Commitment Collection 2- Ignition; Turbo Charged; Pole Position, page 5
part #4 of Commitment Series
“Do you have a preference on male or female?” he asks when he's updating me on their individual strengths and weaknesses.
“Nope, not really. I guess if we’re working with a mostly male team up here, then a woman may be too much of a distraction. You know what the guys are like when they’re together.”
“Good point. I hadn’t thought about that. He’s my favorite on paper, anyway.”
“Excellent.” I smile. I should ask him how the rest of his day has been, but it’s difficult to be concerned about people I’ve left behind now. Of course, I have a few I want to poach, but that's not until later. It’s too soon for me to say who I actually need and in what positions yet. Jess was the main person; I really could not have done this without her. She knows me inside out and as we’ve worked together for so many years, I have the confidence to leave her to get on with things in the knowledge that she’ll deliver the maximum amount of positive PR for the minimum cost.
As my mind drifts, I ask how the rest of his day was, anyway.
“You don’t want to know that. I know you El, don’t pretend. You’re consumed with what you’re up to now, so tell me, how has your day been?” This time last week that might have been snotty, but his voice is now chilled. I imagine him with his head laid back on the sofa, feet up on the pillow, beer in hand.
“My day has been good, but humor me. What are you doing now, where are you?”
“I’m in the lounge, on the settee.”
“That’s where I imagined you.”
He pauses. “You probably imagined wrong though.”
My eyes screw up. “What do you mean?”
Another pause. “I’m in your seat.” His voice is soft at his confession.
He doesn’t need to explain further, I know that’s a way for him to feel close to me. I know this because, “I sleep on your side of the bed.”
There’s no pause this time, the silence extends too long. I don’t try and fill it, we don't need to exchange words to communicate, even when on a phone call.
“What are you wearing?” he asks.
“I’m still wearing my navy suit trousers and my white shirt. I've removed my socks and I'll be getting my lounging gear on as soon as we're done. This formal clothing is so stuffy.”
“Is the collar of your shirt undone?”
“Yes, the first two buttons, I've removed my tie too — stuffed that in my jacket pocket as soon as I was in the car on my way home.”
He's not interested in the details, instead focussing on the one important point. “Hmm, I would love to kiss that gap.”
My hand flies up to the space he's imagining, caressing the soft spot, telling my mind these fingers are not my own.
“I’d lick my tongue there, tasting you and then I’d unbutton your shirt, trailing kisses down...”
I harden, as he knows I will, but I don't touch myself. Rather, I let myself enjoy the torment of the throb. “I have a proposal this week.”
“Oh?” He sounds surprised at my rapid change of subject.
“Yeah. How about this? We don’t touch ourselves all week, not once. Not even a hint of masturbation.”
“What? Are you mad?” His voice is sharp, high pitched.
My lips curl upwards at his outrage. “Hang on, hear me out. Let's wait for each other this weekend... imagine how amazing it will be then...”
“Sorry, too late, I’m touching myself now. Just hearing your voice sets me off. My pants are already round my ankles, hot rod.”
The laughter which has been threatening now erupts from my belly and hoots at him down the line. “Hot rod? Sounds like you’re the bloody hot rod you pervert.”
“Hey, what can I say? I’m attracted to my husband. It’s impossible to keep my hands to myself when you’re here. You drive me fucking crazy.”
“So, you don’t want to try the deprivation thing then? It could be fun.”
“Of course, I’ll try it. I’m up for anything with you.” He is so sexy even from miles away.
“In that vein then, I’ll ignore the reference to you getting up.”
“Nice try.” He chuckles.
Kyle
Well, with the lack of sexual activity, I’m even more thankful to be interviewing Florian O’Neill this week. Sure, I usually exercise, but with all this built up tension, I could do with a tough work out to burn off some of my excess energy.
I’ve seen a picture of him online so sure, I knew he had dark hair, short at the sides and longer on top and of course he wouldn’t be much of a PT without a hot body to die for, but he’s better looking in real life. He has a charm about him I know will go down well with all types of different people. And that’s what I’m hoping to find. Hopping out of his dilapidated car in front of the house, I remember how I felt the first time I showed up here with Elliott. It’s such a long time ago now, I’ve almost forgotten the awe of this imposing building. Now, I take her prowess for granted.
“Hey, I’m Florian.” He holds out a hand, but it’s his accent I notice. A lilted Irish twang.
“Kyle, pleased to meet you. Come in.”
Florian is as tall as me, and broader. “I just have some kit to bring in.” He gestures to the trunk.
“It’s fine. Follow me first, see what we have here already and then you can decide what you’ll need,” I suggest.
“Sure thing, man.” His voice drifts as his eyes float around the impressive old house. Knowing how he feels, I lead the way through to the back and into our modern gym.
“Wow, this sure is the place to be.” He meanders around the machines stopping and studying the specs of some of our more up-to-date items.
I stay quiet, watching how I must have looked a few years earlier. Eventually I offer, “It’s our favorite room.”
He comes back to me, taking a seat on the edge of a weight bench and fishing out a clipboard from his bag. “OK, so let’s get down to business.” It’s his accent which adds to his charm. If he were to say that in a Yorkshire twang his vowels would be abrasive.
I plop down at the opposite end of the bench and although we’re both dressed in gym vest and shorts, we take at least half an hour chatting over what’s needed from him. I explain about our lifestyle, why we need to be fit for work, but also that exercise and pushing ourselves to our limits is part of who we both are. I explain that I need to be able to lift heavy and cumbersome weights with lightning speed and Elliott needs endurance, both cardio and strength, but how he needs to be as light as possible.
“You need to lose some size too, it’ll make you nimbler,” he explains. “When you’re changing tires in a small space, the tinier your frame, the easier it will be. I can still give you strength, more than you have at the moment, but you’ll be toned. You need to do lower weights, but more reps.”
I grin. “Elliott has been saying that,” I admit.
“Exactly. I bet that’s how he exercises isn’t it.”
“Yup. Elliott is going to love you, backing him up like that.”
He grins as he nods his head, “He’s right, man. But then he is a world champion.”
“Was.” The word sounds flat, the pride that I have for him, doesn’t come across. “It’s not like he can’t be again, but he needs someone to work with him and make sure that he’s not leaving all his development to the last minute. His legs are important when he’s driving and they’re his nemesis at the moment,” my voice trails off, “obviously.”
“Of course.”
“Shall we get started then? I need to make sure you’re not all talk.” I wink. I don’t mean to. I’m only joking around, but I don’t know why I feel so self-conscious. Maybe because this is Elliott’s and my place. We’ve had some good times in here, and a lot of bad over the past few years while he’s been recuperating. The space is intimate for us and it feels odd having an intruder invade our private quarters.
Kyle
He runs me through my paces. There’s a lot more cardio in this routine than I’m used to, but he explains it’s so that my body burns off more calories when I get to the weights.
By the time we reach the end of the session, I’ve warmed up on the bike, moved to short bursts of sprints on the treadmill before being told I must use the rower, which I hate. It is apparently a great all over exercise which will help me in the long run.
“OK.” I moan, getting in the saddle for probably what is only the second time since I’ve moved in with Elliott. We only do ten minutes, so in the end it’s not that bad.
What shocks me later, though, is once I've completed a lighter than usual weight lifting routine, we switch up to tension bands. By this point, I’ve reached the point of exhaustion and I’m sure, if Florian tells me to do one more round, this tiny elastic band will rip my shoulder from its socket.
“These are miniscule muscles, so they only need light weights, but their impact on everything else will not only help you avoid injury, they will also enhance your performance.”
I have to believe him. I didn’t even know I had muscles there. I thought it was all tendons and ligaments. I've been shown different today, that's for sure.
The sweat is dripping from my nose by the time we wrap up my session, and it’s true to say that the way he has hollered at me to keep my plank was not so charming anymore. “Come on, I’m not here to be your friend, I’m here to make you win.”
Fucking Jesus, we’re winning already, mate, did you not see the size of this house? I clench my jaw and bite back the words. Poor Florian must spend most of his day being hated if he's this good at his job. He can do without me mouthing off in an outburst of anger. I don't see the feeling waning though. I’m sure I'll still be as bitter in the morning when I ache all over and can barely walk. What a thankless task he has.
Elliott was bloody right passing this on to me. Smart boy knows what he’s doing. Can’t see him being able to get through this on top of everything else he’s got on his plate at the moment. Little did I know what I was being set up with. I’ve worked with personal trainers on an ad hoc basis over the years but tend to prefer my own routine. Now I remember why. My enthusiasm for this project has waned, fast, in the last forty minutes since Florian stood up from the bench and started barking his orders.
“You always need to do a minimum of twenty minutes heart exercise before you tone. Understand?” He says this with a grin as he leaves despite him having given me a full program to run through before I see him next. Talk about belaboring the point. It's not like I could forget. I’m not going to bother seeing the other candidates, much as I hate him right now, Florian has this nailed, so the proof will be in his performance. To ascertain that I need to work with him exclusively.
“Sure, boss.” I salute, happy despite my protestations, to be given direction by him. Plus, the cardio does help with working off some of the sexual frustration Elliott seems too eager to build.
Elliott
“What’s wrong with you?” I ask Kyle when I come home the next weekend. He’s limping and groaning like an old man.
“It’s that bloody Florian. You’ll see tomorrow. He knows how to work a man hard.”
“Not too hard I hope. I have plans for you!”
“Thank goodness for that. I’ve been waiting for you. Although to be fair, Florian has done a great job of making a man ache in places he shouldn’t. I’m not sure how nimble I’ll be.”
“I thought the whole point of this was to improve your agility?”
“It is! Look at me. I creak like a washed-up athlete.”
“Well, you don’t look like one.” I approach him from behind, wrap my arms around his waist while he stirs the pot of pasta bubbling on the stove top.
“I see today is a carb day then. Gotta support all that cardio you’re getting.”
He stops stirring knowing that I’m no longer talking about his gym routine and turns his cheek toward me, leaning into my face so we’re touching. “I could turn this off...”
“Sounds like a great idea.” The words haven’t even left my lips before he’s cut them off with his mouth.
“Not here though, I want to go to my own bed. I’ve missed it.”
“Go and get a shower, I’ll sort this out and come and join you.” Kyle turns back to his pot.
The powerful jets force the stresses of the week down the drain while invigorating my skin and I just stand, eyes closed, enjoying the rejuvenation.
I don’t hear Kyle enter, but when I open my eyes and run my fingers through my dripping hair, he’s standing on the other side of the door, naked. His hand is at his crotch, which is showing its appreciation for me. Being tired, the shower was more relaxing than sexually stimulating. Until the sight of my naked husband, pleasuring himself at the sight of me, is enough to stand me to attention quick sharp.
“Come in.” I beckon to him, opening the glass door.
“I was enjoying watching you. This living apart thing could be good. I forget just how stunning you are. It’s nice to be reminded.” He tugs his hand again, moving slowly but steps over the threshold to join me under the waterfall shower which is big enough to rain down on us both.
“I’ve been waiting for this.” His eyes are ablaze as he slams me against the wall, pressing his bulk full on against me. His fingers lace through mine and pin both my arms above my head as his mouth takes what is his. Our teeth gnash together as he pumps his hips into me. I force myself against him, the pleasure of his touch shooting waves of passion to my every extremity.
He releases one hand snatching it down and taking hold of where I’ve been craving all week. The soap lathers under his palm as his firm grip slides me to the precipice of elation.
“Not so quick, mister,” he says into my mouth before nipping my bottom lip between his teeth. The pain distracts my pleasure sensors allowing the explosion which had been building to calm and a tortured groan escapes my throat.
He begins again, tunneling my hard length through his palm. The wave soars, like a tsunami. It threatens to overshadow everything in its wake. “Stop!” I pant through a rush of air.
Our eyes lock. We hold our gaze as we move closer together, both our lengths meet as tiny shocks ricochet to curl my toes. Our fingers intertwine, becoming one piston of pleasure.
“I want to take you. Now.” Kyle’s deep voice moans and I look at the pools of passion in his eyes. Without speaking, I turn, face the wall and plant both hands above my head, but this time for support from the battering he’s about to bestow.
As Kyle kneels behind me, I spread my legs wide enough to allow him the access he needs. He wraps one hand around my front while the other follows the trail of water flowing down the channel of my butt. He places the pad of his thumb against my tense muscles and I instantly expand, longing to feel him probe. “I need to be filled,” I moan.
He sends in one finger, and then another, swirling across a succession of nerves at my center. I cry out as my body melts, catching myself against the wall as my knees buckle.
“Another,” I beg.
Kyle’s knuckles burn as they force me open. I swear I'll pass out before he adds an extra finger if he carries on teasing me like this.
“I can’t wait any longer.” His voice comes out strangled by the tension and despite myself, I get a kick in the pit of my stomach that he's as turned on in the moment as I am. Forcing his hand, I press back toward him as he stands, jutting out my butt, half bending to allow him to take everything he needs.
As he enters, we both let out a gasp at the delicious burn that accompanies his thrust. Stars flicker in front of my eyes, my head swims and I’m aware of nothing other than Kyle reclaiming his ownership of his husband whose attention has been side-lined.
Kyle
My brain freezes. Nothing else is more important than this man and what we mean to each other. We’ve waited a week to feel this intensity and boy, it was worth it.
My body is alight with fireflies’ dancing but when I enter him that’s when the power of our connection takes its iron-like grip. Connected in body and soul we move as one, a seamless joining of two forces whose strength outweighs anything we could ever be as individuals.
I’m a hair away from losing my shit. “You ready?” The words sound like they’ve been ripped from my throat.
“Yeah, I’ve been ready for a week,” Elliott pants.
His hand reaches between his legs, takes his length and pistons. Within seconds he’s discharged over himself with an almighty cry of my name.
Pulling back on his hips, I thrust into him, panting and clawing at his wet flesh until the surge of adrenaline lights my body, ridding it of any control and as my back arcs and my hips jut forward, I scream the name of my husband, the man who I have missed so terribly this week.
We spend the rest of the evening snuggling on the sofa together. The kind of normal shit that couples take for granted is now an amazing treat. This is what life is about, those cherished moments, where you’re totally at ease with another.
The TV is rubbish Friday night crap, but it doesn’t matter. He sits with a glass of wine, and I with a beer and we just are. I take my place back in my seat on the sofa, no longer needing to fill the hole that is gaping inside me and we chat about how attractive the actors are, how bad the news is, and even get into a discussion about politics. This is what life is, and we’ve missed it. More than we expected to.
We have an early night, and then the next morning, it’s time for Elliott to become acquainted with the demon otherwise known as Florian.
“You’d better be prepared because he’s going to work you to exhaustion. The man has no mercy.”
“Ah, horse-shit, you know I’ve been working with trainers for years. You’re just shocked because you’ve been allowed to do your own thing.”
“OK, well don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Elliott
