"So... I guess that makes three wins for me, huh?" His voice is a low hiss, The naked and defined muscles of his abdomen rise and fall in combination with his panting. "You? nothing, right?" He scoffs, flexing the tense muscles of his large arms. Sweat paints every trace of the damp skin, running down the small traces of a tattoo.

Betting push-ups with Simon Riley seemed like a good idea at first; since you thought that due to so much work, the man would already be rusty.

It's a shame that everything didn't seem to go as planned.

“How many more rounds do I need to win?” He laughs gravely, sending a vibration to the tip of your belly. Riley traces slow, lazy steps towards you. His hand drops to his pants holster, holding the pistol cocked there. "You have three minutes to offer me an acceptable prize." He hisses, face to face with you. "A bet is a bet, right baby?"

Jesus.