“I’m telling you, ya’ don’t weigh shit.”

Jack’s arms flex with each push and pull, fingers digging into the fat of your thighs for leverage. His tight grip sure to leave handprints that would stay for weeks to come. Hell, maybe even a whole month.

He looks so good, beneath you. Sweat sliding down his bobbing adam’s apple, eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration; clearly trying to make sure he’s got you held right. Not wanting his darling wife to fall and hurt herself.

His teeth girt every so often, because, damn, he hadn’t worked out in a while. Guess that’s just what retirement does to a guy….maybe he’ll get back in the feild one day.

Probably not, though.