"All right," I say, determined to give it my best shot. "Let's do this."
* * *
We start our race near a tree that I marked specifically for this purpose. On the other side of the island, there is another tree that serves as the finish line. If we run on the sand, along the ocean, it's exactly three miles from here to that point.
Julian counts to five, I set my stopwatch, and we're off, each starting at a reasonably fast pace that's not our top speed. As I run, I feel my muscles easing into the rhythm of the movement, and I gradually pick up the pace, pushing myself harder than I usually do at this point in the run. Julian runs beside me, his longer stride enabling him to keep up with me with ease.
We run silently, not talking, and I keep sneaking glances at Julian out of the corner of my eye. We're halfway through the course, and I'm sweating and breathing hard, but my gorgeous captor seems to be barely exerting himself. He's in phenomenal shape, his smooth muscles glistening with light drops of perspiration, bunching and releasing with every movement. He runs lightly, landing on the balls of his feet, and I envy his easy stride, wishing that I had even a quarter of his obvious strength and endurance.
As we get into the last half-mile, I put on a burst of speed, determined to try to beat him despite the obvious futility of the effort. He's not even winded yet, and I'm already gasping for breath. He picks up his speed too, and no matter how hard I run, I can't put any distance between us. He's practically glued to my side.
By the time we get within a hundred yards of the tree, I am dripping with sweat and every muscle in my body is screaming for oxygen. I'm on the verge of collapse and I know it, but I make one last heroic attempt and sprint for the finish line.
And just as my hand is about to touch the tree, marking me the race winner, Julian's palm slaps the bark, literally a second before mine.
Frustrated, I whirl around and find myself with my back pressed against the tree and Julian leaning over me. "Gotcha," he says, his eyes gleaming, and I see that he's breathing almost normally.
Gasping for air, I push at him, but he doesn't back away. Instead, he steps closer, and his knee wedges between my thighs. At the same time, his hands grab the backs of my knees, lifting me up against him, my thighs spread wide as he grinds his erection against my pelvis.
Our little race apparently turned him on.
Panting, I stare up at him, my hands grabbing at his shoulders. I can barely remain upright, and he wants to fuck?
The answer is obviously yes, because he sets me down on my feet for a second, pulls down my shorts and underwear, and then does the same thing to his own clothes. I sway on my feet, my legs shaking from the exertion. I can't believe this is happening. Who fucks right after a race? All I want to do is lie down and drink a gallon of water.