Pushing Limits
It started with Becky flopping dramatically onto the couch, arms stretched above her head, eyes glinting with mischief.
“Baaaabe,” she sings, voice dripping with charm. “Let’s workout together today.”
Freen, curled up with her phone, side-eyes her. “Why would I willingly suffer when I could be not doing that?”
Becky pouts. The pout. The one that’s dangerous. The one that’s ruined all of Freen’s resolve a thousand times.
“Come onnn. What’s sexier than a sweaty girlfriend?” she adds, biting her lip just for effect.
Freen groans, already regretting every decision in her life that led to falling for this woman. “Fine. But if I die, it’s on you.”
“Deal.” Becky hops up like a kid promised ice cream, already rolling out the yoga mats with a devilish little grin.
They start off easy—just some light stretches, squats, lunges. Freen actually starts enjoying it, until she catches Becky watching her.
Watching her like she’s the main event. Like Freen doing squats is the eighth wonder of the world.
“Why are you staring?” Freen pants, reaching for her water bottle.
“You just… look so good like this,” Becky says innocently, tilting her head. “A little flushed, focused. I could just…” Her voice trails off, her grin anything but innocent.
Freen narrows her eyes. “Babe.”
“What?” she blinks. “I’m just admiring the view.”
Then, as they move to glute bridges, Becky “struggles” with her form—on purpose.
“Oh no,” she sighs dramatically, “I think I’m doing this wrong… can you come fix me?”
Freen kneels beside her, trying to stay composed as she adjusts Becky’s hips. “Like this,” she mutters, fingers grazing her waist.
Becky shivers —loudly, obviously.
“Oh. That feels so much better,” she moans exaggeratedly.
Freen’s hand pauses mid-air. “Are you serious right now?”
“Just helping the vibe,” Becky winks.
Freen bites her lip, trying to hold it together, trying to focus on anything that’s not Becky in a sports bra and that damn grin.
What she doesn’t know is—this is only the beginning.
By the time they hit the second circuit, Freen is sweating for all the wrong reasons.
Becky’s workout? Questionable. Her intentions? Crystal clear.
It starts with the stretches—slow, exaggerated ones. Arms raised above her head as her back arches in a way that’s definitely not necessary for hamstring flexibility.
Then it’s the moaning. Unnecessary , overly breathy, and perfectly timed with every lift.
“God, this burns,” Becky groans, lips parted, head thrown back.
Freen stares at her dumbfounded. “That’s a five-pound dumbbell.”
“I’m sensitive,” Becky says with a wink, adjusting her ponytail, then tugging her sports bra slightly like it just won’t sit right .
Freen nearly chokes on her water. She’s trying— really trying—to be normal, to focus on form and breathing and literally anything else .
But Becky knows exactly what she’s doing.
“Baby,” Becky purrs, mid-bridge pose, catching Freen staring. “You okay? You seem a little… tense.”
Freen swallows hard, cheeks flushed. “I’m fine.”
“Hmm. You sure?” She bites her lip, eyes dark with mischief.
And then—the final straw.
Becky finishes a lazy set of mountain climbers and dramatically collapses forward with a groan. She doesn’t just fall, she melts —right into Freen’s lap, arms slung loosely around her neck.
“I think I’m dying,” she whispers, eyes fluttering shut. Then, as if it’s an afterthought—
“I might need CPR…”
Her lips hover dangerously close to Freen’s. Her breath is warm against her cheek. Her eyes flick open, full of fire and challenge.
Freen’s jaw clenches. Her hands twitch where they’re resting on Becky’s waist. She knows it’s a game of Becky. But damn if she doesn’t want to lose.
Freen’s restraint shatters like glass under heat.
One second, Becky is lounging in her lap, smug and provocative.
The next, Freen moves.
Smooth. Sharp. Controlled.
She grabs Becky by the waist and flips her onto her back with a strength that catches even Becky off guard. The breath whooshes out of her as she lands on the mat, eyes wide, heart racing .
Freen’s body hovers over hers—knees straddling her hips, palms flat on either side of her head. She leans in close, jaw tight, voice low.
“You think you’re funny, huh?” she breathes, lips brushing Becky’s cheek.
Becky’s cocky smirk falters for a split second. Her fingers twitch against the mat as her brain catches up with the sudden shift in energy.
“…A little,” she manages, voice hoarse.
Freen doesn’t break eye contact. Doesn’t even blink. She leans in further, nose grazing Becky’s ear, letting her voice drop even lower.
“If you keep teasing me like this…”
A pause. A breath.
“…don’t think I won’t do something about it.”
Becky exhales shakily. Her smirk returns, but this time, there’s something breathless beneath it.
“Maybe…” she whispers, eyes locked with Freen’s.
“…I want you to.”
Freen leaned in, lips barely brushing Becky’s—close enough to steal her breath, close enough to feel her desperation —but never closes the gap.
Her eyes flicker to Becky’s parted lips, her flushed cheeks, the way her chest rises and falls a little too fast.
Freen smirks.
Becky, the bold, the cheeky, the queen of teasing—suddenly the one squirming beneath her, hands gripping Freen’s shirt like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded.
“Freen…” she breathes out, voice shaky. Pleading.
And just when Becky tries to rise, to chase that kiss—to take what she started—
Freen leans back, slow and smug, and stands. “Workout’s over,” she says sweetly, brushing imaginary dust off her shorts. “Go shower, baby.”
Becky blinks up at her, dazed, hair messy, lips still parted like she’d been kissed senseless.
But she hadn’t.
Not yet.
“Are you serious right now? I created a monster,” she mutters under her breath, dragging a hand down her face as Freen tosses her a towel.
Freen just smiles, all sugar and sin. “You sure did.”
And with one last look—a glance over her shoulder, eyes dark with a promise—Freen disappears into the bathroom.
The door shuts.
Becky stares after her, brain short-circuiting.
To be continued…