by C. C. Morian
“Like what you see?”
“What?” Emily turned away, flustered.
“You were looking at my body.”
“No I wasn’t.” She forced herself to look back at him, but just at his face. It wasn’t much better, he was so good looking, his strong cheekbones and shaven head so erotic to her. And his eyes, a powerful, stoic gaze that froze her. “Were you spying on me?” she challenged.
“Spying on you? I could say the same thing. After all, you’re on the men’s side of the gym.”
“What? No I’m not, there’s no—.” Emily looked around wildly, and noticed that she was one of only two women in the room. The other woman was very muscular, like a professional weightlifter. Emily had never been in this part of the gym before, she normally just went to the bike and aerobics machine room, not the free weights. When she’d come in she had spotted the rack of dumbbells and headed that way.
Damian jerked his head toward the wall. “The women’s weight room is on that side. This is for the guys.”
“I didn’t notice.”
“Sure. You weren’t here hoping to run into me, were you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“A likely story. Anyway, you might as well make the best of it. Let me show you how to use those weights.”
Emily’s heart pounded as Damian took a step closer to her. There was a light sheen of sweat glistening on his skin, the same kind of sweat she’d seen on Justin after they had made love, not beads, but more like an eruption of heat.
She cowed against the bench, feeling very small next to Damian’s bulk.
“You’re making me uncomfortable,” she said, her voice sounding tiny and weak.
“That’s what you said at the resort too. Is it because I’m black? Are you a racist?”
“No!”
“Then why do I bother you so much? I can tell you’re affected.”
Emily felt like a deer caught in headlights, frozen, not able to move. She was afraid if she said anything she’d blurt out the truth, admitting exactly why Damian was affecting her. She cast a nervous glance around the room. Everyone appeared to be intent on their workouts, but who knew what they could overhear? “I’m just uncomfortable with—your flirting.”
“Flirting? You think that’s what I’m doing?”
“Isn’t it?” Emily tried to look sure of herself, without much success.
“Maybe you are just superimposing your own feelings on my words.”
Could he really read her that well? Or was he just being cocky? “You assume a lot.”
Damian grinned. “Because my assumptions are always right.” He picked up a huge dumbbell off the rack and effortlessly did a series of curls. Emily’s eyes widened at how his biceps popped. Very casually Damian said, “Have you ever been with a black man?”
Emily was flabbergasted. “Excuse me?”
“You know. Sexually.”
“That’s a very personal question,” she stammered shyly.
“Because it might explain your emotions right now. Your bodily responses.”
“As a matter of fact I haven’t.”
“So it’s all about what you want, not what you have experienced.”
Emily looked at him coolly, although heat still coursed through her. “You don’t know me well enough to tell me about what I want. And I bet you would have said the same thing if I said I had been with—that it was because of experience.”
Damian gave her his cocky grin again. “Works for me. But I probably know you better than you think. Anyway, if you haven’t been with a black man, have you ever seen one naked?”
Emily couldn’t believe how Damian was having this conversation not only with someone he barely knew, but in a public place. He was totally uninhibited. She glanced around again. No one was very close. Had everyone moved a little bit away, giving them some space? Had they overheard, or was Damian’s aura so strong they were afraid to approach?
Emily sensed that Damian could bend her over and take her right there in the gym, and no one would stop him.
She might not even stop him.
Using her last bit of willpower, she said, “Maybe I have.”
“I doubt it.”
“I have!” responded Emily, speaking louder than she had meant.
“Ah. You’ve been watching porn.”
“That’s none of your business!”
Damian put down the barbell and gave her an appraising look. “You were right about one thing, I don’t know everything about you. I didn’t expect you’d be one to watch porn. That’s enough to get a man hard.”
Emily’s eyes jumped to Damian’s crotch before she had a chance to catch herself. She jerked her head back, but it was too late. Damian had caught her looking, and he was smiling wickedly.
She had also seen the thick bulge between Damian’s legs, clearly outlined by his tight pants.
“Who taught you how to do tricep extensions?”
His change of topic confused her. “What? No one.”
“That explains it. Let me show you.”
Damian picked up the dumbbell that Emily had been using and held it out. Emily stared at it. She felt that she couldn’t deny this offer, otherwise he would thing she was racist or something. But for some reason she felt that if she did this simple little thing, taking the weights from his hand, that she’d be taking a step along a different kind of path, making a decision.
She carefully took the dumbbell, trying not to touch Damian’s hand, remembering how she had been affected that time at the pool.
If Damian noticed her hesitation he didn’t say anything. Instead, he motioned her to resume her exercises. Emily knelt on the bench, one leg on the floor, feeling very self conscious, her rear sticking out right at Damian, like an offering. She wished she had worn her loose sweats instead of her tight yoga pants.
“That’s good starting form,” said Damian.
Emily resisted the urge to turn to see exactly which part of her form he was commenting on.
“Now, go ahead.”
Emily stretched her arm back, very aware of her movements, and for some reason really wanted to do it right, wanting Damian’s approval.
“Stop right there, that’s where you are going wrong.”
To Emily’s utter shock Damian straddled her, bending over her back, his leg outside hers. He wrapped his huge hand around her fingers, their forearms touching. Her head spun, he wasn’t just touching her, his entire body was encapsulating her, surrounding her. His leg felt like a tree trunk, immobile.
“You are going too fast, especially on the return,” he said. He guided her arm back, and then very slowly led her through the return stroke toward the floor. His back was now pressed against hers, his breath hot on her neck.
Her body tightened as his crotch pushed into her butt.
Emily couldn’t speak. When her senses finally returned she vainly attempted to squirm lower on the bench, to free herself, wondering why it had taken her so long to try to pull away.
“Do it again,” ordered Damian.
Without waiting for her response he again guided her arm up, but this time he didn’t shift his body, and the subtle movement forced her rear into him.
“You need to isolate your shoulder movement,” said Damian. “If you lift your hips like that you won’t get the most out of the exercise.” He wrapped his arm under her waist and firmly pulled her hips up into him. Emily gasped as the movement drove her body into his erection. “Can you feel it?”
“Let me go,” she gasped. Or had she spoken? That’s what she needed to say. Her body was sending a different signal, to her, and, she suspected, to Damian.
“Unless of course you were moving like that for a different reason. Trying to see if that porn stuff was real?”
“I’m going to tell my husband,” she whispered.
Damian made no move to get off her. Instead he continued to guide her through the exercise, his crotch held firmly against her ass. “Yes, Justin. He�
�s a good worker. He likes the new job I gave him, doesn’t he?”
“Yes,” said Emily, wanting to get away, and yet not able to do anything other than what Damian told her.
“In fact if I recall he was the one who offered to have you show me around this gym. I won’t hold it against him that you didn’t.”
Emily held her breath. Was Damian going to take this out on Justin?
Damian went on. “I bet he likes the travel part. Being on the job site. Although it does take him away from home, unfortunately. Does that make you sad and lonely? Is that why you are here at the gym? You’re not keeping secrets, are you?”
Damian’s hand tightened around hers as they did the exercise together, their bodies touching. To anyone glancing at them, it might have looked like a trainer helping out. To Emily it felt like they were having sex.
“I’m an honest person,” said Emily.
“Do you tell him everything?”
Emily paused. Damian had this ability to always touch on something, yet he had to be guessing. There was no way Damian could know she had secretly fantasized about him. Or maybe he was so sure of himself he assumed every woman did.
“I tell him everything,” she said, cringing more at the little lie than she was from Damian’s body against hers.
His lips were against her ear, his breath hot. “Will you tell him how you pushed your body against mine? How excited you got? How wet I know you are?”
Emily’s blush flooded her body, the hair on her arms standing straight out as if she’d been shocked by more than just his words. She couldn’t deny anything, not his words, her wetness, her arousal.
Damian’s hand slid sensually along her belly, for some reason touching her there even more personal than his erection pushing into her ass.
“About right here,” said Damian, his finger pressing against her taut skin a few inches above her belly button. “That’s about how far it will reach.”
Emily shivered. His finger was almost exactly where Justin had touched her when they had watched the BBC video, when Justin had said the same thing, about that’s how far it would go.
She grabbed Damian’s hand to stop it, but he was too strong. His fingers shamelessly caressed her belly. Right above where he would be inside her.
At the entrance to her womb.
“Are you going to take advantage of me?” She couldn’t even recognize her own voice. Her tone hinted not at fear, but of her desire.
“Oh, no,” he said, his voice certain. “You are going to beg me for it.”
The whispered words exploded in her ear, a hot rush of intensity flowing from his lips through her body, blooming in her belly.
Emily didn’t move, trying to regain her breath, summoning the strength to stand up. And perhaps, deep down, wondering if Damian was going to touch her somewhere else.
His weight lifted off her, and his absence was as if she had suffered a great loss.
When she finally turned around, he was gone.
Emily slammed the front door shut behind her. Her hands, slick with nervous sweat, slipped three times on the latch before she could get it locked. Her heart was hammering in her chest, her breathing labored, like she had run a marathon.
She had run. Out of the gym, only having to rush back inside to retrieve her purse and keys from the locker, so afraid she’d run into Damian.
She wished Justin were home.
Or maybe not just yet. How could she explain the condition she was in? Wild eyed, half crazed.
Aroused beyond her belief.
She could barely concentrate while driving home. If she had hit one more light she might have touched herself in the car, her desire was that great.
It was so sick, and yet she couldn’t help herself.
She leaned against the door, waiting for her panting to subside.
Finally she made her way into the house on shaky legs. She needed a shower to clean off her dirty thoughts.
But in the bathroom, the mere sight of the shower was a stark reminder of her fantasy about Damian. She couldn’t face that, even alone.
She turned on the water in the bath instead, stripping off her gym clothes as the tub filled. Her panties were soaked, and it wasn’t sweat.
The water was painfully hot, but she immersed herself anyway. She deserved the pain for her sinful thoughts. More than thoughts; she had done so little to fight Damian off. All the things she could have said, could have done. Too late. Certainly Damian must have suspected she wanted him.
And deep down, she had. She still did.
The hot water engulfed her, seeping deep into her bones, just as Damian’s heat had engulfed her.
It was just her body, she thought. A normal, primal reaction, beyond the power of her mind to control.
But she shouldn’t have felt that way. She loved Justin. How could she possibly react so forcefully to another man? Not only to Damian, but to some stranger in a video?
What was wrong with her?
She scrubbed herself madly, as if that could free her skin from the memory of Damian’s touch. She gritted her teeth as she washed between her legs, she was not going to masturbate, she was going to win this fight with her body.
When she was finished she opened the drain, a release of the sullied water and her terrible thoughts.
Slight of body as she was, she always thought of herself as a strong woman, resistant to temptation, able to set her mind on a goal. She’d fallen in love with Justin while still in high school, and had waited for him. It would have been so easy to be with other men in college, enough had wanted her. She could have had boyfriends, she could have succumbed to their sexual arousals. But she had been strong.
This out of control sensation just wasn’t her. She was going to get back on top of things, starting right now.
The last of the water drained out of the tub, freeing her from the past.
Wrapping a towel loosely around herself, she crawled under the covers. Normally she’d call Justin about this time, but tonight she was determined to first prove to herself that she was back in control.
The tablet was in its usual spot in the nightstand. Taking a deep breath, she turned it on, growing angrier by the second. There was no way she was going to let Damian get to her, no way she was going to fall prey to decadent thoughts of sex with other men.
And to prove it to herself, she was going to watch that video again.
She was a woman who faced her fears. If she had a drinking problem, she wouldn’t hide from alcohol, she’d keep a bottle in plain sight, so she could look it head on. That might not be the right way to deal with it medically, but it was who she was. And so she wouldn’t try to sweep these odd sexual desires under some rug in her brain, she’d look them right in the face and choose to ignore them.
She typed in videos of wife having sex with other men.
Even though Emily now knew these videos existed, she was still stunned by the number of hits. Five million. Man watching his wife have sex with a stranger. Unsatisfied wife needs another man. Man filming his wife having sex with different men.
All these couldn’t be true. There simply couldn’t be that many women who enjoyed having sex with someone other than their husband. Could there?
Yet it didn’t matter if there were. Emily needed to prove something to herself, not these other woman.
She clicked on one of the videos. Brightly lit, a skinny man was having sex with an even skinner woman. Someone spoke in a foreign language. It looked fake, acting, not reality. Emily clicked another video. A heavily tattooed woman was on top of a man, gyrating wildly, making faces at the camera. Emily clicked again. The third video showed a fully dressed woman hugging a man in a hotel room. That was closer, but not good enough. Emily needed a tougher test.
She typed in wife having sex with a black man. Millions of more hits. The first one she clicked on showed an attractive dark haired woman in what appeared to be a hotel room with a man. Emily knew immediately this wasn’t a husband and wife.
The woman was kneeling on the bed, dressed in leopard print lingerie; the black man, sitting next to her, wore an unbuttoned white shirt. They were locked in a passionate kiss, the woman’s arm around the man’s head, their lips dancing.
Emily leaned back in her own bed. She’d watch it all the way through, determined not to let it affect her. She’d watch ten videos if she had to. A hundred. This had to end here.
The woman broke the kiss and leaned back. The black man, handsome, with close cropped hair, covered her breasts with his hands, caressing gently. Lovingly. The woman smiled, watching the man’s hands.
He slipped the straps from her shoulders, revealing her breasts. They were firm, not too big or small, not that much different from Emily’s own. The woman in the video pulled the black man’s mouth onto her, and as he sucked Emily could tell how much she enjoyed it. The brunette glanced briefly toward the camera, no doubt being held by her husband, and smiled, then her eyes closed. Her nipples grew thick and puffy.
The scene jumped. The woman was on her knees on the floor, the black man standing in front of her, still in his shirt but without his pants. His stiff shaft pointed at her face. Without hesitating at all, the woman took him in her mouth. She used her hand on his shaft, the camera zooming in on the woman’s face and what she was doing. She shifted hands, revealing her wedding ring.
The brunette’s hair dropped over her face. The camera slid crazily, then steadied as another hand, a white hand, came into the frame, moving her hair away. Her husband, wanting to see.
The scene shifted again. The woman was standing, facing the camera, the black man behind her. Both were naked. Emily felt a quick flash of disappointment, she wanted to know how they had got undressed. Just as Justin had wondered about. Had the black man undressed her? Had she done it herself?
Had her husband?
Emily shook off the thought.
The black man reached around the brunette, his hand on her breasts, rubbing, squeezing. The woman reached back, pulling him against her. Emily knew she must be feeling his erection pushing into her.
