A Billionaire's Mistake

58|Trainer

Sienna

After another two weeks of training with Lincoln, I can feel my body growing stronger. The treadmill doesn't seem so exhausting anymore, and I can run a mile in under ten minutes. My muscles don't feel as weak, but more importantly, my mind is stronger, too. I'm focused as I wail at the punching bag, my fists hitting exactly where Lincoln instructed.

"Lead hook," he says, continuing to walk in a circle. When we're in the gym, he's not the sappy boyfriend I've turned him into. He's stern, analytic of each and every one of my movements—a trainer. "Again. Don't forget to pivot on that lead foot."

I do the motion again, pivoting on said foot while rotating my body to follow through with my fist. The bag swings heavily from the power of my hit before Lincoln nods in approval, grabbing the bag to steady it. "Water. You need it."

I'm dripping in sweat. I can feel it sliding down my spine beneath my sports bra, my chest heaving as I inhale through my nose and out my mouth. I gulp my water and toss it back beside the mat, turning to face him again. He's standing in the middle of the mat now, arms crossed over his chest.

"Again?" I groan.

"Hitting a punching bag is building up your strength, but all of it will be pointless if you don't know how to use that strength on an actual person, Sienna. You need to apply it."

"But you pin me every time."

"So stop me," he says as if it's that simple. Doesn't he realize he's freaking jacked in every way possible? There's no way I'm pinning him. "You weigh less than him. Use that speed to your advantage."

With a roll of my eyes, I stand in front of him on the mat, eyeing where to attempt to strike first. We've gone over the moves, but I still suck at them.

Lincoln circles around me like an animal does his prey, brows raised. "Make your move before I do," he taunts. Reaching behind his neck, he strips himself of the muscle tank he's wearing, tossing it off the mat. It leaves him shirtless with all his abs on display, a pair of loose jersey shorts hardly clinging to his hips.

"You don't fight fair," I reply, distracted. Lincoln takes the opportunity and swipes his foot underneath my own, both of us crashing down together on the mat. I land hard on my back, the breath leaving my lungs as he hovers on top of me now, a satisfied smile on his face.

"Don't let me distract you. Now try to push me off."

I'm panting beneath him, feeling the hard planes of his stomach against mine. The only move I can think of will hurt his manhood, but my back is still throbbing from my fall. He can take a little pain, too, right?

I should have known better than to think I'd be able to one-up him. He's smarter than me in the ring, more skilled than I am. I'm going to have to use my other skills to my advantage if I have any shot of being in control again.

Sighing, I arch my back, hiding my tiny smirk when Lincoln's eyes drop to my breasts, which are now directly in front of him. "Can we be done for today?" I ask, batting my eyelashes at him. "I'm so sore after that fall. I could really use a shower with a certain someone..."

"You..." Lincoln heaves out a frustrated sigh. "We said strictly training in here, remember?"

"Is that why you took off your tank top, then? Because it's just training?" I push a hand between us and drag it down his chest, stopping right at the hemline of his shorts. "You knew it'd get me worked up, didn't you?"

"Sienna," he warns.

"What?" I ask coyly, holding back a laugh when I feel his hardness press against my thigh. "You're telling me you haven't pictured fucking me in this room?" Glancing at the rows of mirrors beside us, he follows my gaze and grunts, heaving out another sigh.