Sienna’s POV
The empty gym feels like a pressure cooker that's about to blow, and I'm pretty sure I'm the thing that's going to explode first.
Qualification deadlines wait for no one's mental breakdown.
Harsh fluorescent lights buzz overhead like angry wasps, and all I can hear is my own footsteps echoing off polished floors and the constant hum of ventilation that sounds suspiciously like my anxiety given audio form.
Ford's standing by the uneven bars, still as a statue, and I don't know how long he's been watching me slowly lose my shit.
He doesn't speak, just looks at me with that steady calm that somehow makes everything worse and better simultaneously.
The eternal Ford paradox: comfort disguised as torture.
"Maybe I really need to be lighter," I say, the words tumbling out before my brain can engage in damage control. "George always said if I lost two more pounds, I'd be perfect. And now the committee wants me smaller too."
There it is. The ugly truth wrapped in numbers and self-loathing.
Ford's expression doesn't change, but something shifts in his eyes. He takes one step closer, arms open like he's offering sanctuary, and I don't think—just move into him because apparently my self-preservation instincts have completely abandoned ship.
His warmth hits harder than it should, like I've been hypothermic without realizing it.
"You're not supposed to feel that way," he murmurs against my hair. "You're not broken. You don't have to keep chasing something that was never real to begin with."
Easier said than believed.
Tears burn behind my eyes because vulnerability is apparently my new default setting.
"It's not just about numbers, Ford. It's everything. The routines, the pressure, George's voice in my head telling me I'll never be enough."
His hand touches my cheek, thumb brushing under my eye, and I lean into the contact like I'm starving for basic human kindness.
"You're perfect," he whispers. "Not because of what they say or what you weigh or how you perform. Because of who you are."
Jesus, he's going to make me cry in an empty gym. How embarrassing.
"What happens if they find out about us?" I ask, because my brain apparently specializes in worst-case scenarios. "What if we lose everything?"
Ford kisses the top of my head, and the simple gesture feels more intimate than anything we've done. "Maybe we will. But this—you—it's what keeps me sane."
Not exactly reassuring, but brutally honest.
Our foreheads touch, and the silence gets thick with everything we're not saying. When our lips meet, it's not careful or cautious—it's desperate and full of every fear and want that's been building between us.
Fuck careful. Careful is overrated.
His mouth moves over mine with purpose, and I melt into him like I'm made of something that only exists in his presence. My hands slide up his chest, fingers curling behind his neck, dragging him closer because distance feels impossible right now.
This is either the best decision or the worst decision I've ever made.
His body presses against mine, solid, real, unshakeable, and suddenly I'm being lifted, legs wrapping around his waist as my back hits the padded wall behind the balance beam.
Cold wall, hot Ford. The contrasts are not lost on me.
The rational part of my brain is screaming about security cameras and career suicide and a thousand reasons why this is insane.
The rest of me doesn't give a shit about anything rational.
"I need you," I breathe against his mouth. "Right here, right now."
Apparently I've moved past subtlety into direct demand territory.
"Yeah?" His voice is rough, loaded with the same desperation I'm feeling.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “Please.” The word cracks, soft and raw. “I need to feel something that isn’t pressure. Or fear. Or... empty.”
I need to feel like I'm worth something beyond my athletic achievements.
Ford's eyes search mine for a moment, and I can see him calculating risks versus needs, professional boundaries versus human connection. But then something in his expression shifts, resolve crystallizing, and I know he's made his choice.
We're really doing this. In an empty gym. Where anyone could walk in.
The space between us disappears completely, and for the first time in weeks, the pressure in my chest eases.
Ford crashes his mouth to mine, and all thought shatters. His kiss is messy, brutal, all tongue and teeth. He growls low and grabs me, hiking one of my legs up high around his waist, opening me to him completely.
His hand slips beneath the edge of my leotard, finding how wet I already am, and his curse is sharp and guttural.
“Fuck... you’re dripping.”
I whimper as his fingers glide through my slick folds, teasing me, spreading me open. My hands clutch his shoulders, the heat between us boiling over.
I reach between us, tug his waistband down with frantic fingers. His cock springs free—thick, hard, ready. My mouth waters just looking at it, but I don’t have time to react.
He presses me back into the wall harder, lining himself up, dragging the thick head of his cock along my entrance.
“Eyes on me, baby,” he rasps.
I meet his eyes and then he pushes in.
I gasp, nails digging into his skin. He stretches me wide, inch by inch, filling me to the hilt as my leg shakes where it’s braced on his hip. My other foot barely touches the ground.
His grip on my thigh tightens as he bottoms out inside me, breathing ragged against my cheek.
“Jesus fuck,” he groans. “You feel unreal.”
My head falls back against the wall, a moan slipping from my lips as he starts to move—deep, slow, brutal strokes that make my body bounce with every thrust.
His hands grip my ass, grinding me down onto him, fucking me harder, the cold wall at my back nothing compared to the fire building between us.
The empty gym rings with the sound of skin against skin, of moans echoing through wide-open space, and the risk of getting caught only makes it hotter.
“Harder,” I beg, panting. “I need it, fuck, don’t hold back.”
He doesn’t hesitate. His grip on my thighs tightens, and he slams into me, over and over, the sound of skin slapping echoing through the gym.
My fingers clutch his shoulders, my cries bouncing off the beams and empty bleachers. The thrill of it—of being taken like this, here—only fuels the fire.
He growls and shifts his angle, driving in deeper, harder, until my vision blurs and my orgasm coils sharp and low in my belly.
“I’m gonna come,” I sob. “Don’t stop, please—”
“Yeah?” he snarls. “Let me feel it.”
That’s all it takes. I fall apart around him, my whole body clenching, pulsing as the orgasm rips through me, and he doesn’t stop—won’t stop. He fucks me through it, wild and relentless, until I’m shaking and gasping, nails digging into his back.
Then, without warning, he pulls out and spins me.
I yelp as my chest hits the wall this time, his hand pressing between my shoulder blades, pinning me in place. His other hand grabs my hips, jerks them back.
My cheek rests against the padded surface, one foot braced, legs spread. And then—he slams back into me from behind.
“Fuuuuck—” I cry out, the sound echoing through the gym as he boxes me in with his body, both arms caging me against the wall.
Ford’s chest presses into my back, his mouth dragging across my shoulder as he fucks me hard and deep, his cock reaching places that make my vision blur.
“You like being taken like this?” he growls into my ear. “Pinned against the wall? Fucked, like a good girl you are, where anyone could walk in?”
“Yes, yes— Oh God, yes—”
He snarls and thrusts faster, rougher, one hand sliding down to rub tight circles over my clit.
He’s feral now, slams into me like he’s trying to erase every boundary we ever had. My knees wobble, and I grip the mat like it’s the only thing tethering me to this earth.
My second orgasm rips through me like wildfire—legs shaking, body clenching, stars exploding behind my eyes.
I tremble against the wall, barely able to hold myself up, but he doesn’t stop.
“Ford, please—”
“Say it,” he grits out. “Tell me what you want.”
I look back at him through strands of sweaty hair, eyes wide, voice broken. “Inside me,” I whisper. “I want to feel you come. Please.”
His thrusts grow erratic. Rough. Wild.
Then he buries himself deep and roars, hips jerking as he spills inside me, hot and thick. The sensation alone has me clenching again, moaning as a second orgasm crashes over me, raw and unexpected.
For a long moment, we stay like that, bodies still locked, pressed against the wall. Breathing hard. Sweaty. Shaking and ruined.
Eventually, his arms wrap around me, holding me up as my knees threaten to give out. Ford helps me straighten, pulling my leotard back into place, and then he turns me gently, kisses my temple, eyes wild and tender all at once.
And I don’t want this to end. Ever.