VIP

During the coaching sessions, he had removed my necklace to avoid attracting attention, but I could feel his gaze, and also those of the clients who appreciated my undeniably sexy outfit as the only female member of staff.

The first VIP client had signed the special contract that Virgile had so quickly put together with ChatGPT.

The client was a jogger. Virgile set the challenge: whoever could do the most pull-ups would do it. He took us to a separate room where it was just the three of us.

• So if I beat her at pull-ups on this bar, she's mine for an hour ?
• Exactly. You can have fun with her as long as you don't damage her, but you'll have to beat her first.

The client took off his t-shirt, revealing bulging muscles and skin glistening with sweat. His hands wrapped around the bar with brutal confidence, his shoulders tensing with the effort as he began his pull-ups. Each pull-up was a challenge, his raspy breathing echoing in the enclosed room.

I felt my stomach clench at the sight of his relentless rhythm—twenty, twenty-five, thirty—his veins bulged like ropes beneath his skin, he completed 150 pull-ups.

I felt my sweaty palms slide across the cold bar, my arms already trembling with anticipation. Virgile positioned himself behind me, his fingers roughly encircling my wrists to help me pull myself up—a parody of support.

-Come on, Teyla, show us you don't deserve to end up on your knees in front of him.

I took his place and began; I hadn't gone this far the day before. My arms trembled by the hundredth pull-up, my shoulders burning with the effort as it began to get difficult, the cold metal of the bar biting into my sweaty palms. Virgil never took his eyes off every jerky movement, his warm breath on my neck a constant reminder of what awaited me if I failed.

I gritted my teeth until the taste of blood filled my mouth, my muscles burning as I painfully reached the 120th pull. The client sneered as he watched my arms tremble like leaves in a storm, each repetition becoming exquisite **** under Virgil's burning gaze.

"130," he growled in my ear, his hand suddenly snapping shut on the back of my neck, forcing my head back and exposing my throbbing throat. "Can you feel that, Teyla?"

My arms gave way, and I fell from the pole onto the absorbent mat, landing on my knees under Virgile's disappointed gaze as he looked at the client.

• It's yours for an hour. Have fun, buddy.

He left without a glance at me and locked the door behind him.