The annex gym felt smaller every night—like the walls were closing in with every shared breath, every slick slide of skin on skin.
Delilah didn't bother with pretense anymore. When Jett arrived at eight-thirty the following evening, the court lights were off. The gym door stood ajar, steam already curling out from the cracked sauna entrance. Inside, the red heat lamps glowed low and steady, turning everything crimson and hazy.
She waited in the center of the small sauna room—naked except for a thin white towel knotted loosely around her hips. Sweat already beaded on her collarbone, trickling down between her full breasts, darkening the towel where it clung. Her hair was loose tonight—damp strands sticking to her neck and shoulders. She looked like she'd been waiting a long time.
The moment Jett stepped inside she locked eyes with him.
"Close the door," she said. Voice thick. Commanding.
He did. The latch clicked. Heat enveloped him instantly—thick, wet air that made his lungs feel heavy.
She didn't move toward him. Just stood there, letting him look.
The sauna was lined floor-to-ceiling with mirrors on three walls. Every angle reflected her—back, front, side—multiplied, endless. Every bead of sweat, every subtle shift of muscle, every rise and fall of her chest captured and echoed. Jett could see himself too—tank top already clinging to his chest, shorts tented obviously, eyes dark with hunger.
Delilah's gaze flicked to the mirrors. Then back to him.
"I want you to see everything tonight," she whispered. "Every inch. Every tremble. Every time I come apart. No hiding. No pretending."
Jett stripped without a word.
Tank over his head. Shorts shoved down. Cock springing free—thick, flushed, already leaking at the tip from the sight of her alone.
She let the towel fall.
Naked now. Glorious. Sweat-slick skin gleaming under the red light. Breasts heavy and full, nipples tight peaks. Stomach flat and ridged from years of discipline. Thighs strong, glistening. Between them—bare, swollen, visibly wet even in the dim glow.
She stepped toward the long bench along the mirrored wall.
Sat. Spread her legs wide—feet braced on the lower tier, knees bent, pussy exposed and glistening.
"Look at me," she said.
He did.
In the mirror behind her he could see everything: the curve of her ass against the cedar, the dip of her spine, the way her back arched slightly in invitation. In the side mirror—the perfect profile of her spread thighs, the slick shine coating her inner lips.
She reached down. Two fingers sliding along her folds—slow, deliberate—spreading herself open for him.
"Watch," she breathed.
He knelt between her thighs. Close enough to feel the heat radiating from her core.
She circled her clit once—slow—then dipped lower, sliding one finger inside herself. Then two. Pumped lazily. The wet sounds obscene in the humid air.
Her free hand reached for his cock. Wrapped around the base. Stroked once—firm, twisting at the head.
He groaned.
"Fuck me with your fingers first," she ordered. "Make me come on them. Let me watch it in the mirror."
He obeyed.
Replaced her fingers with his—three at once, stretching her open. She gasped. Head falling back against the mirror. The cool glass made her arch harder.
He pumped slow at first—deep, curling to rub that spot inside that made her thighs quake. Then faster. Harder. Thumb on her clit—firm circles.
In the mirror he watched her face contort—lips parted, eyes glassy, cheeks flushed crimson. Watched her breasts bounce with every thrust of his hand. Watched her hips roll up to meet him, chasing the pressure.
She came hard—sudden, violent. Back bowing off the bench. Pussy clamping around his fingers in rhythmic spasms. Wetness gushed over his hand, dripped onto the cedar. She cried out—raw, unrestrained—echoing off the mirrors.
He didn't stop.
Kept fucking her through it—slower now, drawing out the aftershocks until she was whimpering, oversensitive, thighs trembling.
When the spasms eased she grabbed his wrist. Pulled his hand free.
Brought his soaked fingers to her mouth. Sucked them clean—eyes locked on his reflection.
Then she stood.
Turned.
Bent forward—hands braced on the mirror, ass presented, legs spread.
"Look at us," she rasped.
He stepped behind her. Cock sliding along her drenched slit—teasing her entrance without pushing in.
In every mirror they were multiplied: his hands on her hips, her back arched, breasts swaying, his thick shaft gliding between her folds, head bumping her clit on every forward slide.
She rocked back—trying to take him.
He held her still.
"Not yet," he murmured against her ear. "You said no penetration."
She whimpered—frustrated, desperate.
"Then fuck me like this. Slide along me. Make me come again. Cover me."
He did.
Gripped her hips harder. Thrust forward—cock gliding through her slick lips, bumping her clit, sliding up to nudge her entrance then pulling back. Again. Again. Faster.
The wet slap of skin on skin filled the sauna. Steam thickened. Mirrors fogged at the edges but still clear enough in the center—showing every filthy detail.
She watched herself in the reflection—mouth open, eyes wild, body rocking back to meet every glide.
"Jett—fuck—harder—"
He gave it to her. Thrusts turning brutal—shaft dragging over her clit relentlessly. One hand slid around to her breast—pinching the nipple hard. The other dropped between her legs—fingers finding her clit, rubbing fast circles while he continued to slide along her.
She shattered again.
Screaming this time—head thrown back, body locking, pussy pulsing against his cock in violent waves. Wetness coated him, dripped down his balls, puddled on the floor.
The sight pushed him over.
He pulled back just enough—stroked himself twice—then came hard. Hot ropes painting her ass, her lower back, dripping down the curve of her spine. Pulse after pulse until he was shaking, hips jerking.
They collapsed together—her forehead pressed to the mirror, his chest to her back, both breathing in harsh gasps.
In the reflection their eyes met.
Sweat-drenched. Spent. Still hungry.
She reached back. Tangled her fingers in his hair.
"Next time," she whispered, voice wrecked. "I want you inside me. All the way. Until I can't walk."
Jett kissed the nape of her neck—soft, reverent.
"Next time," he promised.
They stayed like that until the heat became too much.
Then she straightened. Turned in his arms.
Kissed him slow—tender now.
"Clean up," she said. "Then go. Before I drag you back in here and break every rule I just made."
He smiled against her lips.
"Yes, Coach."
She laughed—soft, surprised.
Watched him leave—body still marked with his release, legs unsteady.
After the door shut she stood alone in the mirrors.
Looked at her reflection—flushed, wrecked, alive.
Pressed two fingers to her swollen clit once.
Came again—quiet, shuddering—whispering his name like a prayer.
Across the estate, Seraphina's bedroom light burned until almost four a.m.
She stood at the window—robe open, hand between her thighs—watching the faint glow from the Kane annex fade.
Jealousy twisted into something sharper.
Something possessive.
She came hard—silent tears mixing with the release.
Then she whispered to the empty room,
"He's mine."
The mirrors had shown everything.
And nothing would stay hidden much longer.