Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Dalton reaches for the back of his neck, his lips screwed up in a grimace. “Uh, about that. Might have to keep my guest appearance on mute. Sorry.”
He doesn’t explain why, and Rayleigh cuts her eyes to me, silently asking approximately 112 questions at once. I shake my head ever so slightly, and she lets every single one of them evaporate in an instant. She’s solid, and I trust her not to gossip, which is basically the town pastime, other than watching or playing hockey. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have agreed to bring Dalton here, for his sake or mine.
“Okay, then. Let’s warm up. Joy, take your usual machine. Dalton, this one will be yours.” She leads him to the one beside me. “We’ll start on our backs, feet on the bar.”
She runs us through a foot warm-up, a bridge series, and then a core burner to get things moving and liquid as Rayleigh likes to call it. And then the real fun starts.
At one point, we’re standing on the stationary platform at the end of our reformers and Rayleigh tells us to step our dominant foot forward to the carriage. I know what’s coming, and this is going to be good.
“Yes, now slowly . . . slowly . . . slooowly . . . start to release your foot forward. Maintain hip placement toward the front.”
Dalton throws a wink my way and then slides right down into splits a gymnast would be proud of. “Ta-da!” he brags.
Rayleigh smiles sweetly and tells him to stand back up. “Now, do the splits slowly. We’re looking for time under tension. Each millimeter of stretch is also an opportunity for strength.”
That’s not as easy as popping down into splits, and before long, Rayleigh has made us slow-split and return to standing multiple times in various configurations. By the time she instructs us to switch sides, my quad and hamstring are screaming and shaking. Equally as important, Dalton doesn’t look quite so cocky now.
“That’s different from on the ice. There, it’s all about fast-twitch muscle response and being able to split fast without injury. This slow shit has me shaking like a stripper.” Dalton lightly punches his leg to relieve the stress, but grins like he’s enjoying himself.
“It gets easier with practice,” I say sweetly, showing off as I slow-split and then fold my upper body forward toward my knee, using my outstretched arms to stay balanced.
“All right, Pilates Princess,” Dalton says easily, but still there’s an undercurrent of appreciation in what he’s witnessing. “I see you.”
Rayleigh guides us into the next segment, changing her lingo for Dalton’s sake. “You’re basically going from plank to down dog, but the floor glides back and forth beneath you. Here, watch Joy.”
I do the move she’s requesting, making sure it’s my best attempt ever. When I’m out in a plank position, I risk peeking over to see if he’s impressed. Instead, I fumble a bit because he’s definitely looking at my ass. And not even being subtle about it. He’s basically leaning off his machine to get the best view possible of my butt cheeks clenching tight.
“Pervert.” The accusation holds no heat, and in fact, I have to bite the insides of my cheeks to hide my pleased grin.
“Proud, card-carrying member of the Joy’s Chapter of the Pervert Club. In fact, I’m aiming for Member of the Month for December, but I’ve got to make up some ground after a sketchy November,” he says, sounding disappointed in himself. “More leering, less whistling.”
A bark of laughter escapes before I can stop it, and my form falls apart. Luckily, I manage to get a foot to the ground so I don’t break my face on the carriage. “Member of the Month?” I echo through my laughing fit.
He chuckles, flashing me a one-sided cocky smirk. “I didn’t even mean it that way, but when you put it like that, I’m pretty confident I’m always that Member of the Month.”
“Dalton!” I exclaim, my eyes jumping to Rayleigh. But he doesn’t seem to care given he simply shrugs and moves into position for his own down dog to plank flow.
And yep, I look at his ass too. It’s a nice one, and I’m convinced I could bounce a quarter off it and hit the ceiling.
Rayleigh stays professional through what can only be described as a clusterfuck of a session, with us bantering, putting each other’s form down while simultaneously staring at each other’s bodies and trying not to lose focus.
“And two more . . . two more . . . two more . . . and pulse,” Rayleigh says almost sixty minutes later.
Dalton’s been a good sport through the whole thing, and watching him try all the exercises has been entertaining as hell.
And arousing.
He’s sexy as fuck, his body a prime example of what training and care can do to the human form. Not that I care about what he can bench or how many calories he eats in a day. My only thoughts are “Can he pick me up and throw me around while fucking my brains out?” and “How well could he eat me out?” Neither of which are likely to be found on Fritzi’s training plan.