Cycling Club's Naked Milestone - Chapter 3: Chapter 3

Sophia Laurent wasn't just comfortable being sandwiched between two men—she was loving every second of it. With a playful pout, she gave one guy's chest a teasing thump. "Jessica's still here," she purred. "The three of us can play later."
I stood frozen, watching her flirt shamelessly as a disturbing realization dawned on me. When she said "play"... she couldn't possibly mean...?
Before I could finish the thought, the man Sophia called Vincent moved toward me with panther-like grace. His sculpted body was barely contained by skintight black athletic wear, every muscle defined beneath the fabric. But the way his hungry eyes raked over my body made my skin prickle with discomfort.
I dodged his reaching hand with a quick sidestep. "The ride wore me out," I lied. "I need to rest in the tent."
Sophia's lips curled in a knowing smirk. "Then you'll have to pick a tentmate. We only brought three—we drew numbers for sharing."
My face burned crimson. "Th-that's completely inappropriate—"
Her laughter cut me off. "Relax, city girl! You're bunking with me tonight." Only then did the tension leave my shoulders.
It wasn't that I was some prude—but sharing a tent with a stranger on first meeting? That crossed lines even I wasn't ready to cross.
After an unexpectedly long drive, the group set up camp with military efficiency. As we finished eating, Sophia unveiled her idea for afternoon entertainment: a relay race through mountain trails with each man cycling while carrying a woman.
Then her gaze locked onto me, a devilish grin spreading. "The top two winners get private hot spring time tonight... with two lucky ladies." Her eyebrow arched. "And when I say private, I mean birthday suit optional."
My pulse skyrocketed. Every protest died in my throat as the group cheered. Some traitorous part of me whispered: You're not really objecting, are you? Stop pretending.
My first cyclist was built like a linebacker who'd let himself go. He barely made it halfway up the first incline before waving the white flag, gasping about needing oxygen. That left Vincent—Sophia's original partner—to take over.
The man cycled like he was powered by nuclear energy, leaving the others in the dust. Perched on his bike's crossbar, pressed against his rock-hard chest, I could count each defined abdominal muscle through his shirt. Eight. Freaking. Pack.
He hit every bump and loose stone with deliberate precision, forcing me to bite my lip to stay quiet. I kept my eyes down, pretending not to notice the electricity crackling between us.
While waiting for the others at the finish line, we made strained small talk. Minutes ticked by with no sign of Sophia. Growing restless, I excused myself. "They should be here any second. Be right back."
Wandering back along the trail, I paused at a clearing to collect my thoughts. That's when movement caught my eye—a bicycle rolling down a side path. Sophia and her partner.
My stomach dropped. This wasn't the race route. They weren't racing at all—just casually pedaling while facing each other in a way that made my face flush all over again.