CHAPTER 58: OVERTIME CLAUSE

Nash’s head spun, his cock caught between hardness and a strange, inflated heaviness.

His body felt weak, drained, yet somehow it stirred again. A groan escaped him as he realized it still worked, though this time, the flesh was willing, but his spirit felt bruised and sluggish.

Victoria stepped closer, her heels clicking softly against the floor until she stood beside him. With a casual confidence, she pressed a fingertip against the sensitive tip of his length, smirking.

"We’re going to make great things together," she said.

Nash met her gaze with a tired, wary look. He wanted to push back, to question her, but part of him wondered if she’d simply send in another woman to finish breaking him.

"What... did I just sign?" he asked.

She chuckled lightly.

"Relax. I’m not stupid; if I forced you, you’d just throw games on purpose. No, I didn’t trick you. I just showed you what to expect if you came." She leaned in closer, her lips nearly brushing his ear. "Literally and figuratively."

Nash exhaled heavily, leaning back in the chair.

"Alright. Then tell me the terms. I want to see the catch."

Victoria straightened and, without hesitation, laid out the contract details. The salary was impressive for a rookie: 200,000 credits a year. On top of that, bonuses: 20,000 credits for an MVP title, 5,000 credits for every game where he scored over 30 points, and a 10% cut of any sponsorship deals he personally brought in.

Surprisingly, it was solid, better than he expected. No tricks in sight, at least on paper.

Nash was surprised. It really did sound good. He quickly tried to calculate how much it would make monthly, but Victoria answered before he could finish.

"That’s about 16,666 credits a month. Bonuses are weekly. If you do well, you can expect even more."

Nash’s eyes lit up. This amount? On top of what the system already offered him? He almost couldn’t believe it.

"And the Midnight Rest... I also have the power to screw people around here?"

Victoria smiled confidently.

"Just don’t do that with Nia before a match. I wonder how long it’ll take her to recover from what you did."

Nash clenched his fists, his energy surging back.

"Alright. I’m motivated now. When do we start?"

She leaned back with a satisfied look.

"Tomorrow. 9 a.m., Hangar 47 in the Ironline District."

Nash nodded firmly.

"I’ll be there. Don’t worry about it." He turned to leave, still completely naked, when her voice stopped him.

"Wait... about your clothes—" She stopped mid-sentence, after initiating a step forward.

Something shifted in her calm look, a tiny change in her body that felt alien to her.

Her thighs pressed together, then slowly apart, as if testing the warm, strange feeling building there.

She looked down, frowning slightly, and patted her dress over her hips and thighs. Her hand froze.

The fabric was damp.

She kept her hand there for a moment, feeling the heat, then slowly pulled it back.

These were the same fingers that had touched Nash earlier, and now they lifted into the light.

She rubbed them together, noticing the smooth, slippery feel that stuck to her skin.

It shined faintly, and she looked at it with quiet, puzzled curiosity, as if surprised by how her pulse sped up from the touch.

After leaving Victoria’s office, Nash was brought to a private room where he could bathe and change clothes.

The hot water eased some of the tension in his muscles, but he barely had time to dry himself before one of the staff members, one of the women who had helped carry Nia away earlier, slipped into the room.

Her eyes had a glassy, hungry look, her breathing quick. She’d been too close to him before, inhaling the scent of his aphrodisiac presence, and now she couldn’t stop herself.

Without much warning, she pressed herself against him and things turned heated fast.

For the next ten minutes, they moved together in a frenzy—kissing, groping, grinding, her hands gripping his back as he drove into her over and over.

The small room filled with the sounds of skin meeting skin, muffled moans, and shallow breaths until they both shuddered in release.

After a moment to catch his breath, Nash made his way to the elevator. The doors slid open, and standing there was the same staff member from earlier.

He asked to go to the first floor. The ride should have been a matter of seconds, but with the air still thick with his scent and her herself being messy from before, the tension snapped instantly.

She pressed him against the wall, kissing him hard, and soon they were going at it again. The quick trip turned into another thirty minutes of rough, heated contact until they were both spent.

When Nash finally stepped out into the main hall, his walk had changed, more of a slow, awkward shuffle, his body sore and his groin aching like he’d just run a marathon.

Three girls lounging nearby spotted him and called out teasingly, their laughter chasing after him.

"I... I really might die..."

For the first time, he consciously used the negative triggers, recognizing the danger of allowing the situation to escalate into a violent foursome.

The night air of the Red Zone hit him as he stepped outside.

Four encounters.

From 6 p.m. to 10 p.m. His first night in the district, and he’d survived... barely.

A little later, in the hotel room, Zayela ended the preparations.

She’d just finished arranging the food she’d ordered, a platter of fresh oysters on ice with lemon wedges, fiery chili shrimp skewers for a spicy kick, a baked cheese fondue with crusty bread for dipping, and for dessert, bowls of strawberry ice cream drizzled with warm chocolate sauce.

Nothing heavy, just enough to enjoy together, absolutely nothing in mind.

No alcohol, or maybe just a single bottle to share, enough to loosen the mood without clouding the senses.

She had already bathed, her skin warm and clean, and slipped into one of her sexiest underwear sets, a black lace bra that framed her curves and matching panties that sat high on her hips.

Over it, she wore an airy silk robe in pale cream that brushed softly against her body.

The thin fabric was almost see-through in certain light, and she knew that with just the right angle, it would offer a teasing glimpse of the black lace beneath.

The house was in order. She’d fixed the sofa, queued a movie, made sure the bathroom was spotless.

She even found herself fluffing the pillows on the bed, smoothing out the sheets. That thought made her pause.

Why was she preparing the bed?

She tried to shrug it off, there was only one bed here, so of course it should be made. And Nash had played a match; he’d be tired.

It was just being considerate, definitely something an good cousin should do.

Still, the thought made her heartbeat quicken. She sat down on the sofa, folding her legs, and let her mind drift.

How long was that? Three days?

That’s all it had been since Nash got kicked from his team, and in that short time, everything had changed.

He’d pulled them both into something new, and now, he might even become a great player.

Their life became a dream in less than a weak, and he became himself someone else.

Her thoughts wandered to the scene after his win, the girls around him, the way he pulled her close without ever mentioning they were related.

She smiled faintly, murmuring to herself.

"Keep going like this, and I won’t ever find a man. Or maybe... you don’t want me to?"

Her gaze lingered on the window, eyes unfocused, lost in the quiet daydream, until the doorbell rang.

Zayela jumped, heart skipping a beat.

She quickly rushed to the door, pausing just before it to adjust herself. With a subtle tug, she widened the neckline of her robe to give a deeper view of the lace beneath, ran a hand through her hair to tousle it just enough for that effortless look, and took a slow inhale before putting on a warm, almost teasing smile.

"Hello there—" she began, opening the door.

Her words faltered for a moment.

It was Nash, obviously, but the he looked like he’d been steamrolled. Slumped shoulders, eyes barely open, swaying like he might just collapse right there.

"N-Nash?" Her voice came out a little shaky.

He waved a hand as if to brush it off.

"Just a long day. Too exhausting."

Something about the way he avoided specifics made her brow furrow.

"Did something go wrong?"

"No, actually... everything went better than expected," he said with a small smile. "I signed the contract. We’re practically rich now."

For a second, her brain just blank. Then the words hit her in pieces: surprise, doubt, and then, holy hell.

"Wait, you’re not messing with me?"

He nodded, and that was all it took. She launched herself at him, arms around his neck, hugging him so hard she almost knocked him over.

"Nash! Oh my god! You did it!"

She kept saying it, babbling thanks and laughing, basically exploding with happiness.

Her body almost bounced against his, and in that closeness, he could feel every curve through the thin silk of her robe.

His body reacted before his mind caught up, the heat pooling fast. She leaned back, shot him a wicked grin.

"Careful... you might get more attention than you can handle from now on."

But mid-joke, her breath caught. She’d felt it, hard, hot, and pressing against her stomach.

Her eyes looked down for just a second before she quickly looked away, swallowing hard.

"So, uh... dinner?" she tried to play it cool.

Nash just stood there, obviously flustered. "Actually, I should probably, uh, grab a shower first. Clean up and all."

"Mm-hm," she hummed, one brow lifting as he moved past her toward the bathroom, clearly making excuses.

Her gaze lingered on him as he left.

Nash slid into the bath and just melted, water creeping up over his shoulders.

The thing wasn’t even a proper tub, more like some weirdly deep armchair for wet people, barely room to stretch.

He had to keep his knees up like an overgrown kid in a bucket.

Steam clung to him, sticky and hot, and for the first time all damn day, the chaos started to bleed out of his bones.

He leaned back, let his eyes close. Honestly? He could’ve slept right there, half-drowned.

So much had happened. Way too much, if you asked him.

This was the same guy who used to break a sweat just talking to a girl. Now? He’d just run a marathon of sex.

Multiple rounds, multiple women. His body felt wrecked and weirdly floaty, like if he slipped under, he might just stay there.

That’s when a little sparkle flickered right in front of his nose.

[SYSTEM MESSAGE]:

Recommendation: Rest.

Quest available: Abstain from having sexual intercourse for the next 8 hours.

He snorted. Eight hours? Please. That was practically a spa day compared to tonight. He let out a long breath, muscles finally relaxing.

His brain started wandering. What now? There was money, and soon power, games he like he had never played, stuff he’d never had.

For a second, it almost made him forget how much his hips wanted to file a complaint.

Then, the door latch.

He cracked one eye open. The steam made everything soft and ghostly at first, but then the door swung wider, and the blur sharpened into something real.

Zayela.