Megan Hart - Switch

This time of night the only shows we could get on the

gym's battered set were reality-TV shows, game shows or

the music channel. The eye candy on the videos was nice,

but it sure did put a girl in an interesting frame of mind.

As much as I might want to grab ahold of Mr. Mystery's

As much as I might want to grab ahold of Mr. Mystery's

ears and ride him like a roler coaster, random, careless

sex was absolutely not part of my plan. Especialy not with

someone from my building. Guys talked. Even now, when

women were supposed to be able to go after what they

wanted with the same passion and lack of emotional

commitment as men, guys stil talked. Peanut-butter legs,

easy to spread. Doorknob, everyone gets a turn. The

good time had by al. I wasn't out to get a renewed

reputation for having round heels.

Instead, I sweated and bit back grunts that would give

away the ache in my thighs as I watched beautiful women

with porn-star tits writhe on red satin sheets to the

oompah-pah-oomp of some badonkadonk-donk hip-hop

song.

Surreptitiously, I watched to see if he had any sort of

reaction to the pseudofucking being played out in three-

minute increments. His profile told me nothing. Staring

straight ahead, I couldn't see if his shorts were bulging.

Sily, I told myself. Who got turned on in the middle of a

workout? Too much blood was being pumped to other

places for him to get a hard-on. Hel, I thought my heart

was going to bust right out of my chest. There was no way

was going to bust right out of my chest. There was no way

I could spare any for my clitoris.

His treadmil beeped to indicate the end of his program.

He slowed, grabbed his towel and wiped his face as he

climbed off. He drank thirstily from his water bottle. When

he bent to touch his toes, I groaned aloud. This guy's ass

was like two cantaloupes in a silk bag.

He looked up with a smal grin, as if he could read my

dirty mind. I hoped he couldn't. No, damn, I hoped he

could.

"You al right?"

"…fine…"

I was, in fact, almost a puddle of overexercised goo. My

machine beeped a minute later, my program over. I wiped

my face and drank water, too, but I didn't try any sort of

bending. I'd have passed out.

He'd moved to the tension machine, but hadn't yet begun.

He gestured to me, instead. "C'mere. Try this."

"Oh, I don't think so." I shook my head even as my feet

folowed the siren cal of muscled thighs and an irresistible

folowed the siren cal of muscled thighs and an irresistible

set of back dimples.

"You can't just do cardio," the guy said. "You need to do strength training, too. Tone up."

I thought about being insulted, but let's face it. When

Adonis is critiquing your body, he probably knows what

he's talking about. "Okay."

"Sit."

I did. He adjusted something in the back and puled down

the rods on either side so I could slip my hands into the

grips. Across from us, the mirrored wal reflected him

standing behind me as he explained how to pul the grips to

move the weights.

With my feet hooked under the padded bench and my

hands holding the grips, I was effectively imprisoned. He

put his hands over mine the first few times to get me used

to the rhythm. It was easy enough, working my arms, since

my legs stil trembled from the stint on the treadmil.

"Good job," my new trainer-cum-boyfriend said.

His tone suggested he might pat me on the head. Instead,

His tone suggested he might pat me on the head. Instead,

he let go of my hands and put his on my sides. His fingers

curved around my ribs just below my breasts. I drew in a

sharp breath and didn't move at first.

"Keep going." In the mirror his eyes met mine. "Feel how the muscles in your abs are working, too?"

I couldn't feel anything but his fingers inching upward. My

nipples stabbed through my sports bra and the thin, damp-

with-sweat cotton of my T-shirt. Between my legs a slow,

steady throb began with every pul and release of the

weights. I couldn't see his body behind me, could only feel

his heat. I could not feel the hard, long length of his

erection pressed against my back, but suddenly it was al I

could think about.

"Harder," my newfound fantasy man murmured almost

directly into my ear as one hand slid down flat over my

bely. "Feel your body work."

Oh, God. My mind insisted he was not hitting on me. My

body, on the other hand, thrummed and vibrated and

practicaly did the hokeypokey. I wanted to throw the left

one in, the right one out and turn it al about.

I bit down on my lower lip, instead. He gave me an

encouraging smile. His scent, body spray and hard effort

cut through the gym's pervasive odor of mildew and

cleaning products. My lust didn't show on my face. The

mirror only reflected a sweaty, grouchy-looking woman

whose hair had started sticking to her cheeks. Big wet

rings spread from my armpits and sides, and I couldn't

believe he wasn't disgusted. Maybe he was. He let go and

stepped back with an approving nod.

"Add that to your routine," he said. "You'l see results in a couple weeks, I promise."

Ohhhhh, God. He realy wasn't hitting on me. He was

totaly just trying to be nice and help me work off the extra

inches nobody ever had on TV. He was the jock with the

heart of gold being kind to the brainiac. Too bad this guy

didn't know that in high school I hadn't been the brain.

"Thanks." I drank more water and wiped my face with my

towel.

He wiped his chest and I forced myself not to watch. "You

don't realy look like you need to lose any weight, but it's

always good to supplement cardio with weight training.

always good to supplement cardio with weight training.

Builds muscle."

I had a vision of myself in a bathing suit made from one

thin strip of fabric, tanned to orange splendor and oiled

like an olive. It wasn't a pretty picture. "Okay, thanks."

Mr. Mystery grinned. He had dimples on his face, too.

"See you."

He stuck his head into a tank top, then his arms, and

puled it down. Then he grabbed his towel and water

bottle and headed out. I waited until he'd gone before I

folowed, not only because I wanted to ogle his ass but

because I needed time to cool down. Literaly.

My calves ached. My butt did, too. Now I could add my

arms to the list after the workout I'd given them.

I wouldn't have thought I could stil be horny after the

thigh-crunching walk up the stairs to the seventh floor, but

by the time I got into the shower, al I could do was think

about his hands on me. Austin's hands, the stranger's

hands…somehow it didn't matter, just that they hadn't

been my own.

I scrubbed quickly, conditioned and moisturized. I even

I scrubbed quickly, conditioned and moisturized. I even

shaved my legs, though it seemed utterly unlikely anyone

was going to be touching them, since I'd turned Austin

down and Mr. Mystery had only felt me up a little bit. By

the time I got out of the shower, my nipples had peaked

into tight, hard nubs that defied me not to tweak them as I

dried myself with a soft towel.

In my bedroom I shed the towel and stood in front of the

bed. The lonely bed. It was king-size, and even though I

never shared it with anyone, I stil slept only on one side.

Some habits are harder to break. I smoothed the quilt,

then puled it down to reveal the crisp, white sheets I'd

paid too much for. It had seemed like a good thing to do

at the time, spend money on fancy sheets for my new

place. I'd regretted it the next time I was hungry, but that's

the way it goes.

The window had nothing but a sheer curtain covering the

glass, but I wasn't too worried about being seen. The

parking garage across the street was the only building high

enough to give anyone access to peep at me, and my

apartment was set a little too far back to make it worth

anyone's while. Stil, the thought someone could be

watching me had me covering my breasts with my hands

watching me had me covering my breasts with my hands

for just a moment.

I cupped them, the weight familiar. I'd gotten tits in fifth

grade but hadn't realy grown into them until I was a junior

in high school. I couldn't realy remember a time when I

didn't curve this way. I could recal being thinner, yes, but

not flat-chested.

Under my palms, my nipples stayed hard, tight peaks. I

wished for a man's mouth on them, but had to settle for

licking my fingers and circling the hot flesh. A whisper, a

sigh, a moan leaked from my throat. I saw the ghost of my

reflection in the glass. Faint and insubstantial, nothing more

to me than a slash of dark where my eyes should be and

the white, curving shape of my body.

"I've been watching you." His dark eyes gleam and his

mouth twists up into a smile I can't resist returning. He

moves closer and I can smel him, warmth and spice,

purely masculine.

He holds out a hand and I take it. His fingers are long and

strong and entwine with mine so tightly I can't pul away.

Not that I want to. I want him to tug me close, up against

his body. I want him to put his other hand on my ass to

press me against his crotch. And I want him to dip his

mouth to stroke along my neck and settle his teeth briefly

at the curve of my shoulder.

He licks me with a quick flick of his tongue and my

nipples get hard and tight. He can see them through

the soft fabric of my blouse. His lips part. He sighs.

I press my body to his and he kisses me. Hard. He backs

me up against a wal and pins both my arms above my

head with only one of his hands. When the other slides up

my thigh, beneath my skirt, and finds me wet and ready, he

smiles again.

Before I know it he's turned me. Pushed me. The bed's

soft and my cheek presses onto the pilow. My ass feels

cool in the breeze made when he flips up my skirt. His

hand cups each cheek, maybe measuring, maybe just

caressing. I don't know. I don't care. I push myself into his

touch.

He blindfolds me. Darkness weighs my eyelids and I close

them beneath the cloth. He ties my hands; excitement

surges in every breath from my throat, past my lips. My

tongue darts out and I taste sweat.

It's not that I can't move if I realy want to. It's that I'm

bound to his whim, that I'd have to fight and struggle

against him if I want to get free. And I can, he hasn't tied

me so tightly I can't.

I just don't want to.

His cock is long and thick. It fils me, al the way. I'm

stretched from the inside.

I don't have to do a thing. He takes control, he sets the

pace, and it's perfect. I don't have to direct him. He just

knows. Every thrust presses something sweet until I cry

out.

I ride the waves of pleasure. I lose myself in it. Up and

over, writhing on his dick as he slaps my ass once, twice.

It doesn't hurt bad enough to keep me from coming al

over his prick and al over my hand.

It wasn't a unique fantasy, as far as fantasies went. What

made it different from others I'd had was the man in it

wasn't an actor or an anonymous quiltwork of features. It

was Mr. Mystery, of course, and though my own hand

had done the work, it had been his face that set me off.

had done the work, it had been his face that set me off.

And with that in my head, I went to sleep.

Chapter 10

The next morning I woke with a craving for oatmeal.

The power of suggestion, I told myself as I mixed water

into the contents of the packet I found shoved way back in

my cupboard, formerly ignored in favor of diet soda and