Sweat and Desire

**Sweat and Desire** Fernanda always went to the gym at six in the morning. She liked the time—few people, equipment free, no lines for anything. She had her routine: twenty minutes on the treadmill, forty of weight training, ten of stretching. Headphones in, electronic playlist on, zero social interaction. Until he showed up. It started on a Monday. Fernanda was on the leg press when she noticed a new guy in the free weights area. Tall, dark hair cropped short, a hint of stubble. A gray T-shirt clinging to his sweaty chest. Thick arms, broad back, the kind of body that doesn’t come from supplements—it comes from years of hard work. He caught her looking. Fernanda quickly glanced away, pretending to adjust the machine’s weight. She felt her face flush. On Tuesday, he was there again. Same time, same area. This time, when their eyes met, he smiled. A quick, crooked smile that made something tighten in her stomach. On Wednesday, he approached. Fernanda was filling her water bottle at the fountain when she sensed someone behind her. "Hi. Sorry to bother you. Do you know if there’s a spinning class at seven?" His voice was deep, with an accent she couldn’t place. Up close, he was even more handsome. Green eyes, a scar on his eyebrow, the scent of deodorant mixed with fresh sweat. "I think so. There’s a board at the reception," she answered, trying to sound casual. "Thanks. I’m Marcos, by the way." "Fernanda." He extended his hand. The grip was firm, his palm warm and rough. It lingered a second longer than necessary. From then on, it became routine. They arrived at the same time, exchanged a nod, sometimes a few words between sets. Fernanda started dressing up more for the gym—new leggings, a flattering top, a light perfume. Ridiculous, she knew. But she couldn’t help it. On the second Friday, Marcos appeared beside her at the bench press. "Need a spotter?" Fernanda accepted. He stood behind her, hands positioned under the bar. When she pushed the weight up, his eyes were fixed on her—not the bar. She felt his gaze like a physical touch. "One more?" he asked. "One more." On the last rep, her arms gave out. Marcos caught the bar effortlessly and placed it back on the rack. Then he leaned in, his face close to hers. "Good set," he said quietly. His breath was warm on her face. Fernanda swallowed. After the workout, she headed to the women’s locker room. She stripped off her sweaty clothes and stepped into the shower. The hot water cascaded over her tense shoulders, and she closed her eyes, thinking of Marcos. His hands. His gaze. What she would do if he were there with her. She was so lost in thought she almost didn’t hear the locker room door open. Almost. "Fernanda?" Marcos’s voice. In the women’s locker room. At six forty in the morning, when there was no one else around. Her heart raced. She should scream. She should tell him to leave. Instead: "Here." He appeared at the entrance of the shower stall. Still in his workout clothes, his T-shirt soaked with sweat. His eyes roamed over her naked body under the water—slowly, shamelessly. "I can’t take it anymore," he said. "Two weeks of watching you. I need to touch you." Fernanda pulled him in by his T-shirt. The water drenched his clothes instantly. It didn’t matter. His mouth found hers with a hunger that stole her breath. The kiss was hard, urgent, tasting of pre-workout and desire. His hands—those big hands she’d fantasized about—gripped her waist, her ass, her thighs. Lifted her against the wet tile. Fernanda moaned into his mouth. She tugged his soaked T-shirt over his head. His bare chest pressed against her breasts, water streaming between their bodies. She felt his erection against her stomach, hard even through his shorts. "Take them off," she commanded, pulling at the waistband. Marcos stripped in one motion. Naked under the water with her. His body was exactly as she’d imagined—defined muscles, hot skin, a trail of dark hair leading down from his navel. He pinned her against the wall. One hand held her thigh high while the other slid between her legs. When his fingers touched her, Fernanda threw her head back and moaned loudly. "Soaked," he murmured in her ear. "Is this all for me?" "Two weeks thinking about this," she confessed, breathless. Marcos worked her with his fingers—fast, precise, his thumb on her clit while two fingers thrust in and out. The shower water rained down on them, steam rising, the sound of her moans echoing off the tile. "I want you now," she said, pulling him by the hips. Marcos lifted her off the ground. Fernanda wrapped her legs around his waist—his arm muscles didn’t even tremble under her weight. He positioned her and entered slowly, both of them groaning at the contact. "Fuck," he hissed through his teeth. Fernanda dug her nails into his shoulders. He was big, filling her completely. When he started moving—slow, deep thrusts—she lost the ability to think. The wet wall against her back, the water falling, his strong body against hers. Every movement hit the perfect spot. Fernanda moaned uncontrollably, not caring if anyone heard. Marcos picked up the pace. The muscles in his arms flexed as he held her in the air. The sound of their bodies slapping mixed with the water. "Harder," Fernanda begged. He obeyed with a grunt. The thrusts became harder, faster. Fernanda felt her orgasm building—fast, intense, inevitable. "Marcos... I’m gonna—" "Come for me," he said in her ear. She came with a cry that echoed through the entire locker room. Her body clenched around him, her legs trembling, waves of pleasure that wouldn’t stop. Marcos followed seconds later—buried his face in her neck, a deep groan, his whole body tensing before relaxing. They stayed like that under the water, panting, foreheads pressed together. "That was..." she began. "Way better than spinning," he finished. Fernanda laughed. He set her down carefully, her legs wobbly. They dressed in silence, exchanging glances and smiles. At the locker room door, Marcos grabbed her arm. "Same time tomorrow?" Fernanda smiled. "Tomorrow. And every day after." The gym at six in the morning was never the same again.