My Taboo Harem!

The gym was supposed to be empty.

That was the whole point of sneaking down at midnight—no crowds, no distractions, just him and the iron. A chance to punish his body until the buzzing in his mind quieted.

Phei had skipped his usual evening session. He'd been too busy buried between Sierra and Maddie's thighs, tasting them both, watching them come apart on his tongue while they whispered filthy promises about what they'd do to him later. The Melissa's confession that had hit like a drug, and the night had dissolved into slow, greedy sex that left him drained, euphoric, and still somehow restless.

But the routine didn't care about orgasms or revelations.

Dragon Rise demanded discipline. He demanded nothing right now, but his body craved movement. His mind needed to burn off the lingering heat.

So. Midnight gym.

Sierra and Maddie were passed out upstairs, limbs tangled, sheets kicked off, their naked bodies still. He'd slipped out without waking them. Two hours. Back and legs. Then back to bed, where he'd slide between them again and take whatever they offered.

Simple.

The elevator dinged open onto the private gym floor.

Phei froze.

The gym was not empty.

Valentina was there, alone under the low lights, positioned at the squat rack with her back to him.

She hadn't heard the elevator—or she was pretending not to. With Valentina, everything felt like a game.

She was mid-set, the heavy bar loaded across her traps, and Phei's pulse slammed into overdrive.

Holy fuck.

Her outfit wasn't clothes. It was a deliberate act of war against every last shred of his self-control.

The top was nothing more than a whisper of grey fabric—thin, drenched in sweat, and molded to her torso like it had been poured over her skin and left to harden. It stopped just beneath her ribs, exposing the long, flawless expanse of her back, every muscle shifting and gleaming under the low gym lights.

The sides were carved out in cruel, teasing cutouts that framed the swell of her breasts, leaving almost nothing to imagination.

Her nipples her could see in the mirror, stiff and dark, pushed obscenely against the soaked material, the fabric so sheer now that the faint outline of her areolas bled through whenever she inhaled.

Each breath made the wet cloth cling tighter, pulling across the hard peaks until they looked painfully sensitive, begging for teeth, tongue, fingers—anything.

And those shorts.

Calling them shorts was an insult to the word.

They were barely scraps—tiny, high-cut grey ribbons that sat low on her hips and vanished completely between the plush cheeks of her ass.

The back seam had disappeared entirely into that perfect cleft, leaving both round globes almost fully exposed, slick with sweat and flexing with every subtle shift of her weight. From behind, it looked like she was wearing nothing at all until you noticed the thin strip of fabric peeking out like an afterthought.

From the front it was somehow worse.

The material clung to her mound like a second layer of skin, the seam riding up hard between her lips and splitting them just enough to trace every intimate contour. The grey fabric had turned darker at the center—a spreading, unmistakable wet spot that proved exactly how turned on she was. Her sweat had soaked clean through, outlining the swollen hood of her clit and the soft, puffy folds beneath.

Every time she moved, the seam dragged against her, nudging that sensitive bundle of nerves until her thighs trembled and the damp patch grew.

She knew.

She knew exactly what she was doing, what she was showing, what she was offering without saying a single word. She always knew if Phei missed his usual hours... he'd come late and tarin.

Sher knew his routine time at the back of her mind.

And Phei's cock throbbed so hard it hurt, straining against his shorts as he drank in every sinful inch of her.

She descended into the squat.

Slow. Controlled. Ass dropping low, thighs spreading, back arched just enough to make her glutes flex and round.

Phei's cock thickened instantly, pressing against his own loose shorts. He didn't move. Didn't breathe.

She rose, thighs trembling slightly from the weight, and the shorts pulled even tighter, the fabric outlining her lips in obscene detail. A bead of sweat slid down her spine and disappeared beneath the waistband.

Another rep.

Down again, deeper this time, hips rolling forward at the bottom like she was grinding against an invisible cock. The bar clinked softly as she locked out at the top, chest heaving, breasts threatening to spill from the sides of that sinful top.

Phei's mouth went dry. His hand twitched toward his crotch without permission.

The arch in her back was pure, unfiltered tease.

A slow, deliberate curve that thrust her ass outward like she was silently begging to be taken—bent over the bar and fucked senseless right there on the cold gym floor.

Her glutes—plump yet carved from iron, the kind of thick, fuckable ass that made sane men feral—pushed obscenely against the thin grey fabric of her bodysuit, stretching it until it was practically transparent.

In the mirror's merciless reflection he could see everything: the deep, shadowed cleft splitting those perfect fat pussy cheeks, the way the high-cut material vanished completely between them, leaving nothing to imagination but the fatness of her pussy between her legs.

No panties.

Not one goddamn scrap beneath that second-skin suit.

The realization punched the air from his lungs. Because the mirror gave him the front view she refused to turn and show him directly—there, framed perfectly between her spread thighs as she held the deep squat, he could see the soft, swollen outline of her bare pussy lips molded against the soaked grey fabric.

The material had turned darker at the center, clinging desperately to every intimate ridge, every slick fold, the seam riding up hard enough to split her open and reveal the faint, glistening hint of arousal seeping through.

Her thighs trembled from the heavy bar across her shoulders—thick, powerful pillars of muscle wrapped in satin-smooth skin—while her tiny, cinched waist only made the dramatic flare of her hips look filthier, more exaggerated, more designed for gripping.

Long black hair cascaded down the naked expanse of her back like spilled ink, strands brushing the twin dimples just above that heart-shaped, sinful ass.

And that ass.

Christ, I fall in love with ass each and everyday endlessly!

Round, high, sculpted into a perfect upside-down heart that screamed breed me, claim me, ruin me. Every filthy detail reflected back at him in the mirror like a private show she'd orchestrated just for his starving eyes.

Phei had spent the last three weeks drowning in beautiful women. Had buried his face between their thighs, felt them clench around his cock, heard them scream his name until their voices broke. He thought he'd seen the peak of temptation.

Valentina's ass laughed at that notion.

It was engineered for ruin. Every curve honed in sweat and iron until it became a weapon—lethal, precise, designed to make cocks leak and minds shatter.

She rose from the squat with agonizing slowness, thighs flexing, ass lifting and tightening, the fabric riding even higher until it disappeared completely between her cheeks. The motion dragged the seam harder against her bare slit; he saw the way her hips gave the tiniest involuntary roll, chasing friction.

Their eyes locked in the mirror.

Valentina's lips curved into a wicked, knowing smirk.

She'd felt him watching the entire time.

"Enjoying the show, Phei?"