Lena wiped sweat from her brow, chest heaving after the last set. Across the mat, her trainer, Marcus, stood with arms crossed, jaw tight.
The gym was empty except for the two of them.
“Then stop,” she whispered.
He didn’t.
“You’re rushing,” he said. “Ready or not, that form’s going to get you hurt.” ready or not trainer fling
“This is a bad idea,” he muttered, but his hand found her waist anyway.
The tension that had been building for weeks—glances held too long, hands lingering on a stretch—snapped. Lena wiped sweat from her brow, chest heaving
She smirked, stepping closer. “Then maybe you should spot me better.”
