Mia is perched at the edge of a stretching table. Her skirt is around her belly, bra pushed up above her breasts. Her bare pussy is exposed to the air, her clit pulses helplessly—begging to be touched. She can't believe how far she let this go. She's shaking from how badly she needs—something. Anything.
Her hips buck—a twitch for contact, for relief.
But Ryan stands behind her, his hands hooked beneath her knees, pulling them up and apart. He has her locked in—held open. Not straining. Not forcing. Just offering her.
That's what's driving her so mad.
She's being given. Laid bare for someone who isn't allowed to see her.
She wonders if poor Kyle even knows it's her. Blindfolded. Hands bound behind his back. She pictures Ryan giving the order—cool, uncomplicated. As if Kyle didn't need to see her. Didn't need his hands. Just needed to kneel and do what he was told.
This isn't happening. It can't be. Not Kyle.
She decides he doesn't know. She can feel it in the way he holds still—like he's afraid to get it wrong.
And that makes it worse. Her pussy already aches, already slick—and he doesn't even know what he's being allowed to taste.
Of course Ryan picked him. Someone obedient. Inexperienced. Someone who wouldn't realize what he was doing until it was already over.
Maybe no one will ever tell him. Maybe that's why she's dripping.
He's not here for himself. He's here to follow instructions.
"Start from the bottom," Ryan says.
One damp lock of hair drifts across his forehead as he leans in, tentative. He stops when his lips brush her by accident, then pulls back. His tongue flicks out. One upward stroke—slow and soft.
Mia gasps from the sensation. Her hips jerk into Ryan's firm grip. One lick, and she's trembling.
Kyle is so close she can feel the breath off his mouth.
"Again. But stop when you find her clit."
He licks a second time—tongue flat, slow, like he's wiping a spill with his mouth. She chokes on her breath. Her hands reach behind her, searching for something to hold.
"Hold steady," Ryan says.
Kyle freezes—mouth hovering right there. Mia's whole body pulses. She's soaking. The tip of his tongue is so close.
No. Don't stop.
But she doesn't say it. She just whimpers, hips straining forward, begging without words.
"Now suck."
"Gently."
Kyle's lips close softly around her. No rhythm. No teasing. Just contact—but more than she can bear. Her legs tremble. Ryan tightens his hold—barely. Just enough to make her still.
"Don't let her come."
But she's already too close. Already offered. Already breaking.
And then—
Sheets. Twisted between her legs. Ceiling. Silence.
She wakes up. NO. NO. Not Yet. Her hand is between her legs. Her panties are soaked.
"Fuck."
Ryan's going to know. She broke the deal.
Mia crosses the mall parking lot toward
Pinnacle Fitness
, her sneakers landing soft against the asphalt like she's trying not to wake the morning. The air is bright, dry. The heat has finally broken, but the sun is the kind that searches you—finding its way past fabric, warming the skin beneath her loose black hoodie.
Beneath it, her cropped performance top clings snug across her chest. Her high-waisted nylon shorts—light charcoal—smooth over her hips and thighs, tight but modest. Clean. Controlled. Professional.
There will be no wardrobe malfunctions today. No reason for her to change into the crotchless bodysuit. No excuse for a designer to strip her, or to bind her limbs and toy with her every button. Not today.
As she rounds the corner—
Pinnacle
comes into view. The front windows catch the bright morning sun, revealing nothing inside.
She stops short, stomach flipping.
Only her reflection—small and sharp in the glass. Her jet-black ponytail tied high, stark against her pale complexion. Her gym clothes neat, restrained. The picture of control. She looks like herself. But she doesn't feel like herself.
Because it's not
Pinnacle
staring back. It's her. It's what this place is turning her into. A body full of hunger and need. The place where Kyle—her favorite client—watched in jealous silence while someone else made her tremble. The place where Jace had to cut a stretching session short, before it became a full-blown orgy. The place where Ryan—her steady, unreadable boss—spread her open, keeping her suspended on the edge of release.
And she let him.
Her throat tightens. She tries to tell herself it wasn't her fault. That she was just following direction. Helping Ryan. Saving the gym.
But that's not the truth.
The truth is—she wanted it. Still wants it. The memory lives under her skin—fingers tracing lace, stopping just shy of giving her what she needed.
How badly her body aches to be taken. How powerless she is to stop it.
Damn. I've already lost control. I'm not the kind of woman who gets off on this.
She turns on her heel.
I'm not doing this.
And that's when she sees it:
Two workers on a scissor lift across the street, stretching a fresh vinyl banner across
Verafit's
second-floor railing—
THE FIRST TASTE IS FREE.
The words knock something loose in her chest.
Oh god. The dream. Her legs open. Ryan holding her. Kyle's tongue slow, unsure. Her body on fire.
A pulse breaks loose inside her—hot, unwanted. Her skin flushes under the hoodie. She wants it so badly, she'd wear the sign around her neck. Let them read my hunger. Let them see who I am.
No. No, no, no.
She cannot walk into that gym like this again.
But she's already at the door.
As the doors close behind her, the gym swallows the sunlight.
The low thrum of treadmills, the soft clang of weights, the faint pulse of music overhead—it replaces the outside world all at once.
The door latches. Cool air brushes her legs. No turning back now.
Her eyes sweep the room. Front desk. Cardio zone. The hallway to Ryan's office.
Is he here?
A spike of dread cuts through her chest. She broke the deal. She didn't mean to—but she did. She touched herself. She said she wouldn't. She promised.
"You will be incentivized." His words echo in her head—calm. Certain. Like it wasn't a threat. Just a fact.
Her stomach twists. Is he going to punish her? Or reward her?
She shouldn't want either. She knows that. But her body—God, her body aches for both.
And that's what terrifies her. Because she knows the truth. Her mind might resist—but her body will answer. It will say yes.
Will he know? He can't. He won't. She'll act normal. Stay focused. Everything will go back to the way it was.
She breathes in—slow, steady—letting the gym reorient her.
Three clients, maybe four.
Jace is near the turf mats, walking a woman through a leg circuit. His voice low, focused. Body language precise. Measured. Efficient. Like always.
Mia's eyes stop on him—just for a second.
Oh god. Jace. She wasn't ready. Not after what he saw. What he didn't say. What he let happen.
He stood there, holding her legs apart—silent, steady, watching—while two football players slid their hands up her thighs, beneath her skirt and the thin lace of her thong. Teasing. Stroking. Bringing her to the edge like it was a game.
Shame twists in her chest. Or maybe it's something worse—hunger.
The woman Jace is training beams, cheeks flushed from exertion. But it's not Jace she's looking at. There's another man working with her—Black, younger, solidly built—crouched in front, hands steady at her hips as he adjusts her stance.
His back is to Mia. He shifts slightly, guiding the woman's knee with calm, confident hands. She looks delighted—flushed, radiant, hanging on his every word.
Mia stills.
"Mia." Jace's voice cuts through the haze.
Then—two fingers curl inward. A simple gesture. Come.
She's already moving before she knows it.
The young man turns at the sound. And smiles.
Something drops low in Mia's stomach. She knows that smile. That face. It's Tai.
She sees it again—his fingers grazing the lace before pulling it free, her pussy bare, throbbing and ready. He would have devoured her right there, in front of everyone.
But Jace stopped it.
Now Tai's back. Smiling like he never stopped wanting her.
Mia moves before she realizes it—drawn by something she doesn't control. Her body goes first. Her mind just follows.
She reaches the turf.
Tai stays crouched, his grip sure, adjusting the woman's form in her split squat. He doesn't move when Mia arrives. Just glances up—his voice low, easy.
"Mia, you remember Tai," Jace says.
Tai looks up and nods, calm and warm. A little too familiar.
"Good to see you again." His eyes linger—just a beat too long.
Jace continues, casual. "Tai's going to be apprenticing with us this semester."
"Lincoln Valley football," Tai adds, his hands not moving from the young woman's hips. Then, quieter—more sincere—"I don't know. It just felt right. Like I was needed here."
Mia's pulse flutters. He says it like it was a calling. Like her body—needy, exposed—had simply needed his help.
Tai starts to shift, releasing the young woman's waist—but she catches his hand and lifts it higher. Right to the soft taper above her waistband.
"Do you think I've overworked my abs?" She beams—sweet, strategic
Jace watches. "Tai's teammate Noah's coming in later. Coach asked if you'd help with his lesson."
Mia raises a brow. "Lesson?"
The woman Tai's been working with straightens slightly, grinning as she pipes in. "Apparently the team's been having too much sex before games." Her eyes flick to Mia—playful, sharp. Testing.
"Mia—this is Haley," Jace finally adds. "Tai brought her in to work on her split squats."
Haley doesn't let go of Tai's hand. "Tai kept saying this gym was the real deal. Thought I should see for myself."
Mia watches. A flicker of appraisal—sharp, quiet, curious.
Haley's younger—maybe twenty-four. Toned, with sprinter's legs and curves she clearly knows how to use. Her brown hair is cut short and wild, like she just got out of bed and thought, perfect. A silver stud glints in her nose. There's a faint, sloppy tan line from a bikini top. She's pretty in a loud, effortless way—and she owns the moment.
And Tai—Tai lets her.
Then: "Mia." Ryan's voice, calm and direct, cuts through the heat.
Mia's shoulders stiffen. But it's too late.
Haley's already shooting Tai a look. All innocence on top. But beneath it—something wicked. Like someone just got caught.
"Sit."
Ryan's voice is calm. Absolute.
Mia eyes the guest chair in Ryan's office—elegant walnut frame, low arms, a leather pad. Classy, but hard and uninviting. Slowly, she lowers herself into it, heart pounding.
Ryan stands across from her, one hand braced on his desk. Steady. Silent.
Oh god. He knows. He can't know.
Then— "We had an agreement."
The words land hard. Her stomach drops. This is what she feared. Her lips part, but no sound comes out. Just the heat of being caught.
He doesn't move. Just waits.
"Tell me the truth."
Her throat tightens. Her fingers knot in her lap. She wants to look away, but she doesn't.
Quietly—barely above a whisper—
