No one can accuse me of having many vices – I don’t smoke or take drugs, I barely drink alcohol and I even avoid fizzy drinks. In fact, I’m disgustingly clean living, in that the vices I have are not so much harmful, but more enjoyable (if you’re doing it right!) There is one exception, though.
Food. Well, potentially harmful if you have a penchant for the wrong things ... and I often do. If there is food around, I want some and I want a big portion. When it comes to eating, willpower is not a word that I understand. And I don’t think I’m alone. At a recent event, somehow, a conversation within a small group about our work quickly turned to food, even before we were given access to the buffet! As well as confirming our likes and dislikes, we bonded over our loves or loathing of cooking and entertaining, what changes we make to improve recipes and how consuming what we love made us feel.
Although, I do love my fruit, vegetables, fish and lean meat and mostly eat well, that isn’t always the case. My massive sweet tooth is partly to blame, which has led to a pretty serious addiction to cheesecake amongst many other sweet treats. Could you resist a nice warm chocolate fondant with vanilla ice-cream? It is often these delicious pleasures that have the power to make us feel good as well as satisfying hunger. This applies equally to savouries, which don’t get a reprieve as I am a card-carrying carnivore, even to the point of relishing things that people usually dislike: liver, black pudding, sweet breads – yum.
It’s easy to imagine this leading to a nine and a half weeks type story, combining food and sex in a sensual way. However, this doesn’t appeal to me as I conjure images of a sticky mess—and not the good kind. In fact, my love of all things edible has led me to become a great fan of exercise, allowing me to maintain my greedy—erm, I mean foodie—status by keeping me on a cycle (geddit?!) of burning off the energy created after stuffing my face. Guilt free indulgence in the subject of my long-term love affair.
The types of exercise routines I enjoy can vary as much as the foodstuffs I like, which stops it from getting boring and keeps the body guessing. Why do battle with a restrictive diet when there are much better ways to burn off the calories? Whether in the gym, the park, the bedroom, against a wall, in a sex swing, atop a washing machine... I would much rather continue to eat and work it off in all the best possible ways.
This ability to find an exercise routine from a range of sources was the inspiration for my latest novella, Lean and Mean, for which I include a snippet ahead of its release tomorrow. The contemporary story is a humorous look at how Remy reacts when her chosen method of exercise is challenged by Isaiah, a body builder with the ability to show her an entirely different way to work out.
Only a few minutes passed before he attempted to divert her focus by making noises, intermittently whistling and clicking his tongue in an attempt to attract her attention. However, she remained resolute in not allowing him to break her focus by training her gaze ahead of her, despite hearing him perfectly well. After a final wolf whistle that made her lips twitch with the beginnings of a smile she barely managed to resist, he appeared to give up when his efforts failed.
The satisfaction she got from her victory caused a warmth to spread in her chest, easily surpassing that which arose from her exertion. However, she quickly discovered that her assumption was wrong despite the slowing whirr of his machine and reduction in the speed of his steps.
Remy maintained the appearance of paying him no attention but was well aware of his every action, anticipation of his intentions making her stomach flip.
Rather than simply dismounting the machine, he manoeuvred his body through the gap between the machines. He climbed onto the ledge on the front of Remy’s treadmill, holding onto the rails as he stood watching her run.
With his surprise move, he made it impossible to ignore him as he was the only one in her view. She had no option but to look at him, and she would have it no other way.
“Did your treadmill break?” she asked through deep breaths, not breaking stride. “Must be all that muscle—too heavy.”
“The machine’s fine, I just prefer the view from here.”
She watched his gaze drift from her face to her breasts, her vest top displaying the outline of her figure as well as a hint of cleavage. Finally, he succeeded in throwing her off course, forcing her to grip the rails to prevent her from stumbling.
“I win,” she smiled, recovering her stride and holding his gaze.
“You didn’t win, I’m not fatigued.”
“Well, you forfeited because you stopped running.”
He dipped his head so that his face came level with hers, giving the impression that he was to kiss her. However, it wasn’t forthcoming, he held her gaze as he hovered mere inches from her face. The proximity of his mouth to hers made her own lips part, a pull within her making her yearn to feel their softness and taste his mouth.