Alasdair Masters is in a rut. He just hit forty, has been nearly celibate for the past year, and his life has turned into a daily sequence of lonely patterns that revolve around avoiding human contact.
His tidy life is turned on its head when a hot young blonde at the gym that’s been pseudo-stalking him decides to rock his world. A very young blonde. Way, way too young for him. The problem is, he can’t seem to tell her no, and she just keeps coming back for more.
It doesn’t help that he’s ninety percent sure she’s a criminal, and still, he can’t seem to turn her down. What is a dull introvert to do when a chaotic cyclone that oozes sexuality comes twisting into his life?
At first, he thinks she’ll give him a heart attack, but after his twenty-year marriage ended a year ago, he’s been a little lost, and when she comes crashing into his life, he realizes that he’s never felt more alive.
CHAPTER ONE
I set my two perfectly folded gym towels down on a chair by the
treadmill and got on the machine.
I always brought two. I wasn’t even sure why. I was
a creature of habit. Once I started a pattern, I tended to stick to it,
rain or shine.
Kind of like my marriage. Of course, that hadn’t lasted
forever, but that hadn’t exactly been my choice.
I punched in my settings and began my warm-up. I had
already done twenty minutes of stretching at home. My three-hour daily
workout was very precise. I had a family history chock-full of heart
disease, and so I aggressively fought to stay healthy. I was intelligent enough
to know that I’d brought the whole thing to an extreme, but honestly, what else
was I supposed to do with my free time? I was busy enough with work, but
my work involved a lot of sitting down and tapping away at a computer, and I
felt I had to counter all of that physical inactivity, somehow.
I’d just had my dreaded fortieth birthday, and I felt like I was
in as good of shape as I’d ever been. My waistline wasn’t growing, thanks
to my three hours a day in the gym, and an impeccable diet, and my muscles were
well toned and good sized. I had no idea what age I actually looked, but
I figured the liberal salt and pepper at my temples brought it at least close
to forty. I didn’t really give it much thought, as I stayed largely to
myself, and any time I was on camera, I went out of my way to avoid seeing it.
The gym was busy, as it usually was, so my time there was
literally the most social I was in an average day, and I usually got away with
a nod or a good morning to the receptionist on the way in.
That was it. The only verbal interaction in my day.
Sometimes I had to talk on the phone for work, and once, maybe
twice a year, I did a few television or radio interviews.
And that was it.
The scary part was, it was effortless for me. It had
started with an ugly divorce just over one year ago and slowly shaped its way
into this. A sad, old man that could have easily embraced a life as a
complete recluse.
I did still go out of my way to work out at an upscale gym,
instead of just building one in my house. I had the room. I
certainly had the money. I figured it was only a matter of time before I
resorted to that, too.
The strange part of it was, I wasn’t worried about it because I
was lonely. I was worried because I wasn’t. I did miss being
with a woman in the literal sexual sense, but that was about it. I’d
considered the idea of hiring a prostitute briefly, but even that seemed like
an ordeal. I detested breaking the law. It was so very chaotic.
A familiar figure moved onto the machine next to me, and I met
pale, smiling green eyes in the mirror, nodded once briefly, then looked back
down.
She was a shapely little blonde woman that had started sharing
my gym hours nine days ago.
Girl, I corrected myself. She was
a girl, way too young for me to even sneak a long glance at, though I was only
human, and she was wearing next to nothing, so I’d caught many, many glances.
She probably thought I was dad material, I told myself, as she started to jog on the machine, her full,
perky breasts bouncing with every smooth step.
She really needed to go shopping for a more supportive sports
bra, I thought to myself, my eyes catching on her, then darting away, then
glancing again within a few bounces.
She wore only a hot pink sports bra and the tiniest white Lycra
bike shorts I’d ever seen in my life. Her abs were toned, waist tiny, her
skin smooth in a way that happened only in the very young.
Way, way too young for you, I
reminded myself, my furtive gaze catching on her lithe hips as she jogged her
sexy little heart out.
My intent stare moved up to her face, and I flushed to find her
watching me watching her. I looked down and kept on jogging.
There’d been no censure in her eyes, and so I found mine
wandering back to her face.
She was beautiful. Not a scrap of makeup on, her
white-blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, and still she could’ve stopped
traffic. A real bombshell. None of it was artificial either, just
plain old good genetics at work.
She was friendly, too. I wasn’t sure why, but she usually
took the machine next to mine, if it was empty, though there were lots to
choose from. She always had a smile for me, too.
Maybe I reminded her of her dad. Or fuck, her grandpa.
It didn’t bear thinking about.
I’d never been with a younger woman, let alone one that much
younger. Hell, she’d probably give me a heart attack. I shook off
the thought. A flawless little thing like that wouldn’t give me a second
glance, and I told myself that was a good thing.
She was likely jailbait, and for a man that’d never even had a
speeding ticket, just the idea of that was too scandalous to linger on.
Still, my eyes were drawn, time and again, to her perfect figure
jogging hard on that treadmill. Her legs were incredible, long and
slender, bare from the top of her thighs to her ankles, and so toned and tan.
I made myself look away and not look back.
I hit the one hour mark on the machine when I saw her slow and
stop out of the corner of my eye. This had become a pattern, too. I
did exactly one hour of cardio, before I hit the weights. She seemed to
be working a similar routine, and every day I saw her, it became even more
similar.
I almost jumped in surprise when she approached me directly,
standing on the very front of my machine, to get my attention.
My gaze traveled slowly up, trying not to linger on the way her
breasts rose out of her sports bra’s neckline as she leaned into my
machine. She was spilling out of the thing.
She beamed at me.
I swallowed hard, catching the side bar and swinging first one
leg, and then the other, onto the footrests on the sides, coming to a stop.
I popped out an ear bud, raising my brows in what I hoped was a
look of polite interest.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hey,” I panted back, shutting the treadmill down. May as
well quit, since I’d reached my goal.
She handed me my towel, and I took it, immediately wiping my
brow. This was a new development, and a strange one, to be sure.
She held up the second towel, my OCD towel, if you will.
“I saw that you have two. I forgot mine. You mind if I borrow it?”
I shook my head. “Go for it. Glad I could help.”
She smiled again. Her teeth were gorgeous, straight and
white against her tan skin. “What’s your name?” she asked me.
I was caught off guard, and so it took me a few extra beats to
answer awkwardly. “Alasdair.”
She raised her brows, looking intrigued. “Nice name.
It has a lot of character. Do you shorten it at all, or should I call you
that, Alasdair?”
Hearing her say my name made me feel indecent. Just
beastly. I briefly considered cutting my workout short. “Sometimes
my friends call me Dair.”
“Dair. I like that too. And are you daring, Dair?”
“Not particularly,” I said quickly, my heart pounding. I
couldn’t quite believe that she was hitting on me, but if she was, I needed to
put a short stop to it.
Way too young, I told myself
firmly.
I moved to the weights, and she followed like we were old
friends. I started doing curls, eyes glued to her as she grabbed some
smaller weights and started doing dead lifts with a hammer curl.
The sight of that nearly had me slack-jawed. The move
consisted of her bending down at the waist, her legs straight, and touching the
ground, then lifting back, her ponytail bouncing, back arched, her incredible
ass sticking out, and bringing her arms into a curl.
She faced away from me when she did it, giving me a perfect
view. Her shorts were so thin, her skin so supple, that it was more
perfectly designed to turn me on than a porno. And I’d watched plenty of
porn. The girl was set on giving me a heart attack today.
She kept doing it for the longest time, sending me a look over
her shoulder as she straightened on the last rep. She smiled that sweet
little smile at me. “Well, aren’t you going to ask me?”
I had no idea what she was talking about, but my mind went very
dirty with it.
Could you do that one more time, but pull your shorts down for
this one, so I can fuck your brains out? I was pretty positive that wasn’t what she meant.
Can I give you a ride home? Or maybe a hard ride on my
cock? Nope, those two were out, too.
Or how about, Want to grab a coffee after this?
That one was better, but I held my tongue.
“Excuse me?” I asked instead. The safest bet of all.
“My name. I know yours now. Don’t you want to know
mine?”
I smiled politely, sincerely hoping that my raging hard-on
wasn’t too obvious. I was wearing athletic pants and a long sweatshirt,
so I was probably safe. “Yes, of course. Nice to meet you…”
“Iris.”
My brows shot up. You didn’t see many girls her age named
Iris. “Iris?”
Her eyes twinkled at me. She gave very good eye
contact. Intense, but good. “Don’t you like it?”
“Y-yes,” I stammered out. “It’s a beautiful name.”
“It’s always easy to pick out flowers for me. My favorite
flower is the same as my name.”
“I’ll make a note of it.” What the fuck did you say that
for? I asked myself. Of course I wouldn’t be getting her flowers.
Totally inappropriate.
She looked pleased as punch. “You do that.”
She bent down, her back arched like a pinup girl, and picked up
her borrowed towel. She moved closer, dabbing at her cleavage with it.
I swallowed hard, my cock throbbing in time to my accelerated
heart rate.
“Upper body today, huh?” she asked.
I was watching her perky tits as she said it, so I blinked like
an idiot. Her nipples were hard. I could see them through that
flimsy as hell bra. “Hmm?”
The towel moved down to her stomach. She didn’t look to be
sweating much, but she patted herself down like she was.
I was in a full-on sweat. I designed it that way. It
made for a better workout, but just then I wanted to strip down.
Strip down and pin a naked Iris to the floor.
“You’re working your upper body today. You alternate,
right?”
“Oh yeah.”
“It’s an intense workout you’ve got going. You training
for something in particular?”
I shook my head. “Just trying to stay fit. What
about you? You clock in three hours, too, right?”
She shrugged. “That’s a new thing, though I do enjoy a
good workout. Just trying to keep things nice and tight.”
That made my brain short-circuit. “Things are looking very
tight.” A perfect fit for my cock, my perverted mind added.
She came a little closer, almost into my personal space.
“Thank you. That’s a big compliment, coming from a gym regular like you.”
I couldn’t take anymore. I turned, put the weights back on
the bar, and went into a round of grueling pushups.
When I rose again, she was a few feet away doing French press
reps, her chest thrust forward.
I turned quickly away, and tried not to so much as glance at
her.
Chapter Two will be revealed between 1:00-4:00pm EST.
You can find it in the following blogs:
