Last Light in the Gym

The smell of sweat and rubber mats hung in the air, mixed with the faint metallic tang of the weight racks. I was packing up my brushes when I heard it—the soft pad of bare feet on the polished floor. Lena. She was supposed to have left an hour ago.

"You're still here," she said, her voice a low murmur that bounced off the high ceiling.

I turned. She stood by the yoga mats, her tank top clinging to her like a second skin, damp at the collarbone. Her hair was tied up in a messy knot, a few dark strands stuck to her neck.

"Couldn't leave," I said. "The light's perfect."

She laughed, a short, breathy sound. "The light, or the model?"

I didn't answer. We'd been dancing around this for weeks—her posing for my sketches, me pretending I didn't notice the way her spine curved, the way her hips tilted when she stretched. She knew. She always knew.

"One more session," she said, already pulling the tank top over her head. "Before closing."

Her breasts were bare, heavy, tipped with dark nipples that tightened in the cool air. She wore only thin cotton shorts, riding low on her hips. She walked to the center mat, turned her back to me, and bent over to touch her toes.

I watched her ass, the way the fabric stretched over it. My cock was already hard, pressing against my jeans.

"Lena," I said, my voice rougher than I intended.

She straightened, looked over her shoulder. "Yes?"

"Come here."

She did. Slow, deliberate, her hips swaying. When she was close enough to touch, she reached down and pressed her palm against the bulge in my jeans.

"About time," she whispered.

I grabbed her hips and pulled her into me, my mouth crashing against hers. She tasted like salt and something sweet—the last of her energy drink. Her hands worked the button of my jeans, and I groaned into her mouth as she freed my cock, her fingers wrapping around the shaft.

"Fuck," she breathed, stroking me. "You're so hard."

"Because of you," I said, my hands sliding under her shorts, finding her ass, squeezing. "Always because of you."

She stepped back, shimmied out of her shorts. No panties. Her pussy was already glistening, a thin line of wetness trailing down her thigh. She lay back on the mat, spread her legs.

"Paint me first," she said, a wicked grin on her lips. "Then fuck me."

I laughed, but I grabbed my sketchbook. I didn't draw her face. I drew her cunt—the fold of her lips, the slick shine, the way her thighs trembled. She watched me with dark eyes, her hand drifting down, rubbing herself in slow circles.

"You're getting me wetter," she said. "Every stroke of that pencil."

"Good."

I dropped the sketchbook. My jeans hit the floor. I knelt between her legs, ran my hands up her thighs, feeling the heat radiating off her skin. She was soaked—my fingers slid into her easily, two of them, and she gasped, arching her back.

"Don't tease," she begged. "Please."

I pulled my fingers out, brought them to my mouth, tasting her. Sweet and musky. She watched, her lips parted, eyes half-lidded. Then I positioned my cock at her entrance, pressed just barely inside, and held.

"Look at me," I said.

She did. Her eyes locked on mine, full of hunger and something softer underneath. I pushed in, slow, inch by inch, feeling her tight heat stretch around me. She moaned, a long, low sound that vibrated through my chest.

"God, you feel amazing," I said, my forehead against hers.

"Don't stop," she whispered. "Don't you dare stop."

I didn't. I pulled back, almost all the way, then thrust back in, harder. She cried out, her nails digging into my shoulders. The mat was rough beneath my knees, her legs wrapped around my waist, heels pressing into my lower back.

"Faster," she said. "Please, faster."

I gave her what she wanted. Each thrust slammed into her, her tits bouncing, her breath coming in sharp gasps. The gym was empty, the lights humming above us, and the only sounds were our bodies slapping together and her moans echoing off the walls.

"I'm close," she whimpered. "Don't stop, I'm so close."

I reached between us, found her clit, rubbed it in tight circles. She screamed—a raw, desperate sound—and came, her pussy clenching around me, milking me. I followed a moment later, burying myself deep, flooding her with heat.

We collapsed together, slick with sweat, breathing hard. She laughed, a shaky, giddy sound, and kissed my jaw.

"Best session yet," she said.

"Wait until you see the sketch."

She turned her head, looked at the sketchbook lying on the floor. "I want to see the original."

I smiled, stroked her hair. "You're the original."

She rolled onto her side, traced a finger down my chest. "Same time tomorrow?"

"Same time tomorrow."

The lights flickered off. We lay there in the dark, tangled together, her heart beating against mine.

CATEGORIES: [Sensual sex, Just the Two of Us, Artist, Gym, Exhibitionism]