I have to admit I’ve never been one for exercise. I don’t do gyms or running, and I barely get on with yoga. But I am a fan of exercise in other people…and I am definitely a fan when it’s you running.

I see you come down the lane as I pause by the door, and take a moment to admire your long stride, body moving in sync and your gaze somewhere in the distance. You know how to move, and you’re damn good at it.

You spot me as you come up the path and give me a grin as you step back in through the door. Your cheeks are flushed and your eyes are bright; your hair is sticking up in sweaty spikes and your t-shirt is clinging to your chest and arms, rising and falling with every quick breath.

You’ve trailed mud in with your trainers, but I can’t even be cross as you step closer to me and give me that adrenaline-filled smile. You’re hot and sweaty and panting, and I just want to fuck you until you’re in exactly the same state all over again.

I get a wink as you turn your music off. “So, run done. Can I borrow my favourite exercise toy for more cardio?”

What can I say…maybe I do like some types of exercise.

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