Introduction
My wife's sexy best friend panted heavily in my private training room, her previous tough talk completely gone.
"Giving up already? We haven't even started." I grabbed her tiny waist, flipped her over, and pushed her back into the set. "Again. We're nowhere near done."
Chapter 1
My name is Tyler, and I'm a gold-medal personal trainer at a high-end gym in Los Angeles. I have the relentless energy of a Texas bull; even after burning off steam at the gym all day, I still clock out completely wired. My mind is usually fixated on rushing home, grabbing my wife's pale, gorgeous body, and letting loose.
Today, a Latina client in my private session was acting insanely provocative. While I was spotting her form, she kept sticking her ass out, intentionally rubbing against me.
"Coach Tyler, I've been working out for so long, but my glutes still aren't popping. You should feel them," she teased, grabbing my hand and pressing it against the tight curves of her Lululemon leggings.
This little slut needed a reality check. She was arching her back to the sky, practically begging for it. I delivered a firm smack to her ass. "Then keep working on your sets!"
Leaving her there with a thoroughly flustered and unsatisfied look on her face, my own fire had been thoroughly stoked.
The moment I walked through my front door, I heard the shower running. The thought of my wife Selena’s delicate, curvy body under the warm water made my blood boil. I stormed right into the bathroom, grabbed her from behind, and roughly squeezed her heavy breasts.
"Hurry up, baby, your husband can't wait!"
Thanks to my guidance, Selena had an amazing figure. After our tailored workouts, she was an absolute bombshell—a solid 36D chest and a perfectly round, lifted peach of an ass. But pulling her close today, something felt off. They felt way bigger—closer to a 36E. Did they inflate?
Before I could process it, a startled gasp echoed off the tiles.
"Mmm... let... let go..."
It wasn't exactly a scream. It was a panicked, sweet moan that trembled like a jolt of electricity. No matter how you spun it, I knew damn well that was not my wife's voice!
The gorgeous woman slowly turned her face toward me, looking at me with a mix of shock and smoldering grievance. "T-Tyler... you've got the wrong person..."
Her face—a classic American sweetheart look—was flushed deep crimson, either from the hot water or embarrassment, the red spreading all the way to the tips of her ears. She looked at me with her mouth slightly parted, the tip of a pink tongue darting out to wet her plump lips.
Glancing down, my large hands were firmly planted on completely forbidden territory.
It was Selena's best friend, Chloe. What the hell was she doing in my shower?
I stared at her. She stared back. Only her flickering, cerulean eyes were locked squarely on the bulging tent in my pants.
She didn't look like a woman who was horrified or insulted by being unexpectedly groped. In fact, her flushed face and obsessed gaze practically spelled out, squeeze harder.
My brain short-circuited. Without thinking, my hands squeezed her perfectly sculpted ass again. It was incredibly bouncy and supple—honestly, a better feel than Selena's.
Chloe shuddered violently, throwing her wet, blonde head back with a soft whimper, her entire body trembling like she’d been electrocuted. "Mmm... stop... stop touching..."
She looked like her knees were about to give out, so I instinctively stepped forward and caught her. She collapsed into my arms—warm, soft, and smelling heavily of expensive Victoria's Secret perfume. I slid one hand around her wasp waist, giving it a firm squeeze. With breasts this massive and an ass this perfectly shaped, how the hell was her waist this tiny?
That touch completely broke her. She melted against my chest like she had no bones left. Blood rushed straight to my head; I had the sudden, violent urge to pin her against the California-style bathroom tiles and take her right there.
Before that dangerous thought could materialize, Selena's voice echoed from down the hall. "Chloe, is everything okay?"
Fuck! Selena is home!
Panic zapped me out of the trance. I yanked the glass door open and slid out, bumping right into my wife. It was a disaster waiting to happen. Before Selena could ask questions, I hoisted her over my shoulder and played the offensive card. "Why the hell is Chloe at our house? I came in here expecting to have some fun in the shower with you!"
"She brought... mmm... wait..."
I didn't let her finish explaining. I threw her onto the master bed and silenced her with a kiss. Even though Selena was beautiful, the visual shock of Chloe in the shower was burning in my brain. After all, I could see my wife every day—I rarely got the chance to see her gorgeous best friend dripping wet. The memory of that tiny waist and round ass fueled me, and with a wild intensity, I drove Selena to the point of begging.
"Ah! Not so rough! Go take a shower first!"
"Someone's in there! I'm feeding you first!"
To be honest, I wanted to go back to the shower, but the situation didn't allow it.
Right as I hit my peak, I noticed a figure standing in the crack of the ajar bedroom door. Wrapped in a flimsy hotel towel that barely contained her heavy cleavage, her damp blonde hair sticking to her shoulders, was Chloe.
She was watching me completely dominate my wife, biting her knuckle in an expression of raw, unadulterated lust. I never realized this woman was secretly such a freak.
You want a show? I'll give you a damn show!
The thought made me completely feral. Selena's moans echoed through the house, and the blue eyes in the doorway burned hotter by the second.
Later, as we sat around eating delivery pizza, a flushed Chloe finally explained why she was over. "Tyler, I want to sign up for your VIP private training sessions. Can you fit me in?"
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