Crystal Voss
Undeserved Ascendance
chapter 19
by
copier
· original author:
an188
Danny stood amid the buzzing expo floor, still shirtless, silver shorts clinging to every obscene curve of his lower body, medal swinging like a taunt between his pecs. The crowd parted around him like water around a shark. Phones stayed up; women stayed wet. He was savoring the moment—every stolen glance, every bitten lip, every husband glaring impotently—when a vision cut through the throng.
She was shapely, sculpted, shameless. Tight black sports bra barely contained large, firm breasts that bounced with each confident step. Matching high-waisted leggings hugged an ass that could start wars and a six-pack so carved it looked laser-etched. A tiny diamond belly-button piercing winked above the waistband. Voluminous curly red hair cascaded over shoulders that spoke of serious lifting. She moved like she owned the floor—and she very nearly did.
She waved, huge white smile flashing. “Danny! Number 8 himself!”
He turned slowly, letting her see the full spectacle of him—bronze paint still faintly shimmering, veins like rivers over marble. She stopped in front of him, close enough that he could smell coconut oil and expensive perfume.
“Crystal Voss,” she said, extending a manicured hand. “Modeling agent. Fitness division. I rep half the pros you just humiliated on stage.”
Danny took her hand. Instead of shaking, he lifted it to his lips and pressed a slow, tender kiss to her knuckles—soft, lingering, almost courtly. The gesture surprised even him. His brows twitched. Why the hell did I do that?
Crystal didn’t flinch. If anything her pupils dilated. She launched into speech before he could retract the hand.
“Oh my god, where do I even start? That routine? Criminal. You didn’t just win—you ended careers. Your proportions are mathematically unfair. Waist-to-shoulder ratio like that should be illegal. I have clients—big clients—who would kill for a face and body like yours. I’m talking seven-figure deals, exclusive lines, billboards in Times Square. You’re not just a bodybuilder anymore. You’re a brand. A phenomenon. Let me make you filthy rich while you stay pretty.”
Danny listened, half-smirking, eyes raking over her like she was merchandise. He liked what he saw: muscular yet feminine, enthusiastic, already vibrating with the need to please him. Not a person. A tool. A servant waiting to be claimed. He could twist her around his finger so easily it was almost boring.
He stepped closer—close enough that his pecs nearly brushed her breasts—dropped his voice to velvet gravel. “You talk fast, Crystal. I like that. Means you’re hungry.” He let his gaze drop deliberately to her cleavage, then back up. “And you look like you know how to service a winner.”
She flushed but didn’t retreat. “I service winners by making them richer. Not… whatever you’re implying.”
He chuckled—low at first, then suddenly high-pitched and razor-sharp. “Oh darling, don’t play coy. We both know you’d drop to your knees faster than your lashes if I snapped. But let’s pretend we’re talking business first—keeps the little fantasy simmering, doesn’t it?” He blinked, startled by his own cadence. Where the fuck did that phrasing come from? He shook it off, returned to baritone smugness. “Tell me about these connections.”
Crystal giggled—nervous, aroused, professional all at once—and launched into her pitch. Top-tier supplement brands, activewear giants, energy-drink conglomerates. “The best part? Most of these deals are social-media heavy. Post a picture in their gear, tag them, collect six figures. Minimal time commitment. Maximum exposure. You keep your… free time.”
Danny tilted his head. “Free time is important. Maintaining all this—” he flexed one arm slowly, bicep ballooning until the peak nearly brushed his ear—“takes focus. Can’t have some nine-to-five draining my… essence.”
She bit her lip so hard he thought she’d draw blood. “I can make it so you barely lift a finger. Just look pretty. And rich.”
He could smell her arousal now—sharp, feminine, desperate. She was already half in love, half seeing dollar signs. Perfect.
He switched registers—sudden, cold business tone. “I like the sound of that. But I don’t share. If you rep me, you rep only me. No side pieces. No other pretty boys. Exclusive. Or I walk.”
Crystal’s eyes widened. “I… I have other clients. Good ones. Profitable ones.”
Danny stepped even closer, towering over her. He flexed both arms this time—slow, obscene—traps rising to kiss his ears, chest swelling until she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. “And yet here you are, drooling over me instead of them. Funny how that works.” His voice dipped again, high and cutting. “You’re not managing careers, Crystal. You’re collecting dolls. And I’m the limited-edition porcelain one that bites back. So pick: your little stable… or the god who’s about to make you rich enough to buy them all as footstools.”
He blinked again. What the actual hell was that sentence? He almost laughed at himself.
Crystal swallowed hard. Her nipples were visibly hard through the sports bra. “Okay,” she whispered. “Exclusive. Just you.”
She pulled out her phone, opened a draft contract PDF. Danny scanned it with his enhanced intellect—dozens of loopholes jumped out: vague termination clauses, hidden percentage escalators, non-compete language that could trap him later.
He tapped the screen. “I’ll have my lawyer look at this.”
“You have a lawyer?” she asked, surprised.
“I have everything now,” he said smugly. Then he leaned down, cupped her face with one massive hand, and kissed her—deep, wet, claiming. Tongue pushed past her lips; she moaned instantly, thighs clenching. When he pulled back she was panting, dazed, already ruined.
“Read the fine print carefully, Crystal,” he murmured against her mouth. “Because once you sign me… I might decide our relationship needs to get very, very personal.”
She nodded mutely, eyes glassy.
Danny straightened, flashed his most devastating boyish grin. “Send the revised version tonight. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
He turned and walked away, leaving her trembling in the aisle, contract clutched like a lifeline.
What Danny do?
1. Danny arranges to meet her later and returns to his apartment to go over the contract.
2. Danny arranges to meet her later and continues to hang out and have fun at the convention center.
She was shapely, sculpted, shameless. Tight black sports bra barely contained large, firm breasts that bounced with each confident step. Matching high-waisted leggings hugged an ass that could start wars and a six-pack so carved it looked laser-etched. A tiny diamond belly-button piercing winked above the waistband. Voluminous curly red hair cascaded over shoulders that spoke of serious lifting. She moved like she owned the floor—and she very nearly did.
She waved, huge white smile flashing. “Danny! Number 8 himself!”
He turned slowly, letting her see the full spectacle of him—bronze paint still faintly shimmering, veins like rivers over marble. She stopped in front of him, close enough that he could smell coconut oil and expensive perfume.
“Crystal Voss,” she said, extending a manicured hand. “Modeling agent. Fitness division. I rep half the pros you just humiliated on stage.”
Danny took her hand. Instead of shaking, he lifted it to his lips and pressed a slow, tender kiss to her knuckles—soft, lingering, almost courtly. The gesture surprised even him. His brows twitched. Why the hell did I do that?
Crystal didn’t flinch. If anything her pupils dilated. She launched into speech before he could retract the hand.
“Oh my god, where do I even start? That routine? Criminal. You didn’t just win—you ended careers. Your proportions are mathematically unfair. Waist-to-shoulder ratio like that should be illegal. I have clients—big clients—who would kill for a face and body like yours. I’m talking seven-figure deals, exclusive lines, billboards in Times Square. You’re not just a bodybuilder anymore. You’re a brand. A phenomenon. Let me make you filthy rich while you stay pretty.”
Danny listened, half-smirking, eyes raking over her like she was merchandise. He liked what he saw: muscular yet feminine, enthusiastic, already vibrating with the need to please him. Not a person. A tool. A servant waiting to be claimed. He could twist her around his finger so easily it was almost boring.
He stepped closer—close enough that his pecs nearly brushed her breasts—dropped his voice to velvet gravel. “You talk fast, Crystal. I like that. Means you’re hungry.” He let his gaze drop deliberately to her cleavage, then back up. “And you look like you know how to service a winner.”
She flushed but didn’t retreat. “I service winners by making them richer. Not… whatever you’re implying.”
He chuckled—low at first, then suddenly high-pitched and razor-sharp. “Oh darling, don’t play coy. We both know you’d drop to your knees faster than your lashes if I snapped. But let’s pretend we’re talking business first—keeps the little fantasy simmering, doesn’t it?” He blinked, startled by his own cadence. Where the fuck did that phrasing come from? He shook it off, returned to baritone smugness. “Tell me about these connections.”
Crystal giggled—nervous, aroused, professional all at once—and launched into her pitch. Top-tier supplement brands, activewear giants, energy-drink conglomerates. “The best part? Most of these deals are social-media heavy. Post a picture in their gear, tag them, collect six figures. Minimal time commitment. Maximum exposure. You keep your… free time.”
Danny tilted his head. “Free time is important. Maintaining all this—” he flexed one arm slowly, bicep ballooning until the peak nearly brushed his ear—“takes focus. Can’t have some nine-to-five draining my… essence.”
She bit her lip so hard he thought she’d draw blood. “I can make it so you barely lift a finger. Just look pretty. And rich.”
He could smell her arousal now—sharp, feminine, desperate. She was already half in love, half seeing dollar signs. Perfect.
He switched registers—sudden, cold business tone. “I like the sound of that. But I don’t share. If you rep me, you rep only me. No side pieces. No other pretty boys. Exclusive. Or I walk.”
Crystal’s eyes widened. “I… I have other clients. Good ones. Profitable ones.”
Danny stepped even closer, towering over her. He flexed both arms this time—slow, obscene—traps rising to kiss his ears, chest swelling until she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. “And yet here you are, drooling over me instead of them. Funny how that works.” His voice dipped again, high and cutting. “You’re not managing careers, Crystal. You’re collecting dolls. And I’m the limited-edition porcelain one that bites back. So pick: your little stable… or the god who’s about to make you rich enough to buy them all as footstools.”
He blinked again. What the actual hell was that sentence? He almost laughed at himself.
Crystal swallowed hard. Her nipples were visibly hard through the sports bra. “Okay,” she whispered. “Exclusive. Just you.”
She pulled out her phone, opened a draft contract PDF. Danny scanned it with his enhanced intellect—dozens of loopholes jumped out: vague termination clauses, hidden percentage escalators, non-compete language that could trap him later.
He tapped the screen. “I’ll have my lawyer look at this.”
“You have a lawyer?” she asked, surprised.
“I have everything now,” he said smugly. Then he leaned down, cupped her face with one massive hand, and kissed her—deep, wet, claiming. Tongue pushed past her lips; she moaned instantly, thighs clenching. When he pulled back she was panting, dazed, already ruined.
“Read the fine print carefully, Crystal,” he murmured against her mouth. “Because once you sign me… I might decide our relationship needs to get very, very personal.”
She nodded mutely, eyes glassy.
Danny straightened, flashed his most devastating boyish grin. “Send the revised version tonight. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
He turned and walked away, leaving her trembling in the aisle, contract clutched like a lifeline.
What Danny do?
1. Danny arranges to meet her later and returns to his apartment to go over the contract.
2. Danny arranges to meet her later and continues to hang out and have fun at the convention center.
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·
June 13
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