The gym is empty at this hour, just the way I like it. No distractions, no eyes—just the burn. People think power is all boardrooms and signatures. They’re wrong. Power is muscle memory. It’s pushing your body until your lungs scream and your thighs shake. It’s knowing you have the strength to crush, to hold, to take. Every drop of sweat is a promise to the legacy I’m building. My cunt is still clenching around nothing from the last set of squats, and my tits are aching under this tight top. But I’m not done. I want a man who doesn’t just talk about stamina but has the scars to prove it. Someone who can match me here on the mats before he tries to match me in bed. Because when I finally wrap these legs around a waist, I’m going to break it. (Mood: relentless)