It had been months since I touched a woman—since I touched her. Time blurred. Days stacked up like empty plates, used and tasteless. The gym helped, sometimes. It gave me structure, a sense of progress, something I could hold onto while the rest of me unraveled. But today… the weights didn’t hit right. The mirror didn’t reflect anything back. Just a man going through the motions, haunted by a pair of eyes that had once cut right through the noise. I told myself I was healing. But some part of me knew—I was waiting.

She was there again today. Same gym, same rope, same way she moved like the world spun just to watch her. I heard it before I saw her—thwip, thwip, thwip—the jump rope slicing the air with hypnotic rhythm. My stomach tightened. My body reacted before I could think. I turned, just enough to catch a glimpse. Skirt bouncing. Headphones on. That wild, knowing glint in her eye. I should’ve looked away. I meant to. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. She’d been trouble back when I wasn’t alone. Now… she was a lifeline wrapped in danger.

I racked another plate on the bar. I had to look away—the ache was too sharp. Finishing my set I looked for an escape. Just past her, I saw the sauna door like a promise of silence, of heat to burn the longing out of me.

I moved toward it, grasping at the illusion of calm.

I brushed past her—close enough to touch. My body screamed to grab her wrist, drag her with me, clear the sauna with a shout and undress her slowly, reverently. But I didn’t.

As I rounded the corner, the thump-thump-thump of her rope began to fade. The noise dulled, but the rhythm echoed inside me.

I opened the door—it was empty. Relief, or maybe disappointment.

I stripped off my shirt, needing to feel less confined, less buried. I sat down, leaned back, closed my eyes—and there she was.

She leaned over me, fingertips tracing fire across my chest. I imagined her bare stomach against mine, the edge of her skirt teasing my thighs. Her lips brushed my neck, warm breath curling into my skin.

She whispered something—I didn’t hear the words, but my body understood. I was already hard.

The rhythm returned—thwip, thwip, thwip—her hips rolling against me like the rope that had summoned her.

My hands slid down her thighs, fingers curling under her waistband. She was soaked.

Wet.

I blinked—looked down. My hand was damp. My cock strained against my shorts, a dark stain spreading.

And then—her gasp.

I froze. She walked toward me.

*****

He thought he was subtle.

But she saw it—the tremble in his grip, the guilt behind his stare, like he craved her and hated himself for it.

She watched him disappear behind the sauna door. Alone.

When his shirt came off, she felt her pulse quicken. It would’ve been so easy to follow—to take what she wanted.

She watched him pull his shirt over his head. The sight made her bold.

His eyes were closed—he didn’t hear her slip in.

Alone. Unaware.

And then… he moved.

Was he touching himself?

If it wasn’t her on his mind, she’d make damn sure she would be.

His leg twitched. A smirk tugged at his lips.

Then she saw it—the bulge, the spreading stain.

She stood straighter, a predator now.

She would be his undoing, and he would thank her for it.

*****

“I… I—”

Words failed me.

“Was it me?” she teased. “It was, wasn’t it? Couldn’t wait, could you?”

She stepped closer, hips swaying, a bounce in her stride that made everything move.

She giggled—catching the way my eyes devoured her.

She stood in front of me, then leaned down, her eyes locking onto mine.

Her gaze dropped as her ponytail slid forward, resting between her breasts.

Slowly, she sank into a squat.

“Wait—what are you doing?”

She looked up, her fingers dragging down my chest, pausing at my stomach.

Her touch, combined with the heat of the sauna, flushed my skin deep.

We were already sweating—and not just from the steam.

My nerves were electric. My want, raw.

“Let me help you finish what you started.”

“You don’t have to—”

But my voice caught, silenced by the tug of her fingers undoing the drawstring.

My shorts slid down. I didn’t stop her.

She rose, straddled me, and pressed a finger to my lips.

“Don’t move,” she whispered. “Just feel.”

Her hips rolled against my cock, slow and deliberate.

My pulse hammered. Was this real? Was she?

She looked at me, lips parting slightly. I was drowning in the red of her lipstick.

Her hands found my shoulders. She knew I was staring—and loved it.

“You’ve thought about my mouth, haven’t you?”

I nodded, silent. She left me speechless without even trying.

“Mmm. I haven’t stopped thinking about you either.”

She peeled off her top and dropped her breasts into my face, laughing—still grinding, still smothering, drunk on the tease.

I gripped her hips, pulling her closer, my mouth latching onto her breasts.

She moaned—low, unguarded.

Then she pushed me back, palms on my chest, pausing just enough for me to admire.

“Don’t move… just feel.”

She signaled for me to rise, then kissed me—biting her way from my neck to my waist.

Her hands gripped my ass, yanked me close.

She licked the spot where I’d stained myself, deliberate, obscene.

She bit down on the waistband and tugged—teasing, playful, hungry.

Inch by inch, her face lowered.

Then she slipped her chin beneath the fabric and kissed the tip of my cock, slow and possessive.