The Fitting Room Mirror

The heat in the gym was brutal—the cardio zone AC had crapped out that morning. Ian was wiping his neck with a towel, breathing in the thick smell of rubber mats and other people's sweat, when he saw Alice slip into the fitting room by the exit.

He'd known her for six months. The married neighbor who always smiled in the elevator and smelled like expensive lotion. Today she was in a black top, soaked through between her shoulder blades, and yoga pants that hugged her hips so tight Ian had to look away.

He didn't know the fitting room door hadn't clicked shut all the way. That Alice, peeling off her top, heard every word he said when he talked to his trainer in the hall.

"Yeah, the brunette in the leggings..." Ian grinned, adjusting his shorts. "Always checking her out. If she knew how bad I want to fuck her, right here, in front of those mirrors."

The trainer laughed and walked off. Alice froze, her hand pressed to her mouth. Her heart was pounding in her throat. The top hung from her elbows, her breasts heaving.

The door creaked open. Ian stood in the doorway, staring right at her.

"You heard all that, didn't you?"

Alice didn't look away. Instead, she stepped toward him, grabbed his belt, and pulled him inside, kicking the door shut behind her.

"Yeah, I heard," she breathed. "And I want you to say it again, looking me in the eye."

Ian didn't get a chance to answer—her mouth was already on his. The kiss was hungry, wet, with a bite on his lip that made his knees weak. Alice's hands slid under his shirt, her nails raking across his stomach, up to his nipples.

"You have no idea," she whispered, pulling back, "how turned on I got every time you looked at me in the gym."

He spun her around to face the mirror. Alice pressed her palms against the glass, arching her back, pushing her ass out. The stupid "CAUTION!" label on her leggings—with a little smiley face—looked like the sexiest thing in the world to him.

Ian yanked her leggings and panties down in one pull, dropping to his knees. He inhaled the scent of her skin, ran his tongue up the inside of her thigh, higher, higher, teasingly slow.

"Come on," she rocked her hips back, "don't tease."

He grinned and pushed his tongue inside. Alice moaned, pressing her forehead against the mirror. She tasted salty and hot, and he licked her like ice cream, lapping at her until her knees started to shake.

"Cock," she gasped. "I want your cock."

Ian stood up, unbuttoned his shorts. His cock was rock hard, the head slick. He pressed it against her wet slit, dragged it along her entire length, smearing her juice.

"Say it again. What you want."

Alice looked at him in the mirror. Her eyes were bright.

"Fuck me. Right here. Right now."

He slammed into her in one sharp thrust. Alice cried out, gripping the mirror. Ian held her hips, pounding deep and steady, watching her tits bounce in the reflection.

"God," she groaned, "yes. Like that. More."

He leaned forward, cupping her breasts, pinching her nipples between his fingers. Her moans got louder, her body shaking, sweat running down her spine.

Ian felt her clench around him.

"I'm coming," she whispered through her teeth.

"Come." His voice was low and rough. "Come on my cock."

Alice screamed, arching her back, the orgasm ripping through her. Ian slapped her ass, making her squeeze even tighter, and came right after, grunting, burying his face in her damp hair.

They stood there, pressed together, breathing hard. Alice laughed first—soft, embarrassed.

"So what do we do now?"

Ian kissed her shoulder.

"First, get some water. And then—I know you've got a husband, but I can't promise I'll stop staring."

She turned around, wrapped her arms around his neck.

"And I can't promise I won't forget to lock the door again."