Only For You(5)

By: Genna Rulon


“Do you ever lock your car doors?” Sam commented disapprovingly.

“Not all of us drive a Mercedes, Sam,” I sniped, “who would want to steal Papa Smurf? He’s a twelve year old no-frills Accord,” I asked after locating the keys in the black hole I called a purse. “Got’ em!” I shouted triumphantly.

Within five minutes of leaving our apartment we arrived at the athletic complex and entered Studio A. Fifteen unfamiliar girls sat on the thick floor mat looking as apprehensive as I felt. Sam and I quickly joined them after depositing our personal items to the side.

At the front of the room was an attractive woman in tight workout attire, which intentionally displayed her ample assets. Her shiny brunette hair was atop her head in a high ponytail, and she was wearing full supermodel makeup.

I rolled my eyes while muttering, “Are we recording an exercise video? Did I miss the memo?”

Sam laughed while she studied our specimen her further.

“Is she wearing fake lashes? They match her fake—” she trailed off as the buxom brunette eyed the doorway behind us and purred, “Hunter, you’re here.”

I turned to the door along with everyone else and froze. The man who entered was arresting, breathtaking. He appeared to be mid-twenties, at least six feet two with broad shoulders that tapered to a narrow waist, creating the idyllic masculine V-figure. He wore a fitted black tee that hinted at a patchwork of muscles hidden beneath. I forced my reluctant eyes to his face, the sight I encountered compelled me to whisper, “My, oh my…it just keeps getting better. Damn.”

His defined bone structure was deliberate, but not sharp, with a squared jaw and prominent cheekbones. Shaggy ebony hair, slightly longer in front, framed his face and contrasted his bottomless aquamarine eyes in such a way they seemed to radiate light from within. His jaw was dusted with dark stubble that called attention to his lips, which were wide and appeared alluringly strong yet soft. Those same lips were currently raised on one side in a knowing smirk. I watched as he walked, his gait confident and fluid, the stride of a man who knew his effect on the occupants of the room. I subtly attempted to track his journey; as he passed me I was rewarded with an unhindered view of his brawny back and muscular butt, beautifully showcased and begging to be bitten. He was the human equivalent of a perfect piece of fruit featured on a magazine cover—impossibly succulent, such perfection couldn’t be real. The difference in this case being a picture could be doctored until it no longer resembled the original, but merely an idealized representation. He was no altered ideal—he was authentic sex incarnate.

I snapped back to reality when he reached the Jane Fonda fitness model wannabe. She raised her arm to stroke his cheek, murmuring, “No chance to shave this morning?” She made her approval obvious as her hand lingered longer than was appropriate.

“Thanks Crystal,” he replied neutrally while stepping back, increasing the space between them. He was neither discouraging nor encouraging her blatant advances, accepting her actions as par for the course. Directing his attention outward, he addressed the group.

“Are we ready to begin?” Of course his voice was as sexy as his body, a rich, deep baritone, reverberating through the air seductively. Double damn.

The command his voice wielded over my body was disconcerting, tingles danced across my skin in response. Was he a cyborg of masculine perfection created to test the restraint of earthly women? It seemed a viable explanation for my responsiveness. I licked my suddenly dry lips.

Fighting my alarmingly wicked thoughts about this man, I shifted my gaze to observe the condition of my classmates. Evidently, every female in the room was as mesmerized by him as I was. Faces ranged from slightly flushed to carnal red, most still gawking wantonly. Turning to Sam, keen to assess his effect, I found her mouth agape, eyes still locked on the eye candy. I nudged her to break the trance, causing her to shake her head several times as if dispersing the fog.

Chuckling softly I teased, “You okay, Sam? I think you may have swallowed a fly.”

Sam’s eyes regained focus and snapped to me.

“Don’t even pretend you don’t see that prime cut of meat. I’m quitting food and becoming a manivore,” Sam smacked her lips to emphasize her point. “In fact, when I’m forty with three screaming kids it will be him I visualize when I close my eyes to pretend I want to have sex with my husband, instead of getting the sleep I would prefer.” Sam rubbed her hands together wickedly like a villain from the silent movie era, enjoying her evil plan.

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