Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
There’s only the slightest hesitation as I place my hand in his, but he catches it anyway. Chase doesn’t call me on it, only continuing to guide me through the masses of gym-goers, toward one of the small, private rooms.
My mind starts to panic.
Red alert, red alert!
We’re headed to one of those private rooms I’ve managed to avoid for the last umpteen months since Chase began training me. We’ve always focused on cardio and a little weight training, but this? Alone in the small confines of a private room? This I’m not ready for!
But I don’t have much choice as we step inside and the door closes soundly behind me. The room is cool and brightly lit, and my eyes instantly go to the large mat spread across the floor. There’s a set of small hand weights along the wall, as well as a few other torture devices used for working out. The room is small and cozy, exactly what I don’t need right now when it comes to alone time with Chase.
“Uhhh, is this where you bring the ladies to torture them?” I ask, my voice slightly breathy.
Chase snorts. “Oh, you don’t know what torture is, Gabrielle.”
The way he says my full name. Gahhhh! So deep and husky and just… deep. Yeah, I said it twice. It warrants a second mention.
He drops a small bag on the floor and steps into the center of the mat. My heart gallops in my chest as he beckons me to join him with the crook of a finger. Part of me is just like those women out in the main part of the gym, ready to eagerly run when he summons, but the other part—the bigger part that loves to goad at his nerves—just wants to refuse to come running because he tells me to. That’s why I simply cross my arms over my chest and raise an eyebrow in question. His eyes immediately drop to my chest, where I realize I’m pushing my boobs up and out of my top. I don’t move, though. I hold my position until he asks politely.
“Gabrielle,” Chase warns, a hint of humor in his voice.
“Ask nicely, Callahan,” I sass, holding my position.
“Gabby, please get on this mat before I come over there, throw you over my shoulder, and spank your ass until it’s pink and sore.”
Oh, God.
Yes! Let’s do that!
No, hormones, there will not be any spanking. Not today, not ever.
“Well, since you asked nicely,” I say, stepping onto the mat. The moment my feet hit the padding though, he moves. Chase moves so fast, I barely have time to process that he’s moving, let alone react. He puts his shoulder into my stomach and lifts, lifting me up like a sack of potatoes.
“Chase! Oh my God, put me down!” I holler as I realize I’m staring at his ass. His very fine, very firm, very tight ass. And then he cracks my butt with his hand, the slap echoing off the concrete walls, the sting spreading through my limbs. “What the hell?”
“You were taking too long,” he states bluntly as he carries me to the middle of the mat. Before he puts me down, I go ahead and give my own little slap. It’s not as hard—the slap, that is—but it still reverberates off the walls. “Ouch. Why’d ya do that?” he asks as my hand tingles, both from the slap as well as the fact that I just had my hand on his ass, even if just for a millisecond.
“A slap for a slap,” I argue as he starts to lower me. Of course, by lower, I mean he lets me slide down his front, chest to chest.
As soon as my feet hit the floor, the earth starts to tilt. I’m pressed against his body, my hands still holding on to his shoulders, and my breathing a little labored. “Actually, I prefer to call it a spanking, not a slap,” he says, his lips twitching just a bit.
“Fine, a spanking. Why the hell did you spank me?”
His eyes flare and darken right before my own eyes. “When you’re naughty, you get a spanking, Gabrielle.”
Holy shit, I feel that sentence between my legs. “I wasn’t the only one being naughty,” I say, wishing I would have just kept my mouth shut the moment I say the words. I’m playing with fire, I know this, but I can’t seem to stop.
Chase smirks just a little before taking a step back, putting much-needed space between his body and my own. “Ready to work?”
“Ready.”
We spend the next forty-five minutes stretching and working with small hand weights. He works my core until I’m ready to cry for my mama and my body is like Jell-O. When the workout is complete, I feel amazing and horrible all at the same time—a feeling I’m used to having post-workout.