FIT: #1 in the Fit Trilogy

by Rebekah Weatherspoon

  “Take off your clothes and get in here,” he said with no preamble.

  It took a minute for Violet’s brain to process what he’d actually said, but soon she was on her feet, peeling off her clothes. Whatever reservations she had about showing Grant her naked body, rolls and dimples and all, went right down that shower drain. She kicked off her running shoes. Her socks went flying over her shoulder. Grant could keep right on with the teasing smile that flashed across his lips, as she almost tripped pulling off her yoga pants. In record time she was nude and crossing the few feet between them. She was going right for his butt, both hands primed, palms open. She was going to leave marks with her nails.

  Their bodies nearly collided. Grant’s hand gripped the sides of her face, as he tilted her head up to kiss her. She almost shoved her tongue into his mouth as her hands found his butt. He kissed her right back, swirling his tongue around hers, making her moan. The feeling of his cock between them, sliding along her stomach, made her squirm. She leaned in closer, giving his ass the proper squeeze it deserved.

  Grant tilted his head back, drawing a tight breath between his teeth. “Jesus, woman.” He gazed down at her face and wiped away the wet hairs that were plastered to her forehead. Violet kissed his chest.

  “I have no idea what lesson you’re trying to teach me,” she said, over the sound of the spray. “But please don’t stop kissing me.”

  “Maybe the lesson is that we could have done this this morning if you’d showed up. I was worried about you.”

  “I know, but I’m here now. You’re touching me now. I’m okay with that.”

  “Right.” He kissed her once more, lightly this time, before brushing his lips over the tip of her nose then her cheek. “Please extract your hands from my ass and bend over.”

  Violet turned and braced her hands against the tile. Grant’s touch slid down the small of her back, down along her ass. She felt him grip his cock, his knuckles brushing against her skin. She felt him slip between her legs, the full length of his shaft rubbing against her pussy. She spread her feet wider, giving him more space, giving him permission to go inside.

  He teased her instead, simply moving back and forth. She had to respond to him. Her body wouldn’t have it any other way. She was so wet, the ache of it nearly painful, as the head of Grant’s cock rubbed over her sensitive clit again and again.

  He moved back, positioning himself to finally, finally give Violet what she wanted. The sensation was hers to enjoy, just for a moment. He let her feel the crown of his head, the thick smoothness of him, as he entered her. Just barely. And then he pulled away. As in all the way. The heat from his body was replaced by the shower stream

  Violet spun around to find Grant rinsing under the other shower head, calm as could be, with his erection jutting out from his hips.

  “Go wait for me in the sauna,” he said.

  Violet blinked the water out of her eyes in disbelief. “What are you about to do?”

  “Stop touching yourself.” Violet glanced down at her hand, which she’d unintentionally shoved between her legs. Her clit was dying for attention. It was a natural reflex. Still, just as simply, she pulled her hand away at Grant’s command. “Thanks. Now, go. I’m going to finish.”

  He turned his back to her and started stroking his cock. He was going to finish himself off without her.

  “You are Satan. Actually Satan.”

  He said nothing, probably thinking the motion of his arm was response enough.

  Violet spun around and stormed off to the sauna, grabbing a fluffy white towel off a decorative stand before she slammed the door behind her. She climbed up on the warm wood and waited, thinking of how bad she was going to tell Grant off when he came through the door.

  He may be the Dom, but what did that even mean? Nothing. He would come walking into the sauna with his beautiful, naked body and his sexy, rugged facial hair and she would demand that he make her come. If he was spent and needed some recovery time to get it up, he’d just have to get creative. Hands, mouth. She didn’t care. She was going to end this orgasm drought tonight.

  Finally the sauna door swung open, and stupid, perfect Grant stepped inside. The small space shrunk by half as he ducked his head to enter. His cock was softening, but still partially engorged. She couldn’t believe he’d come without her.

  Violet made a show of throwing off her towel and opening her legs. Then she ran her fingers over her clit to show Grant she really meant business. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way, but either way I’m coming tonight.”

  “Okay.”

  He practically pounced on her, hoisting her legs over the crooks of his arm and sliding her butt to the edge of the wood. Pinning her down with the angle of his body, he used all four of his fingers to swiftly rub her clit and her pussy lips. Violet was so wound up, so sensitive, that the quick flicks of his wrist were all it took for her back to seize up, as her orgasm shattered through her.

  She cried out, begging for more. To be filled and fucked, but Grant pulled his hand away, trailing a path of her wetness down her thigh.

  “That’s all you get tonight,” he said. Still he kissed her, in the mind-scrambling way that keyed her up all over again.

  ✶

  Nearly an hour later, they still sat in the sauna. Grant had turned the heat off and the room had cooled, but Violet was still warm, pressed against his body. He stroked her arm, his breath fanning lightly over the crown of her head.

  “You know every time you’ve gotten in trouble, you’ve been with that friend of yours, Faye,” he said.

  “She’s not all bad. We just make poor decisions together.”

  “I’m going to say this and I don’t want you take it the wrong way and I don’t want you to think of it as fodder for a confrontation with your friend either, but as your trainer this is food for thought I need to give you.”

  Violet sat back a bit so she could see his face.

  “Do you think Faye is an enabler? You said she took you to YogurtTown, then out to drinks and then out to a concert last night. You told me yourself that you regretted the yogurt. I want to see Backstreet Boys live, so I know you don’t regret that, but are there other times that you do things with her that you regret?”

  Violet knew the answer immediately, but she hated to say the words out loud. She loved Faye. She was an amazing friend, but ninety-percent of the time they spent together was under Faye’s pressure or Faye’s insistence.

  Their work was hard. They put in long hours for weeks at a time. Some shows stretched on where they wouldn’t have a personal day off for a month. When they had free time, and when Faye wasn’t with Patrick, Violet felt obligated to hang out with her, even when she didn’t want to. Not that she didn’t enjoy Faye’s company, but there were times she wanted to be alone, just to unwind and veg. Not think about work. Or Faye or her boyfriend.

  “She’s not an enabler,” Violet said. “But there are times I wish I could say no to her.”

  “Why can’t you?”

  Another truth that carried a brutal sting. “She’s my only friend. So many people out here are so fake. I tried to be myself and make friends when I moved here, but it feels like everyone has ulterior motives. A script to be sold, a headshot to push. People survive out here stepping on each other’s necks, but Faye and I met and we stuck together. We helped each other professionally and became friends because of it.”

  “I get that. I want you to forget about Faye for a moment. Other than your obvious weight loss goals, what do you want for yourself?”

  Violet smiled at the first thing that popped into her mind. It was so superficial and silly, but it was something she wanted. She chuckled a little. “A new dress. A few new dresses. I have nice stuff, but the sizes are all over the place and really it’s all work stuff. I want a new dress and some cute boots.”

  “Then that’s your homework this week. New boots. New dress. And—”

  “And?”

  “Don’t take F
aye shopping with you.”

  The suggestion should have felt odd, but it didn’t. She considered a little retail therapy on her own, without having to talk about work or someone else’s boyfriend, or even feeling the odd pressure of having to keep what happened between her and Grant to herself, and suddenly she felt relieved.

  CHAPTER SIX

  6

  Day 11

  Grant stepped out of Armando’s truck, not even trying to wipe the dumb grin off his face. He managed it when he had to, but it was hard to stop thinking about Violet. As he and Mando made their way to the Whole Foods entrance, her face was all he could picture. The cute way she complained and taunted him was all that played in his mind.

  “You’re singing again, man,” Armando said.

  Grant hadn’t even noticed. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize to me, but you gotta give me details. I thought you were going to break something last night and now you look like—well, I mean, shit, you’re singing.”

  They walked inside and joined the line at the juice bar so Armando could order this gross beet-celery shit he swore by.

  “I don’t know what to say, man.”

  “Is it working out the way you wanted it to? Clearly it is, but the way she was talking, no respect for you at all. Sure she fits in the D/s file?”

  “She’s destroying the D/s file.” Grant laughed. “She’s never subbed before, but she’s a natural at it, when she’s not yelling at me.”

  “You spank her yet?”

  “No. She’ll like it too much and she hasn’t earned that reward yet.”

  “You are so screwed.”

  “Why? Because I’m taking it slow with her?”

  “’Cause she has you wrapped around her whole fist. Just look at yourself. You’re smiling like a dope and you’ve only been messing with her for a week.”

  Immediately Grant wanted to defend their relationship. Instead he told Mando to go grab them a table while he picked out his own lunch. He didn’t feel like he and Violet were messing around. Things were casual, in a sense. He hadn’t tied her up, gagged her, spanked her, made her kneel in various submissive poses to his satisfaction. She only followed his instructions fifty percent of the time and, fuckin’ hell, she couldn’t keep from talking back to him. They weren’t up all night talking on the phone. She wasn’t blowing his cell up with non-stop texts, but there was something there, a connection that extended way beyond their agreement as client and trainer. More than the simple verbal pact they’d made as completely unprepared Dom and shit-talking sub.

  Grant loaded up a square cardboard bowl with vegetables from the salad bar then, after he paid, joined Armando at a table by the front exit. They had a little under an hour to get back to the gym. In the meantime, Max was there holding the fort down while Keira taught a cardio barre class.

  Armando sat back and scratched his day’s worth of stubble. “I can’t imagine breaking in someone new at this point.”

  “Honestly, I didn’t even think of that. Having to train her or whatever.”

  Armando shook his head. He had every right to. Grant was lucky Violet hadn’t ripped his nuts off during their first conversation. His tunnel vision was so damn tight and closed off, he skipped several must-do steps when trying to bring someone into the scene.

  “Let’s not tell Master Philip about this,” he suggested. Violet was perfectly safe with Grant and damn near running their relationship as it was, but their mentor would definitely have a thing or two to say about Grant’s approach.

  “My lips are sealed,” Armando replied. “You stupid fuck.”

  Just then, Grant’s phone vibrated and beeped in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked at a picture of Violet standing in some store dressing room, wearing a tight black lace dress. Her cellphone caught the reflection of her hip, cocked out to the side, creating the sexiest silhouette. Her other hand was holding up her mass of thick hair on top of her head. Her full lips were pursed in an expression that was part invitation, part warning. The woman had curves for days. Grant would do anything to help her reach her fitness goals, but that body? His eyeballs almost rolled back in his head.

  Then another text popped up.

  Finished my weekly assignment. Bought the boots, but they’re in the car. Can I have the D now?

  “See. How do I say no to this face?” Grant turned his phone around so Armando could see the picture and the text.

  “God damn. She’s thick.”

  “I know.”

  “Yeah, okay. I’d let her talk back to me. What’s this about giving her the D? You haven’t fucked her yet?”

  “Mando, I said this before. You and I have two completely different styles of dealing with our pets. I like to take my time. You, on the other hand, are impatient and don’t see the value in making a woman wait.”

  “No complaints, yet, my brother. Not a single complaint.” Armando handed the phone back, and continued ragging on Grant. “She ain’t your pet. You’re hers. If she were mine, I would have fucked her already. Shit, I might fuck her if you don’t hurry the hell up and get the job done.”

  Grant squared Armando with a deadly stare that was only edged with humor. “Try it.” They’d shared women before, plenty of times, but Grant wouldn’t even entertain the thought of sharing Violet.

  “You know I’m fucking with you. I know better than to come between you and a woman who makes you sing. That’s when I know you’re whipped enough to take a swing at me.”

  Whipped? For some reason, Grant couldn’t see a problem with that, but whipped within reason. He might be singing and staking his claim on a woman he’d only just met, but Armando didn’t get to see Violet the way Grant did. He didn’t get to see the fire in her eyes when she came to him willingly and followed his every order. He didn’t hear the way her voice strained when she asked for what she wanted. Yeah he was whipped, to the point where he texted Violet right back. Still, he had to keep up the front, like he really thought he was in control of the situation.

  You’ll get the D when I say so.

  Violet replied. That’s too bad. I was going to wear this dress for you.

  Grant winced and dropped his phone. He was in over his head.

  ✶

  Violet pushed her chair back and stood. Her whole body ached as she stretched. She’d been in that horrible designer chair for almost six hours and from the look of her inbox and the constant ringing of her cell phone she knew she wasn’t going anywhere soon. She’d been with Faye, their casting director Jonathan, and their executive producer Dana at Dana’s Malibu home all day. It was another few days before their office space would be set up on the studio lot. When crisis arose—that kind of crisis that wasn’t actually serious in terms of life or death, but had to be dealt with immediately unless they wanted to answer to the network—they had to meet here.

  Three out of the four contestants had up and dropped out of the first episode. Violet and her team had spent all day pleading with them, trying to get them to reconsider. It was all so stupid. One chef from Boston found out he’d be competing against a former coworker and refused to share a kitchen with him, even though appearing on the show would guarantee exposure for his restaurant and possibly earn him a cash prize. The other guy dropped out when he heard about Chef A’s exit from God-knows who. He wouldn’t be on a show if his arch-cooking enemy felt he was too good for it. The third guy? Flying him out to Los Angeles from San Antonio would be a violation of his parole.

  Violet’s life seemed so pleasant just the day before. She’d followed Grant’s suggestion and taken herself shopping. Well, first she hit the internet and did some hardcore research about where she could find fun party dresses and not bland floral polyester tents in her size. She found two stores that caught her eye, then she took herself shopping, without Faye. No, that wasn’t it. It had nothing to do with Faye. It just felt so nice to do something for herself; leave her house when she wanted, without worrying about Patrick’s schedule. She teased Grant about
getting under that perfect dress she found, but she couldn’t wait to wear it out, even if she wouldn’t get the chance until the next wrap party.

  Violet excused herself to go to the kitchen under the guise of needing a glass of water. When she was alone in the massive space, where she knew Dana didn’t prepare a single meal herself, she called Grant. It was getting late, but she had a feeling he would pick up. He did.

  “Hello, Miss Ryan. What can I do for you this evening?” Violet almost whimpered at the sound of his voice. She wanted to be with him.

  “You can come save me,” she replied.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Just some ridiculous work shit. I’m out in Malibu.”

  “Having a cook-off?”

  “Ha, yeah. I don’t think I’ll be home until really late. Can we push our workout?”

  “Sure. How about we do this? You think you’ll have to work tomorrow night?”

  “Hopefully not.”

  “Come by the gym around nine. We’ll go for a walk and then afterwards—”

  “You’ll give me the D?”

  Grant’s rich laugh came through the phone. “Please stop saying that.”

  “I’m sorry. How about this? Please, oh please, Mr. Master Gibson. Oh please, will you fuck me? I want you to fuck me so bad.”

  “Dana said she had some gourmet pear juice we should try,” Faye said, as she appeared in the kitchen, scaring the crap out of Violet, who spun around and almost choked on her tongue.

  “I have to get back to work,” she said into the phone.

  “Okay. See you tomorrow?” Grant asked, clearly shocked by the sudden change in her voice.

  “Yeah. Night.” Violet managed not to be completely rude and let Grant get out his own “Goodnight” before she hung up the phone.

  Faye’s head popped above the fridge door. “Who was that?”

  “Oh, my trainer, Grant. I was just rescheduling our session for tomorrow.”