirror covering the other.

I turned the lock on the door, and the click was loud.

"Ms. Ruelas," Rudy said.

"Not in here."

I kissed him.

I rose on my toes and put my mouth on his, hard, and he made a sound in his throat and held absolutely still.

His hands stayed at his sides.

He had not been told where to put them, so he left them there, and I felt it all the way down my spine.

I kissed him again, slower, and pulled his lower lip between my teeth, and then I let go.

"Count," I said.

His voice was rough. "One."

"Louder."

"One," he said.

I pulled my sports bra over my head and dropped it on the floor.

"Two."

"Good."

I stepped out of my shorts, one leg and then the other, and kicked them aside.

"Three," Rudy said, and his eyes went down my body and came back up, and he swallowed.

I was a strong, soft, curvy woman with a scar on my chin and stretch marks on my hips.

I stood in front of a twenty-four-year-old in my bare feet and did not cover anything.

I did not feel afraid.

That was new.

I dragged two mats off the stack and dropped them side by side on the floor.

I lay back on them, and the vinyl was cool on my shoulders.

I bent my knees and let them fall open.

"Kneel," I said.

He knelt between my feet.

"Hands flat on my thighs. Nowhere else."

He put them there, wide and warm, and I felt them shake.

"You're going to use your mouth," I said. "You count every lick out loud. Ten slow. Then ten fast. Then you stop and wait for me."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Start."

He lowered his head.

The first stroke of his tongue went up through me, slow and flat, and I felt my own stomach drop.

"One," he said against me.

I put my head back on the mat.

"Two."

His tongue dragged up again, wet and deliberate, and he turned his face a little to take me in better.

"Three. Four."

His breath was hot on my skin between the words.

He circled my clit on five, and I said, "Don't speed up," and he didn't.

"Six."

I put my hand on the back of his head, because I wanted it there, and I felt his buzzed hair prickle my palm.

"Seven. Eight."

My hips came up an inch off the mat, all on their own.

"Nine," Rudy said, thick and low, and I looked down at him between my knees.

He had his eyes open.

He was watching my face, and he was waiting.

"Say it," I said.

He closed his mouth over my clit and sucked, soft, and said around it, "Ten."

I gripped his head and cried out.

"Fast," I said. "Now."

He went fast.

He licked me in quick, hard strokes, and counted aloud in a wrecked voice, one, two, three, and I lost track of where I ended.

I got to the edge of it with my toes curled against the mat.

"Seven, eight," he said, and I said, "Stop."

He stopped.

I lay there with my chest heaving and my legs shaking on either side of his shoulders.

His mouth was shining, and his hands had not moved from my thighs, and I could see the pulse beating hard in his neck.

He had stopped on a word, and I had not even said it twice.

"Again," I said, when I could talk. "From one."

He did it again, slower this time, and when I was close I told him to stop again, and he did.

I made him wait.

He knelt there between my legs breathing through his mouth, and the hunger on his face was open and plain.

"You like this," I said.

"Yes."

"You like being told when to stop."

"Yes, Marisol," he said.

I looked at him.

"I didn't give you that."

"I'm sorry. Ms. Ruelas."

"Better," I said, and I felt a smile pull at my mouth.

I sat up, and my thighs were wet and trembling.

"Take your shirt off. Then kneel there with your hands behind your back."

He pulled the gray shirt over his head.

His chest was broad and hard and covered in a light sweat.

He had a long surgical scar down the outside of his right knee.

I put my palm on his chest again and pushed him back until he sat on his heels.

He clasped his hands behind him.

"Good," I said.

His whole body went loose at the word.

I took his shorts down.

He was hard and thick, and the head was already slick, and I took him in my hand and watched his abs jump.

"Don't move," I said.

I stroked him slowly, and he groaned and caught it behind his teeth.

"Tell me when you're close."

"I'm close," Rudy said at once.

"Then you shouldn't be."

I let go.

He shuddered all over and kept his hands where they were.

I got up and went to the stack of mats and pulled one more down in front of the mirror.

"Lie down here," I said. "On your back."

He did.

I stood over him with my feet on either side of his hips and looked down.

He looked up, and then, because he couldn't help it, he looked up the whole length of me.

I turned around, so my back was to him and my face was to the glass.

The mirror showed me everything.

A woman stood over a man under the studio lights, her ponytail coming loose and her mouth swollen.

He lay flat on a blue mat with his hands crossed above his head, looking at her in the glass.

I lowered myself.

I held him at the base and rubbed the head through my wet, once, twice, until I heard him curse under his breath.

Then I sank down.

He was wide, and I had to take it a little at a time, my hand on his knee for balance.

Rudy made a broken sound.

When I had all of him I stopped, and sat still, and looked at myself in the mirror, and I was beautiful.

I had not thought that in a long time.

"Count my breaths," I said.

"I can't," he said. "Marisol, I can't."

"Ms. Ruelas. And you can."

I rose on my knees and came down again, slow.

"One," he gasped.

I did it again.

"Two."

I rode him in long, easy strokes, up until only the head was in me, then all the way down.

I watched his hands flex above his head on the mat.

His abs shook.

I put my own hand between my legs and touched my clit, and I felt the pleasure build behind my ribs.

"Seven," Rudy said. "Eight."

"Tell me when."

"Ms. Ruelas, I'm close. I'm close now," he said.

"Not yet," I said.

I stopped completely.

I sat down on him and held still, and clenched around him once, hard, just to feel him jerk.

He swore in Spanish, low, and I laughed.

"Breathe," I said. "In through the nose."

He breathed.

I watched his chest rise and fall in the mirror.

"Good boy."

His eyes squeezed shut.

I started again, faster, and with my own fingers moving I felt my orgasm coming, deep and heavy, but I wanted him there first.

"Tell me when."

"Now," he said. "Now, please."

I lifted off him completely.

He lay there with his cock wet and heavy against his stomach, a bead of fluid running down it.

The sound he made was close to a sob.

I looked at him in the mirror and thought, I did that.

I had never been in charge of anything in a bed.

Not once.

I had done what I thought a man wanted until he was finished and then lain there and waited to be done.

"I've never done this," I said, not turning around.

"What?" His voice cracked.

"Told a man what to do."

There was a pause.

"I'm good with a count," Rudy said.

I laughed so hard I had to put a hand over my mouth.

Then I lowered myself on him again and rode him until my own orgasm broke over me.

My head went back and my mouth fell open, and I said his last name into the mirror.

I came hard, and I kept moving through it, and I did not let him follow me.

He lay under me with his hands locked together over his head, shaking, trying to be good.

When I was done I climbed off him and sat beside him on the mat, wrung out.

He stared at the ceiling.

His chest heaved.

"Terms," I said.

"Yes."

"Nothing off the gym floor," I said. "Nothing outside these walls. You don't call me, you don't text me."

"Yes," Rudy said.

"You never come unless I say."

"Yes."

I turned my head toward him.

"And you never touch me unless I say. Not a hand, not a look that goes too long."

"Yes, Ms. Ruelas."

I put my palm on his stomach and felt the muscle jump.

"Rudy," I said. "Tell me when."

"I'm so close," he said. "I'm not going to last."

"Then you'll wait."

I took him in my hand, my fingers slick, and stroked him, slow, and watched his hips fight to stay on the mat.

He held out for a long minute.

He begged once, wordless, under his breath, and I stopped before it was too late and sat back.

"Not today," I said.

His alarm went off from the pocket of his shorts, a thin electronic chirp.

Neither of us moved.

He sat up on one elbow and groped for the shorts.

Something small and black slid out of the pocket and landed on the mat between us.

It was a pocket notebook with a spiral top.

It had a name written on the cover in blue ballpoint.

Ruelas, M.

I picked it up.

"Marisol," he said, quick.

I looked at him.

He took it out of my hand, very gently, and put it back in his shorts.

"Weights," Rudy said.

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