And when Kara’s around, my blood is usually only pumping in one direction. So once we get business out of the way…well. I’m sure she’d love to feel how silky the sheets are on my king-sized bed.
I kiss her when she comes in—I’m a businessman, but I’m not a fucking eunuch. Obviously, I’m going to get my hands all over her as much as I possibly can. It’s just not in my character to miss an opportunity to take advantage.
“How come when I’m with you, I always end up so fucking sweaty?” she asks, throwing a fist at the punching bag downstairs in my home gym.
She’s got a good right hook, but even as I hold the bag for her, it’s not enough to shift me out of my stance.
“I guess I must be good at getting you all hot and bothered,” I joke, letting her take another swing.
She’s getting fucking strong, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t into it. Our little Kara is getting some muscles on those slender arms of hers. Unsurprisingly, it suits her.
“I think you just like putting me through my paces,” she flirts back. “Walk me through this pageant thing again. First, I lift weights, right?”
“Wrong,” I correct her. “Parade first. You’ll be walking the stage with women from all over the country—completely nude, of course, save for heels.”
“Piece of cake,” Kara assures me. “I’ve walked scarier runways. Then there’s the weights.”
“Also nude,” I remind her. Christ, the image of Kara squatting heavy weight with that pretty little cunt flashing at the crowd gets me hard every time I think about it. “You’ll lift as much as you can—but it’s more about form, physique, and looking good while you’re doing it. Shouldn’t be a problem. You’re improving every day.”
“Then the talent portion,” Kara muses. “Also totally nude, I know. But I’ve got nothing for that as of yet—unless taking two cocks at once counts as a talent. Wait…does it?”
I laugh at her, and she takes an especially hard swing at the punching bag. It’s fucking cute, the way she tries and fails to throw me off balance.
“It would win you points with the viewers, if nothing else,” I admit. “We’ll think more on that later, though. How’s your public speaking? The last portion of the pageant is the speech.”
“Ugh,” Kara groans. “I’m dreading that part. I never did like talking in front of crowds.”
“Completely nude,” I remind her. “It’s your chance to let your personality shine.”
“Yeah, that sounds like something out of one of my recurring nightmares.” Kara laughs. “Plus, my personality’s shit.”
“It’s not,” I reassure her. “You’re perfectly charming…when you want to be.”
Admittedly, when she swings at the bag that time, she knocks it hard enough into my chest that I finally feel it.
Who am I kidding? I’m fucking falling for this girl, and I know it, too.
After our workout, I cook us dinner. I’m worried that Kara doesn’t fucking eat enough—she’s tried every crackpot diet on the market, and frankly, it’s fucked her perception of food a little bit.
“Pasta? Really?” Kara says, eyeballing the spaghetti noodles on her plate.
“With olive oil, garlic, aaaaand…” I grate a little Pecorino on top. “Cheese. Eat up. I’m an excellent chef.”
“That’s like, ten different things that I’m not allowed to eat, Eric,” she says, staring the plate down.
Breaks my fucking heart that she doesn’t think she’s allowed to enjoy herself like that—but fuck if I’m letting her go on thinking that way.
“You need the fuel, Kara,” I say, pushing the plate a little closer to her. “If you want to work out with me, you need to eat something substantial afterward. Non-negotiable.”
“But the calories…” Kara bites her lip, looking uncertain.
“You need calories,” I inform her. “And nutrients. And you ought to fucking enjoy them, too. That’s an order.”
“Is it, now?” Kara says. Her voice is doing that sultry thing again. Makes my cock even harder. “And what if I don’t, Daddy?”
I lean in nice and close until I can feel her holding her breath.
“Then you don’t get any fucking dessert,” I growl.