Hi all. This story was inspired by something that happened to me a long time ago. I’ve shifted it into third person, since that perspective feels more comfortable for me to write in — and honestly, it helped me explore the moment with a bit of distance and imagination. Hope you enjoy. ☺️
Reposted to amend the title to the correct format. I hope I’ve nailed it this time.
…………………………………………………………………….
The office was dead quiet. No cleaners. No early meetings. Just the dim hum of emergency lights in the hallway and the soft fluorescent buzz from the gym overhead.
He was at the end of a long night shift, squeezing in one final workout before heading home, when the gym door opened.
Kate.
She walked in with an air of confidence, like she owned the silence — tight leggings, fitted tank, water bottle in hand. Her hair was up, but loose blonde strands framed her face. At first, she didn’t see him. Or pretended not to.
She stepped past, caught sight of him in the mirror, and grinned.
“Wow. I didn’t think anyone else was insane enough to be in here this early.”
He smirked.
“And I thought Accounts people just lived in spreadsheets.”
“Only Monday through Friday. But Fridays at 6 a.m.? That’s all me.” She dropped her bag and headed for the leg press. “Hey! Are you watching or working?”
“Multitasking,” he said, grabbing his towel. “I can lift and appreciate good form at the same time.”
Her lips twitched, like she was trying not to laugh.
“Right… I bet that line works great in HR hearings.”
She started her reps — slow, controlled — and the air between them shifted. She was directly in front of him now, opening and closing her legs on the machine, her body tensed with focus. His eyes wandered despite his best intentions.
She caught him staring in the mirror.
“Eyes front, night shift.”
He turned back to his set, suppressing the smile creeping up his face.
“Hey, you chose the machine facing me.”
“True,” she said, voice lighter. “Could’ve picked the treadmill. But watching someone grunt over deadlifts is oddly motivating.”
They orbited each other for the next half hour.
She’d take a machine near him. He’d choose one across from her. They lingered at the water cooler at the same time.
“You know,” she said between sets, leaning on a bench, “this is the most fun I’ve had working out since… ever.”
He shrugged.
“Flirting burns calories.”
She lifted a brow.
“So that’s what we’re doing?”
“Isn’t it?”
She didn’t answer. Just smirked and pulled her ponytail tighter, then turned and walked slowly back to her next set — hips swaying just a little more than before.
Eventually, they ran out of machines to pretend they weren’t watching each other on. The energy between them was taut now — stretched thin and humming.
“I’m hitting the showers,” he said, grabbing his towel. “Try not to miss me.”
She looked up from tying her shoe. “I’ll manage. Barely.”
The shower room was small and intimate. Just two cubicles and a small area outside for changing and hanging bags. Very cosy.
In the shower, the water traced down his back in slow, heavy streams as heat soaked into every tired muscle. But his mind wasn’t on his body anymore.
He didn’t hear her come in, but suddenly there were creaks in the cubicle next to his, and the hiss of water from the second shower.
She was there. Naked. Just on the other side.
Close enough to hear. Close enough to feel.
At first, it was subtle. A hitch in breath. A pause in the rhythm of movement. But then it came again — a small, shaky exhale, the kind not born of fatigue. Something else. Something deeper. It echoed softly off the tiles, carried by the steam.
He froze. Listening.
She moved again. Barely. A soft intake of air — sharp, delicate, laced with effort. And something unmistakably vulnerable.
His heart pounded.
Her rhythm was careful at first. Tentative. Like she was still deciding whether to give in. Then came a soft, unguarded sigh. That was it — she had given in.
And suddenly, so had he.
His hand moved instinctively. No pressure. No thought. Just sensation. Just her.
The water between them did little to mute the truth. He could hear her — the tiny moans slipping out between shallow breaths, the unsteady rhythm of hand or hips or both. It didn’t matter. He could see it in his mind. Her head tilted back. Eyes closed. The shower angled just right.
The sound of water shifted in her stall — not loud, but clear. A faint click, followed by a sharper rush as the stream changed. He pictured it hitting her bare skin — hotter, harder, direct.
She gasped. Almost too quiet. Almost.
His hand braced against the tile. Tension built in slow, relentless waves. Every soft sound she made, he felt it. Every shaky breath. Every tiny moan sent a pulse through him.
They moved in sync. Two separate bodies, one rhythm, divided only by a few inches of wall and everything they weren’t saying.
His breath caught.
So did hers.
She let out a quiet, broken sound — close to the edge.
Then came his whisper, barely audible, half to himself, half to her: “Kate… what are you doing?”
Silence.
Then, a breathy laugh — filled with heat. “Second workout… it burns calories,” she murmured. “What’s it sound like?”
God.
That voice — low, rough, teased with pleasure — nearly undid him.
He didn’t reply. Couldn’t. They were too far gone.
Her breathing turned ragged, quicker, higher. And then — just as his body tensed, every muscle coiled tight — he heard her.
A muffled moan, helpless and raw, as she let go.
And he followed.
Everything clenched and rushed through him, intense, shaking, unstoppable. His body pressed to the tile, jaw tight, trying not to cry out. Trying — and failing — to be quiet.
They came together — in silence, in heat, in the soft hum of water and breathless release.
And then… stillness.
Just the sound of water. Slowing. Cooling.
Two people. Quiet now. Spent. And utterly changed.
He stayed there, hand against the wall, breath thick in his throat. On the other side, he heard her water shut off. The slow, deliberate slide of the stall door. The towel coming down from the hook.
Soft footsteps. The shifting of fabric. The rustle of a gym bag.
He kept himself under the water, still, respectful. Wanting to see her — aching to — but letting her have this moment alone.
And then her voice, from the other side of the steam:
“Try not to picture me too much,” she teased, smooth and wicked. “I’d hate to be the reason you miss leg day.”
The door opened.
Then shut with a soft click that echoed louder than it should have.
He stayed for a few beats longer, water cooling against skin still humming with heat. His erection hadn’t fully faded — not with her voice still fresh in his head, not with the scent of her shampoo lingering in the air.
Eventually, he turned off the water, dried off, and got dressed, his body slow with exhaustion, his mind electric.
On the way home, he couldn’t stop picturing her. Not naked, exactly. Not even in the act. Just… her. Stepping out of the shower. Warm and flushed. Hair damp. Skin glowing. That smirk tugging at her lips as she turned away.
The image of her, the feel of her breath, the sound of her voice — it tangled itself around him like another layer of skin.
He barely remembered falling into bed. But he remembered her.
⸻
Later that evening…
The office lobby was quiet. The sun had set and the night shift was just beginning.
That’s when he saw her — Kate, walking out, coat draped over one arm, her body humming with the kind of glow no amount of makeup or caffeine could fake.
She spotted him immediately.
“Back on the grind?” she asked, pausing by the exit with a knowing smile.
“Night shift never sleeps,” he said, stepping toward the elevator.
She looked him over — lingering on his face, his posture, the subtle drag in his limbs.
“You look… like you didn’t sleep at all.”
He smiled, saying nothing.
“Hard to stop thinking about… certain things,” he murmured.
Her brow lifted, intrigued.
“Must’ve been a memorable workout.”
“You tell me.”
She stepped back toward the door, eyes locked on his.
“Guess I’ll have to keep showing up early. Make sure my form’s good.”
“I’ll be watching,” he said, voice low.
Kate’s lips curled into a slow, confident smile. She bit her lip — just enough to make him ache.
“I know.”
Her heels echoed across the parking lot, her figure slipping into the night — leaving him standing there, heart still racing, craving more than just a workout.
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