Post-Gym Shower — He Followed Me In

I was the last one in the gym at 9:45 PM on a Friday. The weights section was empty save for me and the personal trainer — Derek, 24, built like a Greek god, always spotting me with a little too much attention. I'd been nursing a crush for weeks.

"Last set," he said, standing behind me as I squatted. His voice was close. "You've got this."

I finished my set, breathing hard, and he didn't step back. We stood there in the mirror, me in my yoga pants and sports bra, him in his compression shirt, both of us covered in sweat. Our eyes met in the reflection.

"I'm going to hit the shower," I said. "Locker room's probably empty."

"Yeah." He paused. "Probably."

I walked toward the locker room, and I didn't pull the door fully closed behind me. I left it open just a crack. An invitation.

I was in the shower stall — the private one in the back — with warm water streaming over my body when I heard footsteps. The stall door opened. Derek stood there, still in his gym shorts.

"You left the door open," he said.

"I know."

He stepped into the shower, fully clothed, and kissed me under the spray. The water plastered his shirt to his chest. I peeled it off, my hands exploring his abs, his pecs, the V-line that disappeared into his waistband. He pulled off my dripping sports bra and threw it into the corner.

"I've wanted to do this since you joined the gym," he said between kisses.

"Why didn't you?"

"Gym policy." He smiled. "But technically, I'm off the clock."

I dropped to my knees on the wet tiles. His shorts came off, then his boxers. His cock was magnificent — thick and long, water streaming down its length. I took him in my mouth, the warm shower water mixing with the taste of his skin. He braced one hand against the wall.

"Fuck, Brooke..."

I sucked him with everything I had, my hand working his shaft while my tongue swirled around the head. The steam billowed around us. His breathing grew ragged. I could feel him getting close.

He pulled me to my feet, turned me around, and bent me over under the water. His cock slid between my thighs, teasing my entrance. "Tell me what you want."

"You. Inside me. Now."

He pushed in, and I cried out — the angle was perfect, hitting deep. He fucked me against the shower wall, one hand gripping my hip, the other reaching around to rub my clit. The water beat down on my back. His thrusts grew faster, more urgent.

I came first — my moans echoing off the tiles — and he followed right after, pulling out and coming across the small of my back, the water washing it away instantly.

We dried off with scratchy gym towels and walked out like nothing had happened. But now, every time I hit the squat rack, he's there. Spotting me. Closer than strictly necessary. And I wouldn't have it any other way.