Morning sunlight poured into the vast mansion as Stiles leaned over the dining table to kiss her husband goodbye. Jackson, already stuffed into his custom-tailored suit, grunted as she pressed her lips against his cheek.

“Be good today,” he said, patting her ass possessively.

“Always,” Stiles giggled, letting her lips linger before pulling away. The moment he was gone, her smile shifted into something else—something more playful, hungry.

She ran upstairs, tore off her robe, and slipped into the outfit she’d carefully chosen. A neon sports bra that looked ready to burst under the weight of her heavy breasts, and leggings so tight they might as well have been painted onto her skin. The fabric clung between her thighs, outlining her pussy like a secret she wasn’t trying too hard to keep. Her glossy hair was tied back, lips glossed pink, eyes sparkling with mischief.

When she arrived at the gym, Derek was already there waiting, towel draped over his broad shoulders. He turned, ready to greet her professionally—then froze.

Stiles strutted toward him, the click of her sneakers loud in the silent, private section reserved for elite members. His eyes betrayed him, raking down her cleavage, her flat stomach, her perfect hips, then lingering shamelessly on the swell of her ass.

“Good morning, Derek,” she said lightly, her lips curving in amusement at how his throat bobbed when he swallowed.

“G–Good morning, Ms. Stiles,” he stammered, quickly straightening his stance. “You look… uh… ready.”

She smirked. “You were going to say something else, weren’t you?”

His ears turned red, but before he could answer, she breezed past him, the faint scent of her perfume teasing his senses.

They began with warm-ups, Stiles bending and stretching while Derek demonstrated. Each time she bent forward, her ass arched high, the outline of her pussy so visible he had to clench his jaw. When she looked back over her shoulder with a little grin, he knew she knew exactly what she was doing.

Moving to weights, Derek adjusted the settings and guided her hands. “Here, grip it like this… don’t arch your back too much.”

His chest brushed her shoulder as he leaned in close. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, his muscles taut and firm. His breath tickled her ear when he spoke, and her nipples hardened under her bra.

“Like this?” she whispered, pretending to focus on the weights but deliberately brushing her arm against his.

Derek cleared his throat. “Y–yeah. Just like that.”

The tension thickened with each exercise. When she squatted, he stood behind her, eyes glued to her curves as she lowered and rose. His hand hovered just above her waist as though resisting the urge to touch. And every time her leggings stretched over her ass, he nearly groaned.

Finally, he moved her to heavier weights, coming right behind her to steady the barbell. “I’ll spot you from behind. Just… lift slowly.”

She gripped the bar, bent her knees, and he stepped in close, his chest nearly flush against her back. His strong hands hovered at her sides, his crotch brushing lightly against her ass as she lifted.

That’s when she felt it.

His cock—hard. Thick. Pressed against her through his shorts.

Her lips parted, breath hitching. Her heart pounded, heat blooming low in her belly. Without thinking, she shifted back slightly, grinding against the bulge just enough to make him grunt under his breath.

“Fuck…” Derek hissed, immediately stiffening, trying to pull back. But the sound of his voice made Stiles’s pussy clench. She pushed again, her ass rubbing over his hardness, and this time a soft moan slipped past her lips.

Both froze.

The weight clanged as she set it down quickly, turning her flushed face away. Derek stepped back, chest heaving, his cock still raging hard in his shorts. Neither spoke, their silence louder than words, the tension thick enough to choke on.

After a long pause, Stiles laughed softly, nervously, brushing her hair back. “I guess… that’s enough weights for today.”

Derek cleared his throat, trying to sound professional though his voice was rough. “Y–yeah. We should… uh… cool down.”

But when they moved on to stretches, their bodies kept colliding—his hand lingering too long on her thigh, her lips brushing a little too close to his ear as she breathed. Every touch felt like fire, every glance like a secret confession.

By the time the session ended, they were both sweaty, flushed, and trembling—not just from the workout, but from the hunger pulsing between them.

As Stiles grabbed her water bottle, she licked her lips, staring at him with that mischievous sparkle in her eyes.

“See you tomorrow, Derek?” she asked, her tone sweet, but heavy with promise.

He nodded quickly, unable to hide the lust in his gaze. “Tomorrow.”

And as she walked away, her ass swaying deliberately, both of them knew tomorrow wouldn’t be any easier.