Either way, it's really no surprise that my first TEB release, Barbells at Christmas, revolves, in part, around lifting heavy things and then putting them down again, and having a suitably appreciative man (with a butt for the ages) there to admire the heroine engaging in this activity. In real life, I'd rather all men other than my lifter husband took a hike and let me do my thing, but in fantasy land, well, anything can happen. The heroine of Barbells, Lisa Weller, finds herself faced with this very same attitude adjustment when she's approached by smoking hot personal trainer, Angel Marino, as she's getting her lift on at her local gym near midnight on Christmas Eve. Why are these two
Excerpt from Barbells At Christmas:
“Mm,” he murmured around her breast, and the vibrations made her want to sing. Her thighs clenched around his hips, urging him closer, deeper, faster, harder. If he was a summoned ghost of Christmas, he was the ghost of Christmas present, because everything but this had been banished from her mind. Her mother, her father, Rick and stupid Shirley, her friends with their boyfriends and husbands, her stupid job, her lonely flat, her weariness and longing heart—none of it mattered. She remembered none of it in this blazing moment of light. All that mattered was that Angel was in her arms, and she was in his, and she wanted him so badly she was going to implode and take half the universe with her.
But first, she had to get this stupid sports bra off. As much as it pained her, she pushed against his shoulders, and immediately, he acquiesced to her wishes and broke away.
“Am I going too fast?” he asked. His wide, dark eyes were so earnest, so needy, that she felt them pluck at something deep inside her, some forgotten heartstring.
“Not fast enough,” she gasped, crossed her arms, and pulled ineffectually at the tight spandex binding her shoulders and chest.
He understood her need. His fingers appeared on the elastic, and together, they freed her from the horrible contraption. Her long hair brushed against her shoulders and back, sending shivers down her spine. He took a step back, just staring at her, and she had to fight the urge to cover herself.
“I want to watch you undress,” he said.
She smiled at him, and she saw his cock twitch under the fabric of his pants. “Only if you return the favour.”
He didn’t smile, just licked his swollen lips, and lifted a foot. Carefully, slowly, he tugged at the shoelace binding the shoe to his foot. She heard the lace rub over itself in the sudden, pregnant silence of the locker room, the only other sound their ragged breathing. It felt as though he were pulling at something inside her, too, unravelling her, untying her, until she swung loose and free.
He slipped his shoe off, and repeated the actions with the other shoe. Laces abraded laces. Stocking feet were liberated. Footwear had never held such promise.
Wishing you a happy holiday!