The gym was silent except for the low hum of the cooling fans and the distant, rhythmic thud of music from another set. Salma looked even more dangerous under the high-contrast spotlights. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a messy, sweat-dampened bun, and the ink of the dragon on her back seemed to glow against her golden, olive skin.
She walked toward us with a fluid, feline grace. The neon-green sneakers squeaked softly on the rubber flooring—the only thing she was wearing.
"Mr. Hart," she purred, stopping just inches away. Her scent was a mix of vanilla and something primal. "I've heard very... impressive things about you."
"Well, I've seen impressive things from you too," I replied, my eyes dropping to the curve of her waist. "That was quite a performance you were giving Kevin earlier."
