FIT: #1 in the Fit Trilogy (6 page)

When she was done, Grant stuffed himself back into his shorts, then reached for a bottle of water in the small mini fridge under Armando’s side of the desk. He helped Violet out of the chair and handed her the water. She was flushed and out of breath, and this adorably wicked smile dimpled her cheeks as she took a swing.

Grant couldn’t resist brushing that dimple with the edge of his knuckles. “You enjoyed that, didn’t you?”

“Maybe. It wasn’t much of a punishment.”

“Who said that was your punishment?”

Her eyes narrowed, then closed when Grant slipped his other hand between her legs. She was burning up.

“I want you to keep writing down your food and drink intake, and I want you to be honest and thorough. And keep up the walking. You can walk every day.”

“And my punishment?”

“Look at me.” Her eyes fluttered open. “Your next orgasm is mine.”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t come again until I let you. Could be Monday morning when I see you again. Could be sometime late next week.” He crisscrossed his fingers against her tight pants, finding the cleft of her pussy. Violet blinked, but managed to keep her eyes on his face. “I could call you tonight and tell you to finger yourself while I listen to you breathe through the phone. But you don’t come again until I say so.”

“How will you know?”

“You think you don’t have a tell?” He slid his fingers higher, brushing against the cotton over her clit.

“I—I don’t.”

“You do. Trust me.” She was in trouble with him, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to kiss her. He pulled her close and pressed his lips to hers. Their tongues flirted for just a moment. He pulled away, though, before he bent her over the desk like he’d been wanting to do all morning long. “Just know that I’ll know. Now get out of here,” he said. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

Day 9

Violet never gave much thought to how much she masturbated until she wasn’t allowed to do it. Actually, she was allowed to touch herself. She could do whatever the hell she wanted, but every time she drummed up the nerve—she didn’t need to work up the arousal, as she’d been perpetually horny since the first time Grant had touched her—she could hear Grant’s voice in her head telling her no. And, for some crazy reason, she wanted to do what he said.

The food log, the exercise, even the waking up early and getting her day started, that was for her. It hadn’t been a full week yet, but she already looked forward to her morning walks. She’d slept in that morning. It was Sunday. She had to give herself a bit of a break. But a little after ten, she woke up, Googled a Starbucks just far enough away from her apartment, then walked almost three miles round trip while she enjoyed her cinnamon latte. Her body was nowhere near where she wanted it. It would take more than a week for her to see any results, but she felt better. She felt better about herself. So yeah, signing up with Grant had been good for her, but the extras? The sex? That was for them both.

Somehow Grant managed to separate and combine the two in way that made her want to work harder for herself and just as hard at pleasing Grant. She had to get him naked. She had to see the rest of that amazing body. She wanted to kiss it, touch it.

The blowjob had been such a tease. Sitting in that chair, her hips rocking back and forth as Grant’s beautiful, thick cock slipped in and out if her mouth, while her breasts rubbed against his legs and her pussy ached to be filled. It was torture. And she loved it. She wanted more.

And now she was wet all over again just thinking about it. Grant was right, this was a punishment. She wanted to touch herself. She wanted to come, but more than that release of pleasure, she wanted Grant.

Violet nearly rolled off her couch reaching for her phone. She just barely tipped it off her coffee table into her hand then pulled up Grant’s number. If she had to suffer, he was going to suffer with her. She typed out a text then hit send before she changed her mind.

I’m really horny and you should do something about it.

Grant texted back right away.

Is that how punishments work?

I don’t know. I’ve only been a submitter for a few days. I don’t know how these things work.

A submitter?

Yeah. Someone who submits to their super sexy Dom. You should know the terminology by now, Mr. Gibson. I’m a little disappointed.

As my submitter you are entitled to a little begging, but as your Dominer it’s my job to stand by my convictions. I said no coming, so you’re not coming until I say so, Miss Ryan.

You sure you don’t want me to come right now? I’ll take pictures.

Would she really? Yes. No. Yes. She didn’t have to include her face.

It was a long time in rapid-fire text time before Grant responded. He was thinking it over.

No. No pictures. Keep all fingers, vibrators, and improvised household items away from your cunt. Next time you come, you come for me.

Of course her cunt tingled as she read the text. She would see him in less than twelve hours. She would be on time with her food log immaculately kept. She’d even logged the two grapes she’d sampled at the farmers’ market. He was sure to let her come after their workout, but she didn’t want to wait. She sent him another text.

Don’t you get horny? We could help each other.

Who says I’m not helping myself right now?

She read the words and then a picture popped up. Grant’s hand wrapped around his hard cock.

It could have been any dick pic harvested off the Internet, but she knew that cock. She recognized his pubic hair. The carpet matched the beard, golden-blond and red. She recognized the tattoos on his forearm, and in the background was a blurry, but sleeping Max, passed out on a doggy bed near his entertainment center.

Violet pressed CALL so hard she thought she would crack her screen.

Grant’s cruel laughter echoed through the phone when he picked up. “Hello?”

“Are you kidding me right now?!”

“What? You don’t like my cock?”

“You know I do!”

“You haven’t said as much.”

“Well, I like your cock. There. I said it.”

“You should feel it right now. It’s really hard.”

Just then her other line beeped in. Violet pulled her phone from her ear and saw Faye’s name lighting up the screen. “That’s my friend. I’m going to talk to her and then I’m going to masturbate so hard. I’m gonna masturbate all over the place.”

“Don’t do it, Vi.” She almost groaned, hating how smooth her nickname sounded on his lips.

“Bye,” she grumbled instead of cursing at him. She was all kinds of flustered when she clicked over.

“Oh, thank god,” Faye said frantically. “I thought you’d fallen asleep.”

“I got the PJs on, but I’m awake.”

“Get dressed right fucking now. Backstreet Boys are giving a secret show at a bar downtown. Well, kinda secret. They tweeted that the first fifty people to respond get in with a plus one and Patrick got us in. God, I could marry him. Show starts in an hour. Let’s go!”

Violet couldn’t believe it, but she actually hesitated. She looked at her clock. It was already ten and... And she had to get to bed so she could get up at five-thirty and meet Grant.

“Hello? What is wrong with you? Backstreet Boys. On stools. Singing ‘I Want It That Way’ four feet from your face. Are you in or are you out?”

Violet cursed and pounded her fist against the couch. She’d fully grown out of her boy band phase. The current title holders looked like ten-year-olds she used to babysit, but Backstreet Boys? She could just picture the posters of Nick Carter that used to plaster her bedroom walls. It was her duty as a woman to go to this show. “I’m in.”

Still, Faye could tell something was up. “What’s the problem?”

“Nothing. I have a session with my trainer in the morning. That’s all.”

“Oh my god! Fuck him. It’s
the
Backstreet Boys.”

“I know! I’m getting dressed.”

“Good. I’ll be there in twenty.”

Violet hung up and stared at her clock a moment longer, doing that stupid bedtime math. She’d be back around one. Private show, no opening act. They wouldn’t be on that long. There would be almost no traffic back to her part of town at that time of night. Yeah, one. She’d be in bed by one thirty. That would give her four hours of sleep before she met Grant. Then she could take a nap after they worked out. Piece of cake. Violet pushed Grant to the back of her mind and ran to her closet.

✶

Grant waited outside of his gym until six thirty. Fifteen minutes late could mean she overslept. Maybe there was an accident or she hit some strange patch of early morning construction. L.A. was good for that. By six thirty, Grant knew she wasn’t coming. No call. No text. For all that could happen, he hoped she’d overslept. At six thirty, he took Max inside. He called Violet’s phone, but it went to voicemail. He left her a brief message. Hopefully, when she got it, she’d call him back.

✶

Violet woke up with one of those heart attack gasps. She’d overslept, forgotten to finish a term paper and had eight minutes to run across campus to get to her final. That was the feeling. It had been years, but that’s exactly what it felt like when she woke up the next morning, at nine freaking fifteen, and realized she had completely slept through her workout with Grant.

When she tried to swing her legs out of bed, she also realized she was wrapped up in her charge cord, which she’d somehow managed to yank out of the wall. Her phone had been dying before they left the after-show meet and greet. She’d plugged it in right when she climbed into bed. She also set her alarm then put the thing right next to her head so she would be sure to hear it. No dice. The piece of crap was dead. She shoved the cord back into its cube in the wall and waited for her phone to fire up. Two texts popped up right away. One from her sister.

Saw Faye’s pics on Facebook. I was studying for torts and you were cheek kissing Howie. So jelz right now.

And another from Faye.

Patrick got super laid last night. Call me.

And then a voicemail.

Violet hit play, then buried her face in her pillow.

“Hey, Violet. It’s Grant and Max. We missed you this morning. Give me a call when you get a chance and we’ll reschedule the session.”

His voice sounded strange, like he was trying to play it cool, but he was nervous or angry or something. She was getting to know him, but she didn’t know him that well yet. He might be with a client now, but Violet hit his number anyway.

“Glad you’re still with us.” Oh, he was pissed.

“Shit, Grant. I’m so sorry. Faye and I caught a late show last night and then my phone died and I overslept.”

“You went to a concert
after
I talked to you?” He laughed and seemed to relax a little bit. He was a little annoyed, but he wasn’t pissed. Violet rolled on her back, covering her face with her arm.

“Yeah…I’m in trouble, aren’t I?”

“Oh, you have no idea.” The tone she did know was back, all deep and seductive. She’d happily take her punishment this time. But just as she started to smile and offer her own flirtatious response, his voice changed again, became more sobering. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“I understand. I would have freaked out too if you left me hanging.”

“What are you doing tonight?” he asked.

“Nothing much. I was going to review some casting tapes for backup contestants for this competition thing, but it’s not urgent. Why?”

“Well, I think you’ve earned another punishment and you have a workout to make up for.”

Violet knew she could say no. It was one of the things she liked about Grant. There were rules, but no real pressure. She could put her foot down and knock out some work. Or she could see him.

“I did screw up pretty bad, didn’t I?”

“You did. Be here at nine-thirty.”

She knew from the company website that the gym closed at nine. Violet swallowed the lump that made a sudden appearance in her throat. She could only imagine what he had planned.

“I can do that.”

“The shades will be down, but the doors will open. Let yourself in.”

“Okay.”

“And while you’re home today, don’t even think about touching yourself.”

“But you sent me such lovely inspiration. What am I going to do with it on my phone all day?”

“Goodbye, Violet.”

✶

It was strange pulling up to Melrose Fitness at night. The street was poorly lit, but the trees lining the road were in such full bloom they almost provided a certain coziness to the empty street. She locked her car and walked up to the front door. Like Grant said, the shades were pulled down, but thin ribbons of light shone through where the thick panels failed to reach all the way to the bottom and the sides of the windows. Violet could hear music too, loud rock music muffled by the closed door. She opened it and went inside.

The gym was empty except for Grant and Armando, who seemed to be in the middle of a vigorous workout. Grant. Oh lord bless him, Grant was shirtless, doing an intense set of pull-ups on a bar that ran between the tricep pull-down and the seated-row contraption. Armando was facing the mirrors doing chest flys with what seemed to be fifty pound weights in each hand. He had a shirt on, but the gray cotton was soaking wet and his bronze-brown skin was covered in sweat. Violet stood by, not exactly sure what to do. She thought about grabbing a towel and dabbing both their foreheads as they continued to load her fantasy files.

Grant dropped from the pull-up bar then crossed the room without saying a word to Violet. He grabbed a sit up mat and dragged it to the center of the floor.

“Hi,” she said, as he passed her.

He just pointed to the mat. “Sit.”

Violet scowled at him, but plopped down on the purple piece of rubber. She was here to pay the piper, but did Armando have to witness the transaction? He must know, Violet thought. Maybe not the full details of their Dominer/submitter relationship, but Grant must have explained what Violet was doing there after hours. And why he was having her sit in the middle of the floor like a five-year-old on time out. Grant turned his back and went right back to his workout. The song ended and some rap song came blaring through the speakers. Even if Grant was in a talking mood, it wasn’t like Violet could hear him.