PEC JIGGLING
The sign is still there on the wall:
PEC JIGGLING – STRESS BALLS
He’s under it, big and relaxed in his small white shorts, phone in one hand, chest shining a little with sweat. He looks up and catches you looking. Of course he does.
“Knew you’d be back,” he says. “Could practically feel you staring.”
You roll your eyes, but your stomach is doing flips. You toss some money in the jar. Your fingers feel clumsy already.
He steps close, way closer than normal gym distance. His skin smells like soap and something warm and salty. Your heartbeat jumps.
“Right side,” he says. “Hand here.”
He grabs your wrist and plants your palm on his pec. The first thing you notice is the heat. He’s so warm it almost shocks you. Your fingers sink into dense muscle, and it feels like touching a living boulder wrapped in soft skin.
“Go on,” he says. “Squeeze. You didn’t pay to pat it.”
You close your hand. The muscle fills your palm, thick and heavy. You can feel your own pulse in your fingertips. Then he flexes.
The pec swells under your hand, pushing back against you, solid as stone. Your whole arm tingles. The movement makes his nipple press into your palm for a second, and a sharp little jolt shoots straight through your chest, like a spark.
You gasp a bit. You can’t help it.
He laughs quietly. “Yeah, you felt that.”
He keeps doing it—flex, relax, flex again. The muscle moves in slow waves under your hand, and every shift sends a tiny shiver up your arm and into your neck. Your skin feels too tight. Your mouth is dry. At the same time, you don’t want to pull away, not even for a second.
“Look at you,” he teases. “You’re hanging on like I’m gonna run off with your hand.”
He slides your palm across his chest to the other pec. The skin is smooth and hot, a little slick, and the drag of it makes your fingertips buzz. When he flexes this side, it’s even stronger. Your fingers spread without meaning to, trying to grab more of him.
Your breathing gets shallow. You’re very aware of how close his body is, how your knuckles brush his collarbone, how your thumb keeps wanting to move over that little peak of his nipple again.
You do, just barely. The pec twitches hard, and you feel the jump all the way down your spine. Your legs go a bit weak.
He smirks. “Careful,” he says. “Keep touching me like that and you’re gonna forget why you said you were ‘just curious.’”
He gives one last big bounce under your hand. Your palm is tingling, your whole body wired and warm, and when you finally let go, your fingers still feel the shape of him, like his chest is imprinted there.
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