The Heat of Training Begins

POV: Hana

Hana woke up already trembling with want.

Not just excited—

not just worked up—

consumed.

It had been building for days. Weeks.

Every night she edged herself until her legs shook, whispering Eli’s name into her pillow, imagining his breath at her neck, his hands pinning her down. She had never wanted anyone the way she wanted him.

Not as Mei’s boyfriend.

Not as a house guest.

As a man. A dominant one. A man she had watched quietly for weeks—seeing how he made her brother shrink, how he silenced her father, how he bent Mei over when she clumsily dropped something. Those moments looped in Hana’s mind like forbidden fantasies.

A man she wanted to ruin her.

She slipped into the outfit she had prepared—leggings pulled up in slow, inching tugs, a sports bra pushing her chest high, tight, begging.

“Fuck…” she breathed at her reflection.

She looked like a girl ready to sell her soul.

I want him. I want him so badly.

If he wanted every woman in the house? Fine.

If he wanted her mom too? Her pulse skipped—heat twisting low in her stomach.

She didn’t care how it looked.

Didn’t care what it made her.

As long as he wanted her.

As long as his eyes stayed on her.

As long as she was the one he positioned, corrected, touched—even lightly.

He could have anyone, anything… and I’d still kneel for a glance.

The thought thrilled and terrified her all at once.

I don’t care. Just look at me. Touch me. Take me.

Today she would make him notice.

The gym was almost finished—fresh paint, new machines, mirrors everywhere.

Hana approached the door—then froze.

A police car.

A figure.

A female officer—brown‑skinned, thick hips—emerged with messy hair, smudged makeup, and a uniform tugged out of order. She stepped on the rubber welcome mat and nearly slipped, one hand shooting out to steady herself on the doorframe. For a split second her eyes met Hana’s—wide, glazed, unfocused, as if she’d just come up for air after being held under far too long.

Hana stared. How many women does Eli… do this to? And the thought that followed hit her with humiliating, dizzying ****: God, please—let me be one of them.

The officer tore her gaze away first. She cleared her throat, tried to straighten her collar, failed—then brushed past Hana without a word, face burning, breathing uneven. She practically fled to her car, keys shaking in her hand.

Before Hana could process it, Eli stepped into the doorway.

Shirt wrinkled.

Hair slightly mussed.

Eyes calm.

Presence overwhelming.

Her confidence evaporated.

“Hana,” he said smoothly. “You’re early.”

Her breath caught. “I—I wasn’t here to warm up… I’ve been waiting for the real training. For days.”

He smiled. “Good. Let’s go.”

Hana’s heart pounded as she crossed the threshold. The gym was empty, echoing—dangerously intimate.

Eli locked the door with a soft click.

“Ready, little one?”

She nodded too quickly. “Y‑yes… dadd— I mean… coach.”

His grin was slow. “Forward fold.”

Hana’s mind screamed: Please touch me. Please press into me. Take me right here. Rip this outfit off me, I don’t care—just do it.

But he lifted a hand.

“Warm-up first. You’re far too tense.”

Her stomach flipped.

“Hands behind your head.”

She obeyed. His fingertips guided her elbows back—barely touching, yet enough to send a violent shiver through her.

Inside, she was begging: Push harder. Hold me in place. Make me yours. Why won’t you just take what I’m offering?

“Knee lifts.”

She lifted her knees—higher when he murmured it. His gaze tracked her body with deliberate slowness.

“Turn.”

She pivoted.

“Squat.”

Her thoughts burned: Watch me. Please watch me. Please want me. Please lose control—just once—so I know I’m not crazy.

She dropped—too eager. His hands steadied her waist, firm, controlled.

“Again.”

By the seventh rep, she could hardly breathe.

“Good girl,” he murmured, and the praise hit her deeper than it should have.

Her thighs trembled.

Her pulse pounded.

“Now,” he said, stepping closer, “forward fold.”

She bent—

—and his hands were instantly on her lower back, steady, claiming.

“Good. Let it happen.”

His thumbs pressed into the dimples above her hips.

She gasped.

Every nerve fired.

He pulled her upright, hands gliding up her sides, stopping just shy of forbidden places.

“Straddle.”

She sat wide—too wide.

His hands traced her inner thighs—slow, devastating. A whimper escaped.

Her mind broke into **** fragments: Higher. Please go higher. I’d let you do anything. I’d thank you while you ruined me.

“Sensitive,” he murmured.

“No. You’re ****.”

Her vision blurred.

“Please…” she whispered.

“Up.”

She rose—shaking.

Eli circled her slowly, like a coach evaluating form… or a predator evaluating surrender.

Hana nearly trembled with want: Take me. Push me down. Do anything. I don’t care how I look—I just want to be something you use. Every pass he made sent a wash of heat over her skin.

“Hands on your hips.”

She obeyed—too quickly.

“Wider stance.”

Her thoughts spiraled: Spread me wider. I don’t care if I look needy—please, please notice how ready I am.

Her breath hitched as she adjusted. He stepped in, nudging her ankles outward with the faintest pressure of his shoe. Even that light contact sent a jolt straight through her.

“Chest up. Shoulders relaxed.”

He tapped her sternum, then slid two fingers lightly along her collarbone to ease the tension there. She swayed.

“Engage your core.”

Her stomach tightened—partly from the exercise, mostly from him.

“Good,” he murmured behind her. “Now reverse lunges.”

Her mind whispered frantically: Yes. Command me. Make me do whatever you want. I’ll follow anything you say.

She stepped back—wobbling. Eli caught her waist instantly, correcting her posture with a firm grip that made her bite her lip.

“Again.”

She moved. He corrected. She trembled. He steadied.

By the fifth rep her breathing was shallow.

By the seventh she was light‑headed.

By the ninth she thought she might collapse—into him.

“Pause.”

Eli stepped close—too close—his presence wrapping around her like heat. Hana’s lips parted on instinct, like her body was trying to speak before she could.

“So,” he said softly, “tell me what you expect from today’s session.”

She opened her mouth.

Nothing came.

“Strength work?” he teased. “Weights? Balance? Cardio?”

“I—” she stammered, “I want whatever you think I need.”

He moved behind her in one quiet step, hands reclaiming her hips, thumbs pressing just enough to make her gasp.

“Hana,” he murmured, “that isn’t an answer.”

Her knees bent—barely—like her body was trying to bow toward him.

“I mean…” she tried again, voice trembling, “I want you to decide. To guide me. To shape every part of what I become here.”

Eli hummed—a low sound that curled down her spine.

He adjusted her into another stance, sliding her foot an inch to the left, tilting her chin up, pressing lightly at her lower back.

Each correction was professional.

Each correction was devastating.

“Still not clear enough.”

Her pulse pounded in her throat.

Her body leaned into his hands as if she no longer had a choice.

“I want…” she whispered, unable to stop herself, “I want you to make me whatever you think I should be.”

He guided her upright, fingers trailing just long enough to unravel her.

His breath touched her ear.

“Almost, Hana.”

Her heartbeat stumbled.

Just take me, her mind begged. I want nothing else. Make me yours. Make me break.

Her breath shattered.

Her restraint thinned to a thread.

“What do you really want me to make of you?”

Her body quivered with the **** of the truth she’d been holding back. Heat curled low in her stomach, spreading through her limbs until even standing felt like surrender. Eli’s hands hovered at her waist—not touching, simply present—so intoxicatingly near that her body leaned toward him on instinct.

He didn’t reward it.

He didn’t pull away.

He simply let her ache.

“Hana,” he murmured, voice velvet‑slow, “you’re breathing like a girl who’s about to confess something she shouldn’t.”

Her inhale trembled.

Her thighs pressed together without permission.

A tiny sound escaped her throat.

He circled her—predatory, deliberate—letting the warmth of his body skim her hip, her arm, the curve of her back. Each near‑touch sent a shock through her nerves.

“You know what I see?” he whispered behind her. “A girl who breaks a little more every time I correct her stance. A girl who leans into my hands before she even realizes she’s doing it.”

Her pulse thrashed.

Her lips parted.

Heat climbed her neck.

His fingers trailed up her spine, slow enough to feel like a claim, guiding her posture higher, baring her throat, inviting collapse.

“There,” he murmured, breath brushing her jaw. “Right there. You’re seconds from giving up whatever is left of your self‑control.”

Her legs shook.

Her chest hitched.

Her body begged for the permission she wouldn’t give herself.

“Tell me,” he said softly. “Tell me what you want me to make of you.”

Finally—

Author’s Note

It’s done — the winner of the last voting arc is decided. With about 56%, Hana takes the top spot, followed by Emily with around 24%, then Kenji, and lastly Haruto. The order is officially set.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter — especially seeing Hana fall so quickly and intensely. I loved writing a scene where Eli didn’t even have to use his powers; she just broke on her own. It felt fitting… and very, very fun to write.

Thank you for reading — the real training begins next chapter.