“These biceps? Insane. “Fuck,Sex Slave this is weak,” she muttered, dropping the weights with a clatter, frustration etching her features–his features.

He laughed, moving to the bench press next without waiting for her cue. “A workout?” she echoed, her voice gruff in his throat. You’re a freaking powerhouse.”

She sat up fully, her jeans creaking as she adjusted, and crossed her arms–his arms–over her chest, though the gesture looked awkward in his slighter build.