Too Much Sin

The heat outside is oppressive, turning the sidewalks into slabs of radiating concrete.

Mia walks carefully, mindful of the thick, heavy air. Her jet-black hair sticks to the back of her neck, her bare legs catching the occasional gust of stale wind that barely does anything to cool her off.

She hardly thinks about what she's wearing--until she steps inside

Pinnacle Fitness.

As she pushes through the glass doors, the sudden blast of crisp, artificial air rolls over her skin, raising goosebumps instantly.

It's cooler inside than she expected.

And suddenly, she's aware of everything.

Her tiny pleated skirt, light blue and swishing just below her ass, offers nothing against the chill, her loose white cut-off draping from her breasts.

God, what was she thinking?

Mia tugs at the ragged hem of her top where it rests just above the bottom of her ribcage. But it does nothing. There's no fixing it.

She should have worn something more conservative, something that didn't cling.

Normally, she would have. But the construction mess near the gym has made parking impossible, forcing her to walk in this miserable heat.

Outside, the outfit had felt practical--a way to survive the heat.

But standing here, inside the gym, in her workplace... it feels bare.

Too deliberate. Almost slutty.

It's fine. It's just Ryan.

She forces herself forward, her flats tapping lightly against the gray rubber flooring as she moves toward the front desk. The gym is dim and quiet, the overhead lights still off.

Pinnacle Fitness

isn't flashy. It has a raw, industrial feel--exposed metal beams, blacked-out walls, weight racks lined neatly against mirrored walls. It's no-frills, but real.

Ryan built the gym on hands-on, tailored training. It's not quite elite, but it offers something the big chains never could--personalized coaching for clients who want more than a generic routine.

A place for people with means and motivation. The cookie-cutter gyms couldn't compete with that.

That is, until

Verafit.

Now, a brand-new

Verafit

is opening right across the street--promising the same one-on-one, high-end training, but on a corporate scale.

Mia finds Ryan exactly where she expects him--seated at the front desk, arms folded across his broad chest, staring out the massive windows. As she approaches, his gaze flickers to her, tracking the effortless grace in her stride. At 5'6", she carries presence without trying--toned legs, the gentle curve of her hips. The soft bounce of her breasts with each step, just enough to tease beneath the fabric of her top--Ryan notices it all before dragging his eyes back to the window.

She follows his line of sight.

The new

Verafit.

It's still under construction, but it already looks like something out of a commercial--modern, massive, all clean glass and polished steel.

A sleek sign already hangs over the entrance, a digital kiosk with flashing letters:

"COMING SOON. SIGN UP NOW."

Ryan hasn't noticed her yet.

His fingers tap idly against his bicep--slow, controlled, but tense.

A man used to being in charge. Now forced to sit and watch as something slips beyond his control.

Mia leans against the counter, watching him.

"So," she says, keeping her tone light, "did you read my marketing plan?"

Ryan blinks out of his thoughts, finally looking at her.

His gaze flickers down, just for a second, before locking onto her face. So fast she almost doesn't catch it.

"Yeah," he says.

She waits.

When he doesn't elaborate, she tilts her head. "And?"

Ryan exhales, shifting back in his chair. "It's good."

Mia narrows her eyes slightly.

He's being nice. Too nice. She knows what he's really thinking.

She follows his gaze back to the looming gym across the street.

Her plan had been safe. Practical. Referral incentives, discount codes, some social media strategies. Standard ideas. Good ideas. She had worked hard on it. But Mia is not a marketer. She's a personal trainer. And looking at that monstrosity across the street, she knows good isn't enough.

She exhales, forcing a shrug. "Yeah, well. It was a start?"

Ryan gives a small, almost-smile. "I appreciate it."

A brief silence.

Something unreadable flickers behind his eyes.

Then--his gaze dips lower. Just briefly. A half-second glance. Nothing lingering.

But she catches it.

And something stirs in her stomach.

Ryan isn't like the others. He's not a gawker. He doesn't let his expression give anything away. He's controlled and collected. Always.He never steals lustful glances like that.

Ryan built

Pinnacle

from the ground up, and he looks the part. Broad-shouldered. Rugged. Handsome. In a way, he built Mia too.

Mia started here when she had nowhere else to go. Ryan taught her the ropes. Gave her a place to belong. He's always been good to her. Patient, even, in the last year during her divorce with Michael.

But--he's also her boss. And that glance was unmistakable.

Before she can dwell on it, Ryan clears his throat.

"You've got Kyle and Ethan on the schedule today, but we've got 45 minutes to review before they get here."

Mia nods and reaches for the stool--but hesitates.

She likes that he saw her. That he liked what he saw. But looking down at herself, she feels too exposed.

Better not to test this.

She turns toward the back locker rooms.

She barely makes it three steps inside before stopping dead. The uniform shelf is empty. Her gym clothes--gone. No workout slacks. No

Pinnacle

polos. No sports bra.

Her stomach plummets.

No.

No way.

Slamming the locker door shut, she marches back to the front desk, heat prickling up her spine.

Ryan is already watching her.

"Ryan," she says, voice flat.

He doesn't answer. His expression shifts, just slightly.

Mia crosses her arms. "Where. Are. My. Clothes?"

Ryan blinks. "What?"

Then, suddenly, something clicks. His brows lift slightly. His lips part. "Ohhh. Shit."

Mia glares.

Ryan exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. "I--uh. I didn't pay the laundry service."

Mia blinks.Her brain stalls. She waits for him to elaborate.

When he doesn't, she lifts a brow. "What."

Ryan shifts, visibly uncomfortable. He gestures vaguely. "I didn't figure they'd just... cut us off."

Mia stares at him. "Ryan, I look like an invitation to cross a line!"

Ryan muffles a laugh.

She closes her eyes briefly, pinching the bridge of her nose. She should go home. She wants to go home. But Ryan looks exhausted. Stressed. The gym is struggling.

He needs her here.

Ryan exhales, shifting. "Should I ask Jace to handle them?"

Mia grits her teeth. "No. They're my clients."

Ryan watches her. Something flickers behind his eyes. Then, he nods once.

Mia sighs, looking down at her outfit. "I'll deal."

Mia is walking her distracted boss through the marketing plan when Kyle arrives--eight minutes late.

Tall, lanky, all boyish energy and eager enthusiasm. His red hair is messy, always slightly damp at the ends, like he just finished sweating something out.

He wipes his palms on his shorts, glancing toward the unfinished gym across the street.

"That place is gonna be nice," he mutters.

Mia narrows her eyes. "Super motivational, Kyle. Love that for us."

Kyle grins, then turns to her--and freezes. She watches the moment his brain short-circuits. His eyes flick downward, just for a second.

Mia is perched beside Ryan on a stool--her skirt is tiny, bare stomach. The faint outline of her dark nipples visible through thin white crop top.

Kyle snaps his gaze back up so fast it's almost comical. "Uh," he stammers, clearing his throat. "Do you, uh... need to change before we start?"

Mia gestures with her hands up, palms open. The motion lifts her shirt higher, exposing more of her ribcage.

"What you see is what you got," she exclaims--then immediately turns, shooting Ryan an accusing smirk. His eyes too are locked on her, just as guilty.

Kyle visibly struggles not to stare. His throat bobs. He nods quickly--too quickly.

"Okay. Right. Squats first."

Mia walks ahead of him toward the weight racks, but she feels it. The way his hungry eyes feast on her. And for some reason, she doesn't hate it.

The thought hits like a jolt. Michael never looked at her like that. Even before their relationship fell apart--even before she found out the truth--he never really saw her.

But Kyle is devouring her with his eyes, and it stirs something hot and unfamiliar in her stomach.

She shakes the thought off. Focus.

Kyle grips the bar tightly as he moves into his squat.

Mia watches him struggle with his own body, trying to will away something that is impossible to hide.

Because he's wearing baggy athletic shorts. And there's nowhere for it to go.

Her stomach flutters against her will.

She shouldn't be looking. But it's right there.

Mia swallows, forcing herself to focus on his face instead.

Kyle exhales sharply, his breath shaky, still too tense. Then, quietly, under his breath--

"Jesus Christ, just... kill me."

Mia blinks.

And then, to her own surprise--she laughs. She can't help it.

Kyle groans, dropping his head forward, his hands flexing against the bar.

"I swear to God, I didn't mean... I'm just not used to seeing you like this."

Mia smirks, touching his arm gently. "Relax," she teases. "It's not the worst compliment I've ever gotten."

Kyle lets out a strangled laugh, still not looking at her. "Yeah, well, I'd rather not advertise it."

Mia tilts her head, watching him closely.

And then, before she can stop herself--she glances down, playful.

"Your girlfriend must like that."

Kyle stirs in his shorts.

Then, slowly, he lets out a rough chuckle--one that sounds painfully forced.

"Yeah. Uh. No girlfriend."

Mia pauses, surprised. "Huh." She tilts her head. "Really?"

Kyle rubs a hand over his face, finally meeting her gaze again. His eyes are still slightly unfocused, still a little lost in his own humiliation.

"That's kinda why I'm here," he mutters. "Trying to... improve."

Mia isn't sure why that hits her the way it does.

Kyle is young, awkward, still figuring himself out. It sends a strange pang through her chest.

Mia gently touches his arm again.

"You'll get there."

She's alone now.

Alone in the small staff break room. The AC hums. The scent of old coffee lingers.

Mia grips her water bottle, rolling it between her palms. Her body is still too warm.

She should be fine by now. She should feel normal. But her heart isn't slowing down.

And her skin still tingles.

Mia lets out a slow breath, leaning against the counter.

Kyle had been hard. Because of her.

It wasn't intentional. He hadn't done anything. But something about it--the sheer, raw response--had left an ache in her that won't settle.

She squeezes her thighs together absently, just for a second, testing herself. A faint pulse answers her.

Shit.

Mia closes her eyes, shaking herself.

She's not like this. She doesn't get like this.

But her body feels different. She's more aware of it. The way her skin feels more sensitive than usual.

And she's still thinking about it.

Kyle is too young, too awkward, too inexperienced.

But that wasn't the problem. The problem was her. The problem was that she liked it.

Mia swallows, gripping the counter. Her legs feel weak.

What is wrong with me?

A wave of shame rolls over her.

Michael never made her feel like this. And now, suddenly, her body is waking up after years of being ignored? Because a twenty-one-year-old got hard in front of her? She clenches her jaw, forcing herself to breathe. She's just flustered. That's all.

That's all it is.

Mia takes one last deep breath, then pushes away from the counter.

Back to work. Back to normal.

Mia is still trying to shake off the heat from Kyle's session when she hears Ethan's voice.

"Damn."

It's not loud, but it carries--a slow, deliberate sound of appreciation.

Ethan is 43, confident, effortlessly magnetic. Sharp, angular features, piercing blue eyes, and an easy, knowing smirk that makes women second-guess themselves.

A well-off businessman who trains at the gym for fun, he never has to try too hard--women gravitate toward him.

Mia has always been secretly attracted to him, though she'd never admit it. There's something about the way he looks at her--like he already knows what she's thinking before she does.

And that cocky grin? It infuriates her. But somehow, it also sparks something in her.

She looks up just as Ethan's gaze drags down her body.

It's not subtle.

Mia's heart picks up.

"Did I miss the new dress code?" he asks, like this is his favorite part of the day.

Ryan and head trainer Jace are at the front desk, talking, working. But they're there.

Jace is built like a wall--tall, broad, with an intense, no-nonsense demeanor. He doesn't say much, but when he does, people listen.

The awareness of Mia's situation sends a sharp pang of heat through her chest.

Jace and Ryan aren't looking at her. But that doesn't mean they weren't before.

She lifts her chin, forcing herself to stay composed.

"Shut up," she quips, brushing past him toward the stretching area.

Ethan follows, leisurely, all confidence and amusement.

"Got to keep things tight," he muses, his eyes trailing down her legs before he drops onto the mat.

Her body reacts before her brain can process it, her pulse beating between her legs. She knows exactly what he's implying.

She won't let him see it.

She won't.

Ethan sprawls out, stretching, completely at ease.

His body is long, lean, all smooth control.

And then he grins up at her.

"Spot me?"

Mia lifts a brow. "You need a spot for bridges?"

Ethan just smirks, lacing his fingers behind his head.

Mia rolls her eyes.

"Feet flat. Shoulder-width apart," she commands.

She kneels beside him, and his eyes flick upward--because how could they not?

It's enough that her nipples are faintly visible through the top, but from his position on the mat, the view is effortless.

Her loose top ends just above her ribcage, leaving her stomach completely bare. But from this angle, it's not her stomach he's looking at.

The pale, curved underside of her breasts is fully in view--soft and round, brushing against the fabric with each breath.

Ethan knows exactly what he's doing.

It's more than she meant to show.

But not enough to stop.

Mia's nipples tighten before she can help it.

She swallows, presses a hand lightly to Ethan's knee, pretending not to notice the way his gaze lingers.

When he lifts his hips, it's impossible to ignore the way his muscles flex.

"Hold it," she says.

Mia feels the heat in her cheeks.

Her jaw tightens.

And then Ethan stops. "Something's off."

Mia blinks. She sees it now--the setup.

"You should probably demo it for me."

Her pulse jumps. This is where she should say no. But she hesitates. A second too long.

And Ethan knows. He was waiting for this.

She should refuse but she doesn't.

Because, deep down, she wants this.

Instead, she lets out a slow breath and lies back.

Ethan mirrors her call. "Feet flat. Shoulder-width apart."

The second she moves, she knows she's made a mistake.

A whisper of cool gym air grazes over her skin as she lifts her hips. The hem of her short cut-off shifts, rising slightly over the bottom of her breasts.

And then she feels it.

His eyes.

Not on her knees or her hips.

On her.

Her pleated skirt has fallen, bunching messily at her hips. Her legs are parted, hips lifted in the pose.

Her white thong is pressed against her pussy lips--thin, stretched satin with the faintest sheen, molding to every curve. She can feel the air against her, and she knows he can see the shape of her.

Ethan is right at her feet. He can see it all.

A slow, aching pulse builds between her legs. A tingling in her clit.

Her body feels alive.

She fights the urge to close her legs.

"Hold it." His voice is calm, smooth. Like nothing is happening.

Like she isn't completely exposed to him.

Then she feels it.

A rush of cool gym air glides over her dark, peaked nipples.

A sharp contrast to the heat burning beneath her skin. The relentless throbbing in her pussy.

She doesn't have to look to know.

Her nipples are bare. On display.

And Ethan sees everything.

And he's taking his time with it.

Mia's pulse pounds.

She should move. But she doesn't.

And then he smiles. A slow, sinful drag of his lips.

"That helps," he says, voice low.

Mia's breath catches. Her cheeks burn.

There's no hiding it. She's turned on.

She lowers her hips, but it doesn't fix anything. Her skirt is still flipped up, her breasts out, her chest rising and falling too fast.

She is still exposed.

And Ethan looks like he's just won something.

Then--he leans in. Just enough to lower his voice.

"You're blushing, Mia."

Her heart slams against her ribs.

And then--he moves. His hand reaches up, slow, deliberate. Fingertips catch the hem of her shirt.

But instead of pushing it higher, he drags it back down. Over her breasts. Grazing her aching nipples.

Like he's doing her a favor.

Mia stiffens. Her body hums--shaken, undone.

His fingers linger at the hem, brushing lightly against her stomach before pulling away.

His smile never fades.

Mia doesn't breathe. Doesn't move. Because now she knows. He didn't just see everything. He saw her reaction.

A flicker of something sharp, dangerous, knowing, settles in his eyes.

For a split second, she wonders if he'll lower her skirt too.

But he doesn't.

He just tilts his head slightly, watching her fight the urge.

She swallows hard. She has to end this.

Now.

Mia pushes herself up onto her elbows, trying to regain control.

This isn't like Kyle. Kyle had been an accident.

This? This was on purpose.

And worse? She wanted it. She wanted it badly.

She forces herself to stand, too quickly, too stiffly.

Ethan doesn't move. Just leans back, stretching out again.

And that's when she sees it--

Ryan and Jace, across the room.

Watching.

They saw everything.

A hot shiver spreads through her.

Because they aren't just watching.

Jace stands still, arms crossed, his gaze steady--absorbing every detail.

Ryan, though.

Ryan looks amused. Relaxed. Like he saw exactly what he expected.

Not judgmental. Not surprised.

Just enjoying.

Ryan says something low. Jace responds, too quiet for her to hear.

Mia doesn't know what they're saying. She doesn't care.

She grabs her water bottle and walks out before she can betray herself again.

Mia pushes into the restroom, gripping the sink, breathing hard.

What the hell is wrong with her?

Her pulse is still racing, pounding between her legs, hot, restless.

She leans forward, forcing herself to breathe.

The mirror doesn't help.

She looks flushed, pupils blown, chest rising too fast.

And worse--her nipples are still tight against her cut-off.

Fuck.

She needs to stop this. Needs to shake it off. Needs to pull herself together.

But her body has other ideas. The ache is still there.

A slow, relentless pull for touch.

Her breath catches. It would be so easy. Just a little relief.

Her fingers tremble, slipping lower.

She skims the inside of her thigh, feather-light. Heat spikes up her spine.

Just a little more-- Her fingertips brush lower--

And then she freezes.

Something slick. Something wet. Her breath catches, pulse slamming in her ears.

She presses her thighs together, trying to convince herself it's sweat.