A bead of sweat glints slowly down your thigh, tracing the outline of your hamstring as it flexes rhythmically with your stride. I can’t help but to lick my lips as I watch it trickle into the delicate hollow behind your knee. I stumble. Quickly I catch myself and fall back into pace. What the hell is wrong with me?
My husband glances over, his look part concern and larger part annoyance. He maintains a position to my left, slightly ahead of me. Today is the first day I’m running with his group, having graduated last week to a seven-minute mile pace. I’m proud of myself and I know he is, too, but his competitive streak tends to get the better of him. No matter. I feel strong this morning — steady and fast. There are eight of us running today, and only one other woman: our run leader — you.
And I can’t keep my eyes off you. You’re clad in the bare minimum — run shorts and a sports bra, both white, setting off skin that glows copper in the dawn light, your muscles rippling beneath its satin sheen. You rock a buzzcut that accentuates your high cheekbones and large dark eyes. Your stride is long and graceful, almost hypnotic to behold — like a fierce warrior, leading her loyal troops. Absurdly, I think to myself, I’d follow you anywhere… Well fuck me — I haven’t had a girl crush since I was in high school.
When we slow to a halt you’re barely out of breath. You clap your hands, invigorated, and roar triumphantly: “Great energy today, team!” When you make the rounds to give each of us a high-five, it isn’t juvenile or condescending. In fact, it’s surprising how all these runners — all these men — are pumped for your praise, gratified by your approval, almost reverent under your authority. You’re a born leader, the alpha of the pack… and it’s utterly enthralling. When you turn to me, you’re practically beaming ear-to-ear: “Nice work, newbie — glad to have you on my crew.” Your palm is hot in mine as we clasp hands, our eyes locking as you squeeze encouragingly… enticingly… before you move off to chat with another runner.
The group disperses, some heading home, others entering the gym where the run club is based. I follow this latter faction, wanting to take advantage of the facility’s pristine marble rain showers to rinse the sweat off before the car ride home. My husband has already gone in this direction, not bothering to check in with me — clearly, he’s harboring some sort of resentment about the fact that we’re on an equal footing now… perhaps he’s even envious of the special attention you gave me. I stop to drink deeply from the water fountain, considering this dilemma, but after this morning, the last thing I want to do is give up this (your) run club.
I make my way into the locker room and strip out of my sweaty clothes, relishing the feeling of cool air on my damp skin. Most of the lights are still dimmed: it’s early and a holiday weekend — not many people here yet.
I enter the shower room and proceed to the end of the hall, passing unoccupied stalls with doors of clouded glass… and stop short. One door is slightly ajar, and from this angle I can see just a sliver of your naked form… and a sliver is more than enough. The water cascades down your athletic body, tracing its angles, purling in its hollows, anointing your bronze skin with shimmering jewels. Between your legs I glimpse a trim shade of black duvet. A dusky nipple flashes into view, tipping a firm and perfectly round breast, and I feel something stir in my lower belly. I can hardly breathe at the sight of you, and I can’t seem to tear my eyes away… even when I realize you’re looking back.
You hold my gaze contemplatively, a smile playing about your lips. “Would you… care to join me?” you ask, your voice velvet temptation. I’ve frozen in place, utterly astonished at this turn of events. My mind runs through all the reasons why I can’t — won’t — take you up on your offer: I’m married, my husband is in this building, I’ve never done anything like this, I’m not actually into women… But my body and my mind are at odds on this in a way I’ve never quite experienced before — your allure is so potent, so impossible to resist… I’m still engaged in this furious debate with myself even as I begin to approach you, even as I let my towel fall to the floor.
You bite your lip as you open the shower door wider, welcoming me into the steamy stall. You place your strong hands on my waist and gently guide me under the falling stream of hot water. I close my eyes and look up, my heart fluttering wildly as I feel your lips on my collarbone. The whole world seems to falter as you kiss me there, lap at the water pooling in its hollow. Do you know I’m married? Maybe you do, maybe you don’t. Maybe you don’t care. I shiver despite the heat, my body quivering with sudden and overwhelming desire. I realize I’m utterly in your power… and I give into it with complete abandon.
When you kiss me it’s like tasting forbidden fruit — soft and plump and delicious. Your lips are like silk against mine, brushing and puckering and nipping slowly, sensually. It’s unlike any kiss I’ve ever experienced — as delicate as it is deliberate, both tantalizing and desperate. I can’t help but to moan softly as you coax my mouth open with yours. I feel your tongue play tentatively with mine, unhurried and endearing, so unlike the clumsy onslaughts I’ve gotten used to (and gotten used to rebuffing) from my husband and other men.
Your hands slip down to my hips as you pull my body into yours, and I feel my cunt throb as your hard nipples graze the sensitive skin of my breasts… Now my hands are on you also, trailing down your muscular back… moving to grip your phenomenal ass as I press my thigh between your legs. Your groan catches in your throat as I grind into you, our bodies crushing together, skin gliding on wet skin, our intensifying gasps mingling with the splashing water. You grasp a handful of my hair and tilt my head back, arching my breasts forward and up. You bend to take my nipple between your lips, glistening rivulets cascading down your cheeks and chin as you tease and suck with relish, driving me mad with arousal.
When you go to your knees I’m suddenly embarrassed at the flood you might find there. You sense my hesitation and look up at me, licking your lips, eyes wide with hunger. You hold my gaze as you guide my hips forward, opening your mouth and unfurling your tongue. I cry out when you taste me — a fierce craving somehow both gratified and increased. I watch as you close your eyes to eat deeply, your tongue exploring my creamy slit, licking and devouring. All shyness gone, I reach down and run my hands over your scalp, wet bristles soft against my fingers, pulling you in as my pleasure builds. Your greedy moans vibrate through me, adding a titillating layer to your expert coaxing. “Fuck — I’m close!” I cry. You dig your nails into my ass and increase rhythmic pressure on my ripe clit, taking me to the brink of ecstasy in seconds. My orgasm surges through me like a blinding current, its intensity utterly overwhelming.
My legs tremble as you stand to kiss me. When I taste myself on your lips, I’m somehow aroused all over again. “Now you,” I murmur, sliding a hand down into your soft duvet, finding it slick with your desire… you inhale sharply, but take my wrist and gently push it away. “Our time is likely up,” you say, “but… I expect you back next week.” You expect correctly — you’re impossible to deny, my alpha through and through.
