3. Luke

Chapter 3

Luke

“I’m not gonna doit now.” Jacob pants when he finally catches up.

“Not gonna do what?”

“Kick your ass.”

“Ooh, right, that.” I widen my eyes. “Thank fuck.”

He narrows his eyes. “I’m still going to do it. I’m just going to wait until you aren’t expecting it.”

“Uh-huh, sure.” I lift the collar of my T-shirt up over my face, wiping the sweat off as we approach the outside door for the resort gym.

Jacob rolls his neck out. “Alright, so what, like ten minutes of this shit, then we’re done?”

“Yeah, ten minutes.” And by ten, I mean forty.

My cousin shakes out his arms. “Alright, I can do it. Make me strong enough to carry my bride across the threshold.”

I just shake my head and pull open the door. “That’s not how this works.”

Jacob veers straight for the water station, telling me he’ll grab one of the little paper cups for me. But I’m not listening anymore. Because my blood is suddenly no longer concerned with my nervous system and is instead surging to my dick.

Several people are in the gym. Four girls are using the treadmills and ellipticals in front of the window facing the beach. A guy over on the leg press, another couple guys using the free weights… But I’m not looking at them. I’m looking at the goddess draped across the weight bench in the far corner of the room.

I was planning to start with a few sets of squats, really wear out the quads, but I’m having a change of heart.

Clenching my abs in an attempt to stop my dick from betraying me in these shorts, I stride across the large room.

The woman isn’t working out.

She clearly has no intention of working out.

And fuck me, I don’t blame her. I wouldn’t change a thing about her.

She’s lying on her back, one leg straight, one leg bent. And…

I clench my stomach harder.

The lacy blue cover-up she’s wearing is bunched at her hips, draping down over the sides of the bench to the floor, exposing all of her legs. And clearly visible under the cover-up is a bright pink bikini. It’s not a super skimpy bikini, but it doesn’t have to be. She attracts the attention all on her own.

My eyes follow the line of the bare leg closest to me, the one that’s bent with her foot flat on the bench.

And goddamn, her skin looks so soft. From her knee, down the back of her leg, to the curve of her ass.

I bite the inside of my cheek as I look at her lush ass framed in that bright pink fabric.

Halfway to her, I drag my eyes up her frame, up her soft stomach covered in that lacy fabric, to a pair of tits that are begging to be sucked on.

I clench my butt cheeks as hard as I can while still walking.

I’m going to have a full fucking boner by the time I reach this woman if I keep looking at her. But I can’t stop.

That damn cover-up is so low cut I’m not even sure what the purpose of it is. Because it’s not covering up shit. It’s a peepshow.

My eyes take in the flashes of skin through the lacy fabric, spotting a tattoo peeking above the band of her bikini bottom at her hip.

As someone who has become well acquainted with the art of tattoos, I appreciate that she made the commitment to some ink.

Just a few feet away, I finally do the gentlemanly thing and look at her face.

She’s reading some sort of e-book, holding it directly above her head, so I can’t make out her eye color. But I can make out her plump lips and the dark brown hair bundled on top of her head.

Her fingernails are painted a pale pink, and they tap a random pattern against the back of the device in her hands.

She looks like she can’t be bothered with society.

Like she couldn’t care less what’s expected of her.

She looks like fucking royalty.

She looks fucking ripe.

And if we were alone, I’d step one leg over her and lay myself directly on top of her body.

But we aren’t alone.

And dry humping a stranger isn’t really my style.

So I take a different approach.