Billionaire Surrendered

My feet complained of pain every time they touched the hard surface of the ground, no matter how much my sneakers were reinforced, and that trail in the park was not unknown to me, I was already beyond my limit after ten minutes.

All because my coach simply invented that we could run further that day, almost on the edge of the trees that led to the un frequented woods of the city.

The vegetation in that area was greener and more beautiful, only isolated to the point that we did not even see birds or butterflies that, in general, infested the lowest trees of the busy park.

I was running right after Elijah, when in fact I should be by his side, already feeling my breath burn in my throat and the whole world spin through the vertigo. Elijah was my master's personal coach, and due to what we signed in the contract, I would have to spend four times a week practicing various physical exercises with him.

It was not only to keep the body in that slender and shape, that fashion magazines demanded from all women - bodybuilding activities were rarely required by Elijah -, but to have enough physical conditioning and face any of the sexual activities proposed by my master, who, as I was so adept at Bondage, almost always kept me suspended on ropes or by leather straps on ceiling supports.

It was an agreement, of which I never objected, but at that moment... When I stumbled upon a stone and stepped falsely, almost falling face down on the dirt trail, I began to rethink my priorities about how much I really liked it. Having sex in a dirty and lascivious way was wonderful, but all the physical effort was always something that made me twist my nose discreetly.

To tell you the truth, I was always very lazy, sedentary and lucky to have a genetics that allowed me to eat cheeseburger on weekends and still maintain my normal physique — at least even before I was eighteen. For when they were twenty-six, they brought their thicker thighs, heavier breasts, and strong arms.

When I was younger, my mother said that I had too many worms, and that they prevented me from getting fat. When the years began to pass and the stretch marks and cellulite were coming, although the weight remained stabilized, we understood that it was just an accelerated and fleeting metabolism.

So the sedentary lifestyle always reminded me, on every morning of insane running through Central Park, that those years of glory had passed and that I deserved to suffer from fatigue if I wanted to stay hot or having sex for hours. Priorities must be taken into account, so I always tortured myself that way. Sex was rewarding.

Elijah, my personal for six months, although he was not the kind of man who would attract me anyway, had an incredible body. He was tall, wide, and had well-defined muscles, so he never dispensed with thin shorts to display the thigh muscles, nor tank tops to expose the always shiny biceps of sweat.

Most of the time, especially when I was looking at your back like at that moment, I even allowed myself to distract myself a little with those muscles retracting and expanding while running.

And it was interesting to note that even going through groups of women who gossiped on wheels inside the park, Elijah did not pay any attention to whether his muscles were noticed or not, no matter how hard he made an effort for everyone to take more than one look in his direction.

The guy's ego was inflamed to the maximum. Proof of this were the moments when he noticed that I was dragging myself on his trail and turned to run on his back while teasing me with giggles.

I also had self-defense classes with him, so I always wanted to be able to reach him to kick his bag until the balls came out of his throat in those moments of pride, but the bastard only irritated me in the moments when I was already on the edge of the abyss of death, panting more than a thirsty dog.

“Man, I swear I can't stand taking any more steps” I grumbled with a totally hoarse, failed voice. I couldn't even swallow saliva, since there wasn't any. Elijah carried our bottles of water, as if to punish me for being far behind him. In fact, I was just approaching to take a sip, or I would die right there. “I can't keep up with you. I already got that. You can stop this competition.”

“Who said I was competing?” he provoked, arching an eyebrow. I stopped and leaned on my knees. Elijah approached with one of the bottles in hand. “Even if you embarrass me every day with this sedentary lifestyle, I can't let him die so easily.”

I giggled mockingly, taking the bottle from her hands with a tug and turning it with everything in my mouth. Nothing like very cold water, on a hot day like hell, and with a body totally glued to sweat.

I had to resist the temptation to throw the liquid over my head and let my body be cooled, because the very cold water thrown over my head after such an activity - no matter how small my running time was - was still risky, at least that's what Elijah said.

And I, raised in a family of superstitious women who didn't even comb their hair when they menstruated because I thought it caused a greater flow, I always thought that all his recommendations should be followed to the letter.