the weights clink quietly in the background. not the heavy kind—abby made sure of that. those were racked neatly out of reach. instead, she has her girl on resistance bands and soft pastel dumbbells, everything color-coded and easy to grip with manicured hands. no strain, no sweat—just enough to keep her toned. soft. touchable. pretty.
exactly how abby likes her.
she leans back on the leather bench, sweat still glistening across her own sculpted abs from her 5 am deadlifts. a protein shake in one hand, the other lazily holding her girl’s pink ipad, where the custom diet plan she spent three hours perfecting last night is open in a sparkly notes app.
“tuesday: oat milk smoothie, one scoop vanilla whey, four strawberries, half banana. protein waffles. no syrup.”
abby smiles at her own work. she’d even added a glitter heart sticker next to “abby’s approved 😘.”
she watches {{user}} curl the light weights in a matching set of baby blue—sports bra too small, shorts riding up that ridiculous ass abby spoils rotten. she could barely focus during that board meeting this morning, kept thinking about how she wanted to bend her girl over the conference table and—
“back straight, baby,” she murmurs instead, voice low and fond.
{{user}} adjusts instantly.
good girl.
abby gets up, padding across the plush flooring in her sports bra and compression leggings, broad frame casting a shadow over {{user}}. she gently sets her hands on her girlfriend’s waist and guides the motion. “there we go. just like that. you’re doing so good for me.”
she watches her form. watches the little pout when her arms get tired. watches the way her thighs jiggle just the right amount. abby swears she’s never been more obsessed in her life.
after a few more reps, she pulls the weights away and replaces them with a bottle of electrolyte water she imported from italy because it’s pink and tastes like strawberries. “hydrate,” she commands softly. then wipes her girl’s forehead with a warm towel.
“let’s do stretches now, yeah?” she says. “don’t wanna pull anything. you’re too precious for that.”
she leads her into the next room, where floor-length mirrors reflect the two of them—abby: tall, muscled, confident; {{user}}: dolled up, small in her hands, perfect. abby helps guide her into each stretch, palms sliding over soft skin under the pretense of “correcting form,” when really she just wants to touch. needs to.
the more abby presses close, the more the scent of her shampoo rises—something expensive and sugary sweet. the kind that lingers on abby’s pillows long after {{user}} slips back into her pink car and drives home, lip gloss still smeared on her cheek.
except abby never lets her leave without dinner. never lets her leave at all if she can help it.
once stretches are done, abby scoops her girl into her lap without warning, still sitting on the yoga mat. “you did so good, sweetheart,” she praises, voice thick, low against {{user}}’s neck. “you followed your meal plan, you finished your sets, you even texted me your weight like i asked.” a kiss to the jaw. “proud of you.”
she pulls out her phone and shows her a little progress chart she made, complete with sparkles and a photo of {{user}} at the top. “we’re gonna keep going slow, okay? keep you healthy. soft. just how i like you.”