Torrid Threesome: Jennifers Gym Gigolo

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The gym was quiet now, a sanctuary of cooling metal and the faint, clean scent of her exertion. His hands, warm and sure, found the tight cords of tension in her shoulders, and a soft sigh escaped her lips as she leaned into the solid strength of him. She turned, her eyes dark with a sudden, daring hunger, and the damp fabric of her tank top slipped away, baring skin that gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lights. He was lost then, his breath catching as he bent to press his face against the soft, fragrant hollow of her throat, his arms encircling her waist to hold her close. Her own hands guided his, a silent plea for more, her touch leaving trails of fire across his skin as the world narrowed to their shared, frantic heartbeat. A low moan trembled in the air as she arched against him, every nerve ending alight with the promise of his worshipful attention. The hard line of the weight bench met her back, a stark contrast to the fevered warmth of his body moving over hers with a possessive, rhythmic grace that made her tremble. Then, a distant memory surfaced—another appointment, another pair of waiting hands—and with a whisper, she slipped from his embrace, leaving a cold void where her heat had been. The massage room offered no respite, only a different kind of intensity as a new presence met her restless energy with his own, his calm demeanor shattering under the force of her desperate kiss. When the door opened again, the air thickened, not with jealousy, but with a shared, overwhelming desire as two pairs of strong hands finally learned the map of her body in a perfect, consuming synchrony.