by Rulon, Genna
“Okay, butter hands, hand it over. If you’re jealous of my cool gift, just say so. I’ll tell Ev it’s from us both—no need to destroy it,” she teased.
Oh, I liked her sass; we would get along just fine.
“I don’t need your suck-up gift—I have nepotism on my side.”
“Touché!”
“Hello, coffee warriors!” Ev greeted, entirely too chipper.
She was in a good mood when I last saw her this morning, but something must have happened to turn her into the uber-giddy girl walking toward us. Ah, Hunter must have stopped by on his way to work to ‘wish her a good day.’ If that wasn’t code for making the bed dance, I didn’t know what was.
Ev gave us a tour of the shop, highlighting the location of supplies and reviewing procedures. She asked Meg to make her three different beverages—a test—and of course the show-off aced it. Meg even served Ev’s favorite coffee in the surprise gift she had brought. Ev squealed with excitement like a child in Toys ‘R Us as she received it. After asking Meg to teach me the machines, Ev headed to the office to take care of paperwork and orders.
Six hours flew by, and along the way I managed to master most features on the monster coffee machine. When I got stuck, Meg would help me with the patience of a saint. She was easygoing and funny and, if I had my choice, I would work all my shifts with her.
I planned to exercise after my shift so I changed into my workout clothes in the bathroom before saying goodbye.
“Exciting plans?” Meg asked, spotting my cool new workout attire.
The black capri leggings and racer tank were skintight with green seaming that matched my eyes. For activewear, it rocked.
“I’m headed to the gym—day one of my new workout regimen. I have no idea what I’m doing, but I’ll figure it out.”
“Dressed like that, you can count on it,” a rich, sexy voice spoke from behind me.
The unexpected contribution scared the shit out of me—I levitated several feet off the ground and shrieked like a banshee. Without thought, I spun around and raised my hand to protect myself.
“Whoa, Lo,” Griffin said as he caught my arm, “easy. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
He clasped my hand in his and pulled me in for a comforting hug.
“Sorry, you caught me off-guard.”
“Your guard seemed pretty spot-on. If I had been any slower to respond, you would have hit me…again. This is becoming a nasty little habit,” he teased.
“Maybe you should stop doing things that make me want to hit you. I’ll have you know that no one else has ever caused me to strike them. Maybe it’s you.”
“Or maybe your subconscious is looking for excuses to touch me,” he returned with a wink.
I’d like to say he was wrong, but at that moment I would have taken any available excuse to rub up against him. My hormones were in hyper-drive. Damn, was it hot in here?
“Umm, I’m just going to—” Meg stammered as she slinked away.
“See what you did? You overwhelmed poor Meg and she ran away.”
“Are you going to attempt to hit me again as punishment?”
“Wiseass—you’re lucky you’re hot,” I said as I poked his chest.
“So you think I’m hot?” he said and smirked with satisfaction.
“Fishing for compliments—really? Your hotness score just dropped a point.”
“You headed to the NYSC?” he asked, evidently unconcerned with the penalty point.
“Yep. I’m going to kick some gym butt, as soon as I figure out how to use all those fancy machines.”
“You’re in luck, I was heading there myself. I’ll show you the ropes and teach you how to use all the scary machines.”
I eyed him dubiously. His fitted jeans and blue polo shirt—although exquisitely displaying his assets—were not regulation gym attire.
“My gym bag is in the car,” he volunteered as if psychic.
“What exactly is in your gym bag? I’ll need specifics before I commit.”
He smirked at my challenge. “Black shorts and a tank. Do I pass inspection?”
“Assuming the shorts ride low on your hips and the tank is tight, I guess you’ll do—especially since you’re cheaper than paying for one of the gym’s trainers.”
“Be careful, Lo, you keep flirting with me and I may start to think you mean it.”
“You’re a hot guy, Griff. I flirt with hot guys, it’s instinctual. Don’t read too much into it.”
“So that’s all I am… just another hot guy, same as the rest?”
I looked into his eyes and saw that his question was sincere.
“You’re special,” I said, squeezing his forearm to emphasize my point. “Come on, I’ve fed your ego enough for one day.”
We exited Higher Yearning and I attempted to walk to my car, but Griff stopped me.
“Why don’t you ride with me? It’ll be dark by the time we’re done. I may even feed you afterward; help you fulfill another homework assignment.”
I paused, uncertain. I knew Griff wouldn’t hurt me; he didn’t have it in him to hurt a woman. Ev and Hunter trusted him implicitly. I trusted him too, but an irrational part of me objected to the risk of being alone with any man. I wanted to say yes, to overcome the misplaced fear, but the compulsion to distance myself from all possible threats was so strong.
“Samantha, look at me.” He cupped my cheek and guided my face upward until our eyes locked. “I will never hurt you. I would give anything to take away the pain you’ve suffered, but that’s impossible. I don’t expect your unconditional trust; I’ll earn that over time. Once you’re comfortable enough to drop your guard with me, you can relax and enjoy life for a little while, knowing you are protected.”
He hugged me to his side, asking for nothing, only offering comfort and support. The realization allowed me to do as he said, relax and enjoy the moment without fear—I was safe with Griffin. I knew it deep within, as if my soul recognized the truth in his words.
He led me to a black Dodge Ram 3500 pick-up. The truck had fancy sport wheels that added a few extra inches, making it a challenge for me to climb in. Griffin placed his hands on my waist, lifting me in, while I struggled to contain my laughter. His hands were so large compared to my small frame that they encircled my waist like a belt.
“I love that sound—your laugh. Do I want to know what has you so entertained?”
“You’re so big and I’m so small—we are walking extremes, and side-by-side it’s comical. The top of my head barely reaches your chest.”
He laughed and responded by resting his elbow on top of my head.
When we arrived at NYSC, Griff went to change while I stored my purse in the women’s locker room. I was waiting for him outside the men’s locker room as he exited. Holy sweet mother of drool-worthiness—this was the reason God had given women eyes, so we could witness the perfection before me. My mouth went dry but other areas did not. As promised, his black ribbed tank molded to every contour of his defined chest and abdomen. His shoulders and arms were bared to my greedy eyes, sheer power obvious in every corded muscle. His black basketball shorts hung low on his hips, allowing his tank to mold to the masculine ‘V’ pointing the way home. I had never before seen physical perfection and it was almost too much to absorb. He was huge in every sense of the word without becoming a neckless, puffed-up body builder whose arms were so augmented they couldn’t be lowered past a 45-degree angle to their bodies.
“Lo, as much as I enjoy your appreciation, you need to stop before you get me kicked out for indecency.”
“If you’re going to display the merchandise, you best be prepared for window shoppers. Suck it up.”
“Don’t I wish,” he said to himself. “Come on girl, let’s get you on a machine.”
I laughed at his choice of words, conjuring my previous image of the “Red Room of Pain.”
“Will it hurt?” I asked, a subtle joke for my own benefit.
“Only if you do i
t wrong,” he returned with a knowing smirk.
“If I do it wrong, it’s your fault—you are the teacher.”
“I am a very thorough instructor. I’ll ensure your form and quality of movement yields the desired results.”
“What if I can’t do it?” I asked, unsure if I was referring to the actual topic of conversation or the sub-text.
“You can do it—if you believe you’re ready and you trust your teacher, I have no doubt you will excel.”
“But, what if I disappoint you?” I whispered, certain I was addressing the sub-text this time.
He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and pulled me into his chest before waiting patiently for me to meet his eyes. What I saw there told me that Griffin was done pretending to discuss the gym and I braced myself.
“Lo, you could never disappoint me. If you’re honest with me and yourself, you have no reason to worry. No one’s unblemished, we all have our scars—some are just easier to hide. The right man will navigate the minefield and bring you to the other side safely. He will find a way to give you the pleasure you deserve, no matter what it takes. You are worth any effort.”
If that wasn’t a confidence builder, I don’t know what was. He made it sound like a great honor.
“You really like putting it all on display, don’t you? No editing.”
“I’m not playing games with you, Sam. I have no intention of hiding what I want; I won’t make that mistake again.”
“At least you’re not one of those super intense guys who says exactly what he thinks and leaves a girl at a loss for words—that would be overwhelming,” I said with a smile, trying to lighten the mood.
“I’m not into lying, it’s a waste of everyone’s time. Now, let’s see if you are as beautiful when you are dripping sweat.”
I smacked his arm playfully. “I always look good. And I don’t sweat…I glisten.”
After a quick tour of the gym, Griffin walked me through the various exercises on the circuit training machines. He knew as much about the equipment as any of the trainers would and instructed me on the proper form to ensure maximum results while preventing injury. By the time we were done, I was feeling the burn and the time had passed quickly with his company.
In a classic male move, he grabbed the bottom of his tank and lifted it to wipe the dampness from his face. My ravenous eyes snapped to his stomach. I was greeted by one, two, three…eight, eight perfectly chiseled abdominal muscles. The elusive eight-pack—I had heard rumors of its existence, seen pictures even, but I’d never encountered the phenomenon in person. I reached up and pinched my arm to ensure I was not dreaming. Ouch! Nope, not dreaming. My fingertips itched to touch him, to trace each and every line and crevice—suddenly a black wall of cotton obstructed my view. Son of a bitch, it was criminal. The man should not be allowed to wear a shirt…ever.
His expectant look greeted me. He must have asked a question while I was plotting how to accidentally slide my hands under his tank and cop a feel.
“I’m sorry?”
“How about we end with thirty minutes of cardio?”
“You’re a freaking slave driver. I’m going to ache all over tomorrow.”
He cast a challenging glance at me then shrugged.
“I understand if you can’t handle it.”
I narrowed my eyes, wanting to dismiss his challenge but unable to do so.
“Bring it on, big guy. You may have more muscles but running with those monster feet has to put you at a disadvantage.”
His satisfied smile was my only warning of the ass whooping I was about to be handed. Thirty minutes later I clung to the side of the treadmill. As I dismounted, I was praying my legs would continue to hold my body weight. My competitive streak had reared its ugly head, encouraging me to keep pace with Griffin. I successfully matched his pace for the full thirty, but I was gasping for air and dripping with ‘glisten.’ Griff, on the other hand, was breathing as if he had taken a leisurely stroll through the park and was only slightly damp. The kind of damp that made you want to trace his exposed biceps with your tongue to taste the salt of his skin.
I released the hand rail and nearly collapsed to the floor, but I was off my feet and ensconced in Griffin’s strong arms before I could blink. I considered protesting but ruled out the prospect once I admitted to myself I wasn’t confident in my ability to walk—I didn’t acknowledge the fact that I was enjoying this particular mode of transportation.
He smelled so damn good, clean with a hint of masculine sweat, a temptation I couldn’t resist. Beyond my control, my tongue darted out of my mouth and covertly tasted the section of chest exposed above his tank. Oh god, he tasted even better than he smelled, like a chocolate-covered pretzel—sweet, salty, and addictive.
“Did you just…lick me?” he asked, sounding both shocked and amused.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You licked me. I felt it,” he accused, but I noticed he wasn’t complaining.
“Your imagination is running wild because of all the workout endorphins.”
“It wasn’t a complaint. In fact, you’re welcome to have another taste.”
“Fine…I licked you. But it was an involuntary reflex—hot guy, exposed chest…you know how it is.”
“Mmm,” he replied, his eyes darkening with lust. “I am familiar with the temptation, but it’s not a hot guy who’s testing my self-control…it’s a petite, auburn-haired vixen.”
We suddenly stopped and he placed me on a floor mat in an empty aerobics studio. I was too curious to feel apprehensive about being alone with a man who could easily overpower me.
“What are we doing in here?”
“Your muscles need to be massaged after the strain you put them through. You pushed yourself too far on the treadmill, especially after the weight and resistance training. Deep tissue massage will encourage blood flow to the muscles, which will break down the excess lactic acid trapped in the tissue—you’ll have horrible cramping otherwise.”
I placed my hand on his forearm to stop the physiology lesson.
“You had me at deep tissue massage. Show me that those humongous mitts of yours are useful for more than serving drinks and playing guitar.”
He didn’t need to say what else his hands were good for, his lethal smile spoke volumes.
I turned my back to him while twisting my ponytail into a bun, providing him unfettered access to my neck and shoulders. When his nimble hands kneaded the tense muscles at the nape of my neck, I groaned in satisfaction. He worked my neck, shoulders, and back masterfully, the size of his hands enabling firm, consistent pressure, which felt so good it verged on painful. He dedicated the same attention to my arms, all the way down to the tips of my fingers, paying extra attention to my palms—a newly discovered erogenous zone.
“Lay on your stomach…I need leverage for your lower back,” he commanded.
I was putty in his hands, willing to comply with any request, as long as he continued to manipulate my body. I flopped to my side and rolled onto my stomach gracelessly—I was too relaxed to care about my ragdoll flop.
He knelt beside me and pressed his thumbs into the dimple at the base of my spine, circling before dragging his fingers up and out in an arc. He adjusted his position several times trying to gain a better angle, clearly unsatisfied with his current technique.
“Lo, I want to try something—I am going to kneel above you with a knee on each side of your hips. I won’t rest my body weight on you or restrain you in any way. Do you think you can handle that?”
“I…I think so. You can try,” I stuttered. The visual painted by his suggestion was both erotic and terrifying.
“You will tell me if you feel any panic or anxiety. And you will tell me if you feel uncomfortable for any reason. One word and I’ll move, understand?”
“Okay,” I consented, equally unsure if the position would rocket me into a full-blown panic attack.
I began breathing deeply, hopin
g the technique I’d learned at TPC would help relax and prepare me for this experiment. I heard the rustle of his athletic shorts and felt the air shift as he settled into place. Nothing…no contact whatsoever. He had positioned himself so precisely that his shorts didn’t even brush against me. If I didn’t know he was straddling my body, I would never have known. I exhaled my relief, overwhelmed with joy that the position did not trigger any anxiety. It was a small victory, but one I relished.
His hands returned to my lower back and I could immediately tell the difference. The new angle allowed him to penetrate my muscles more deeply, effectively releasing knots and stretching my spine. I moaned in pleasure as he coaxed a particularly resistant knot into submission.
I heard his sharp inhale as his hands froze against my ribcage.
“Are you intentionally trying to drive me insane?” he asked tightly.
“Hmm?” I asked dazedly. “What are you talking about? I didn’t do—”
“Sounds like you’re auditioning for a porn movie. Not helping me here,” he said without censor.
“Oh, was I making noises? Sorry, it just feels so good.”
“I got that,” he said with a laugh.
I looked over my shoulder to scold him for mocking me, but was too struck by the image of him hovering over my vulnerable body to speak. A tremor ran through my body. I wasn’t afraid—I believed Griffin would never intentionally hurt me—my response was automatic. My body shook, recognizing a position I had never seen but was familiar with nonetheless. I wheezed while adrenaline pumped through my body.
Griffin leapt to the side, positioning himself beside my head. He cupped my face as he leaned down and trapped me in his gaze.
“Look at me, Lo…it’s me—Griffin. You’re safe. No one is going to hurt you. It was just a memory…not real.”
“Oh god, Griff. I’m so sorry, it’s not you. I trust you. I’m sorry—shit!” I rambled, a potent mixture of embarrassment, frustration, fear, and anger.
“What do you have to be sorry for? We both knew it was a possible trigger. We stumbled on a landmine when you saw me looming above you. I would be concerned if you didn’t have triggers, if you were repressing everything. You are fighting your way out of a nightmare. You are pushing forward, staring down your ghosts, and reclaiming the parts of you they were haunting. I am awed by your bravery—by you.”