El Último Set

The studio lights were brutal. They caught every bead of sweat on Lena’s skin, every tremor in her thighs as she held the lunge. The air smelled of ozone from the flashes and something else—something floral and thick that clung to the back of my throat.

“Hold it. Yes. Just like that.” I circled her, camera clicking. “You’re doing great, Lena. One more.”

She was my best client. Three years of training, and her body was a fucking masterpiece—all lean muscle and soft curves. But tonight, something was off. Her breath came in short, ragged pulls. Her eyes, dark and wide, kept finding mine in the dark behind the lens.

“Dmitri…” Her voice cracked. “What’s in that tea you gave me?”

I lowered the camera. “Just herbal. Relaxant. For the shoot.”

“Liar.”

She straightened, and the pose broke. Her skin was flushed, a deep pink spreading down her chest, disappearing into the sports bra. She swayed, caught herself on the backdrop stand.

“Lena? You okay?”

“I’m burning up.” She laughed, but it was shaky. “I mean it. Inside. Like… I can’t think straight.”

My gut twisted. I’d bought the tea from that little shop near the gym. The old woman had winked at me. *“For stamina,”* she’d said. *“Makes the blood sing.”* I thought it was bullshit.

“Let me get you water.”

“No.” Her hand shot out, grabbed my wrist. Her fingers were hot. “Don’t. Don’t go.”

The flash of contact sent a jolt through me. Her grip tightened.

“Dmitri, I swear to god, if you don’t kiss me right now, I’m going to lose my mind.”

I should have stopped. I should have called a doctor. But her pupils were blown wide, and her lips were parted, and the smell of her—sweat and vanilla and that strange floral tea—filled my head until there was nothing else.

I kissed her.

It wasn’t gentle. It was desperate, hungry, her mouth opening under mine with a small, broken sound. Her hands fisted in my shirt, pulling me closer, and I stumbled into her, pressing her back against the backdrop. The fabric rustled, the whole frame wobbled.

“Fuck,” she breathed against my mouth. “Fuck, that’s… more. I need more.”

“Lena, this is crazy. You’re not—”

“I’m not thinking.” She pulled at my belt, clumsy, urgent. “Don’t make me think. Just—please.”

I couldn’t say no. Not when her hands were shaking, not when her eyes were that dark, that wet. I pushed the strap of her sports bra down, and her breast spilled out, full and heavy, the nipple already tight. I bent my head and took it in my mouth.

She arched, a sharp cry escaping her. Her fingers tangled in my hair, holding me there.

“Yes. God, yes.”

I worked my way down her body, peeling off the shorts, the tiny underwear. She was soaked—through the fabric, through everything. The smell of her hit me, musky and sweet, and I groaned against her thigh.

—Dime lo que quieres.

“You know what I want.” Her voice was a rasp. “I want you to fuck me. Right here. On this stupid floor.”

I laid her down on the soft backdrop paper. It crinkled under her back. Her legs fell open, and the sight of her—glistening, ready—made my mouth water.

I didn’t make her wait.

I pushed inside her in one slow, thick stroke. She gasped, her head thrown back, her hands gripping the paper on either side. I watched her face, the way her lips parted, the way her eyes rolled back.

“Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, Dmitri.”

“Yeah?” I pulled out, pushed in again, deeper. “Like that?”

“Harder. Please. Harder.”

I gave her what she wanted. I fucked her on that studio floor, the lights still humming, the camera forgotten. Her legs wrapped around my waist, her heels digging into my ass, urging me on. She was so wet, so hot, and every sound she made was a broken prayer.

“I’m close,” she panted. “I’m so fucking close.”

“Come for me, Lena. Show me.”

Her body bowed off the floor, a sharp cry tearing from her throat. She clamped down around me, pulsing, and the feel of her—tight and shuddering—pushed me over the edge. I buried my face in her neck and came, deep and hard, my whole body shaking.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of our breathing, harsh and ragged in the silent studio.

Then she laughed. A real laugh, weak and amazed.

“What the hell was in that tea?”

I pulled back, looked down at her. Her skin was still flushed, her hair a mess, her body marked with the prints of my hands.

“I have no idea. But I’m buying the whole shop tomorrow.”

She grinned, lazy and satisfied, and pulled me down for another kiss.