"Like this?" Phei asked, mostly to remind everyone he was still present.
"Perfect." Valentina's hands stayed glued to his hips. "Hold it. Good boy. Such exquisite control."
"Isn't that a tad intimate for form correction?" Sierra's voice could have flash-frozen lava.
"Hands-on is the gold standard," Valentina replied, smile glittering. "Professionals insist."
"How terribly convenient."
The rest of the hour unfolded in the same vein: Valentina groping under the flimsy veil of expertise, Sierra radiating homicide, the air so thick with estrogen and aggression you could bottle it and sell it as aphrodisiac warfare.
By the end, Phei's lats were torched, his girlfriend was one wrong word away from felony assault, and his trainer looked like the cat that had not only got the cream but filmed it in 4K.
"Same time tomorrow?" Valentina asked, hand back on his arm, thumb stroking the vein like it was a clit.
