Breakdown Ch. 05-12

CHAPTER FIVE: The Unmasking

Part I - James

"You don't dress like a metalhead."

Morrigan's voice cut through the alley like a flick of a knife--quiet, smooth, deliberate.

James glanced over at her, unsure if it was a challenge or a statement of fact. Maybe both.

"No," he said. "I guess I don't."

She took a drag, eyes never leaving him.

"You don't look like one either."

He exhaled slowly, letting the words settle instead of scrambling to defend himself. This wasn't some drunk stranger at a bar. This was her.

And he wanted to answer her.

"I used to think about it a lot," he said. "About how I should look, what I should wear. Thought maybe if I wore the right shit, people would take me seriously."

Morrigan didn't say a word. Just watched, smoke curling around her like a veil.

"But I never went all in," he admitted. "Never dyed my hair. Never pierced anything. No tattoos. No spikes. No band shirts plastered all over me."

She raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"

James leaned back against the wall, the chill of the brick soaking through his jacket.

"I didn't want to be labeled," he said. "Didn't want to be the guy people looked at and thought, oh, he must be angry, he must be broken, he must be one of them."

He let out a humorless laugh.

"I already felt like an outsider. I didn't want to look like one too."

He paused, thumb rubbing the edge of his lighter.

"And my job doesn't exactly make it easy to show up in a battle vest and boots."

Morrigan flicked ash to the ground. "What do you do?"

He glanced at her, then back out at the alley wall.

"I'm a junior partner at a law firm."

She raised an eyebrow, just slightly.

"That's... unexpected."

He shrugged, downplaying it. "Clean-cut pays the bills."

She was impressed. She didn't say it--but he could see it in the way her eyes narrowed, just for a second. The tiniest flicker of surprise before her face settled back into that unreadable smirk.

"So I stayed quiet," James continued. "Kept the music in my headphones. Kept it to myself. Let people think I was just some average guy. Easier that way."

He looked over at her, half-expecting a smirk. A jab. A joke.

But she was still. Listening.

And that made it easier to go on.

"It was like--if I didn't look the part, maybe I wouldn't be treated like the stereotype," he said. "You know? The burnout. The weirdo. The freak. I didn't want to be stared at. I didn't want to be laughed at behind my back."

She nodded once. Not in pity. Not in approval. Just noted.

James swallowed. "But eventually, I started to feel like I was hiding something that mattered to me. Something that made me feel alive. And I hated that more than being judged."

Another pause.

Morrigan crushed her cigarette under her heel with a slow twist, then pulled out another. Lit it in silence.

He didn't interrupt her.

She took a long drag, exhaled, then asked, "So why now?"

James tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

"Why this show? Why tonight?"

He didn't answer right away. Just stared at the end of her cigarette, watching the ember flare and dim like a heartbeat.

"Because I was tired of being invisible," he said finally. "And I was hoping maybe someone else would see me."

She looked at him again, and this time the silence felt heavier. Measured.

And then, finally:

"I see you."

Three words.

That was all she gave.

But to James, it felt like everything.

Part II -- Morrigan

She'd seen the vest when he walked in.

Worn denim. Black. Faded patches, rough stitches. Not a poser's piece. A real one--used, lived-in. That vest didn't scream for attention. It meant something.

So when she told him he didn't look like a metalhead, it wasn't a lie.

It was a test.

Because yeah, he had the vest. But everything else? Neatly cut hair. Clean face. No ink. No chains. He wore it all quiet, like armor turned inward. Like he didn't want anyone to ask why he wore it in the first place.

That intrigued her.

So she asked.

And he gave her more than most ever did.

He didn't flinch. Didn't deflect. Just talked.

"I didn't want to be labeled," he said. "Didn't want to be the guy people looked at and thought, oh, he must be angry, he must be broken, he must be one of them."

Morrigan exhaled a slow stream of smoke, watching it drift into the alley air. His words hit harder than she expected.

"I already felt like an outsider," he continued. "I didn't want to look like one too."

That one dug in. She didn't flinch, but it rattled something in her chest anyway.

"And my job doesn't exactly make it easy to show up in a battle vest and boots."

She glanced at him, tone casual. "What do you do?"

He hesitated--barely--but then answered.

"I'm a junior partner at a law firm."

Morrigan blinked once, letting that settle.

A fucking lawyer?

She didn't let it show. Just took another drag like it was nothing.

But it wasn't nothing.

It was impressive. Not the title--she didn't give a shit about that--but the way he said it. No ego. No brag. Just truth.

A guy like him, with that body and that face, and he had a brain too?

She should've felt threatened.

Instead, she felt her thighs press together.

"Unexpected," she said lightly, flicking ash toward the curb.

He shrugged like it didn't mean much. "Clean-cut pays the bills."

She didn't laugh, didn't compliment him. But inside, her mind was spinning--rewriting the assumptions she'd made about him the second she saw the boots and vest.

A lawyer.

And not some smug, cocky prick about it, either.

Just... real.

He wasn't telling her this to impress her. He wasn't flexing or fishing.

He was just peeling something back.

That was rare.

And a little dangerous.

She listened as he talked about keeping the music tucked close, not flaunted. About keeping his love for the scene private because it felt sacred, not performative.

He didn't want to prove he belonged.

He just wanted to feel like he did.

And then he said it.

"I was hoping someone else would see me."

Morrigan blinked. Slow. Controlled. But inside, something shifted.

Recognition. Unwelcome. Sharp.

She didn't like that feeling.

She'd built herself to be unseen unless she wanted to be. She knew how to take attention, to own it, bend it, crush it if necessary--but this?

This was someone offering it.

Quietly. Earnestly.

And the worst part?

She understood it.

More than she wanted to admit.

She smoked slower. Focused on the taste, the burn. Anything to keep her grounded while her pulse clawed its way a little higher.

She could've left it there.

Could've said nothing, flicked the conversation away like ash.

But she didn't.

"I see you."

The words came out level. Smooth. But she felt them hit like a fist to the ribs.

James turned to look at her. She didn't meet his gaze.

Couldn't. Not right away.

She was always the one who looked. Who saw. Who chose.

Letting him feel seen--genuinely--wasn't something she did.

But she had.

And that scared her more than it should have.

She pulled a drag, slower this time. Exhaled like it meant nothing.

But inside?

She hated how true it had felt.

Not because she regretted saying it.

But because she knew it meant something.

Because Morrigan didn't give pieces of herself.

She took.

But right now, standing in this grimy alley with smoke in her lungs and truth bleeding out of her mouth, she knew she'd just given him a piece anyway.

And maybe... maybe she wasn't sure she wanted it back.

CHAPTER SIX: Pressure and Pulse

Part I -- James

James didn't know how close two people could stand without touching before the tension became a living thing.

But this had to be it.

The alley was cold, but he barely felt it. Every nerve in his body was lit up, skin prickling under his jacket like she'd already run her hands over him--even though she hadn't.

Not even once.

She'd said she saw him.

And now she was waiting.

Testing him.

He watched the way she smoked, slow and lazy, like the cigarette was just an excuse to have something between her lips. Her eyes never left him. Not entirely. They drifted, sure--but always came back. Tracking. Studying.

It wasn't just attraction.

It was sizing up prey.

James didn't shrink from it.

He leaned into it.

"So," he said, keeping his voice low, steady, "is this usually how it goes?"

Morrigan cocked a brow. "How what goes?"

"You find a guy. Stare through his skull. Peel him open in a back alley. Then disappear before he figures out if he's being seduced or interrogated."

A slow smile crept across her lips.

"Who says it can't be both?"

His throat went dry, but he didn't let it show.

"You planning to disappear?"

"Maybe."

"You always this cruel?"

Her smirk deepened. "You always this slow?"

The breath caught in his chest.

He stepped forward--not close enough to close the gap, but enough to feel the air shift between them. Her eyes tracked him like crosshairs. She didn't step back. Didn't even blink.

He swallowed.

"What do you want from me?"

She tilted her head like a curious animal. "That's the wrong question."

"Yeah?" he asked. "What's the right one?"

She took another drag. Exhaled through her nose. "What do you want from me?"

James held her gaze, pulse pounding.

"I think," he said, voice barely audible, "I want to know how long you can keep this up."

"Keep what up?" she asked, lips curved just slightly.

"This. The teasing. The heat. The way you circle like you're going to pounce--but don't."

She blew smoke out the side of her mouth. "You think I'm teasing?"

"I think," he said, stepping just slightly closer, "you know exactly what you're doing."

She didn't respond right away.

And then--she laughed.

Low. Dark. Delicious.

"Oh, James," she murmured. "You have no idea."

She leaned in--not touching, not even brushing--but close enough for him to feel the warmth of her breath on his cheek.

And then she whispered:

"I'm not circling."

His breath hitched.

"I'm watching."

Another beat.

"And when I decide to take something, I don't ask."

Then she leaned back, cool as ever, like she hadn't just melted him where he stood.

James exhaled through his nose, heart trying to punch through his ribs.

"Then what are you waiting for?" he asked.

Her grin was wicked. "For you to beg."

He chuckled, heat pulsing low in his gut.

"That's never gonna happen."

"Mm," she hummed, finishing her cigarette and flicking the butt to the concrete. "We'll see."

The tension didn't drop.

It tightened.

James stayed where he was, the space between them thinner than breath. The only thing louder than the silence was the drumbeat of his own pulse.

She didn't move.

Neither did he.

But everything in him wanted to.

And maybe--just maybe--that's exactly what she wanted too.

Part II -- Morrion of his jaw where his mouth wanted to move but digan

He was cracking.

Not breaking. Not shattering. Cracking--just enough to let the heat pour through.

Morrigan could see it in the way James stood. That perfect stillness that came not from calm,

but from restraint. From the pressure building behind his eyes, in his chest, in the low tensidn't dare without purpose.

He didn't touch her.

Smart.

Because if he had, she wasn't sure whether she'd slap him... or pull him closer.

And that uncertainty?

That was the real thrill.

He'd started to get bold. Asking questions. Tossing challenges like matches, trying to see which one would light her up. She admired that. Most men folded under her stare. He was standing taller, even as she peeled him apart.

"So," he'd said, cool and curious, "is this how it usually goes?"

Morrigan had let him dance through the rest of the words. The flirting. The challenge. She didn't interrupt. She let the rope unspool.

And then she tugged.

Who says it can't be both?

That was when he leaned in.

Just a little.

But she felt it.

He didn't get too close. Still no touch. Not a single finger, not a brush of fabric. But she could feel the shift in the air between them. Like a current humming between two wires, vibrating just shy of a spark.

He asked what she wanted.

Wrong question.

She flipped it. And his answer?

Exactly what she'd hoped for.

"I think I want to know how long you can keep this up."

She could've laughed right there, but she didn't.

Instead, she fed it back to him in doses--heat coiled behind careful words.

"You think I'm teasing?"

She wasn't.

She was hunting.

Morrigan moved in, just enough for her breath to kiss his skin, and whispered the truth. That she wasn't circling.

She was watching.

And when she wanted something?

She took it.

Always had.

Always would.

But him?

James was different.

She didn't know what exactly had made her hold back. Maybe the look in his eyes--equal parts fire and ache. Maybe the way he carried himself--this quiet strength layered over a boy who didn't yet know how much power he actually had.

Or maybe it was the way he didn't beg.

Not yet.

But God, she could taste how close he was.

She told him as much.

Said she was waiting for it. Watching him wind tighter, his breath coming shallow, his hands still buried in his jacket pockets like they were the only thing keeping him from unraveling.

And then he'd said:

"That's never gonna happen."

It almost made her laugh.

So she said, "We'll see."

And they stood there in the alley. Silent. Frozen. And yet--

Boiling.

Every second ticked by like a drop of hot wax sliding down skin. The urge to move. To touch. To claim something already within reach--it was all there. Thick in the air. Tangling between them like smoke.

She didn't move.

He didn't either.

But she saw the flicker in his eyes.

The flash of what he wanted.

And what he was holding back.

It was intoxicating.

So she let it hang.

She didn't chase. She didn't offer.

She just was.

And if he wanted more?

He'd have to survive the burn.

HAPTER SEVEN: Strike the Match

Part I -- James

He wasn't ready for her to move.

He'd grown used to her stillness--coiled, calculating, always in control. But when Morrigan pushed off the wall, her boot echoing sharp against the concrete, everything inside James froze.

She didn't say a word.

She just moved.

Fast.

The next thing he knew, his back was slammed against the brick, hard enough to punch the breath out of him. The impact was rough--jarring--but not cruel. It wasn't violence. It was possession.

Her hands were flat against his chest, pinning him in place. Her body pressed to his, curves molding to muscle, her breath hot on his face. Their lips were inches apart. Closer than ever. Almost enough to feel.

His hands tensed at his sides. He didn't move them. Didn't try to touch her. Not without permission.

Her eyes burned into his.

"You've got this quiet thing going on," she murmured, voice low and dark, "like you're just standing there, letting me take the lead."

James swallowed.

"But I can feel it, James."

Her hips pressed in just slightly, just enough to make his legs tremble.

"That tension. That heat. You're shaking with it, aren't you?"

He exhaled sharply. "You're not exactly helping."

She grinned--feral, hungry.

"Good."

One hand slid upward, knuckles grazing his collarbone through his shirt before settling just beneath his throat, fingers splayed wide like she could feel his pulse without even touching bare skin.

"You like this?" she whispered.

James met her eyes. "You know I do."

"Then why haven't you touched me?"

His breath hitched. "Because I think if I do, I won't stop."

Her smile twisted into something wicked.

"You say that like it's a threat."

He didn't respond. Couldn't. Every part of him was locked up. Breathing hurt. Thinking was impossible. She was everywhere. Her body crushed against his. Her scent--smoke, leather, Morrigan--filled his head. Her voice, her presence, her heat.

She leaned in closer, her lips brushing the corner of his mouth--not a kiss, not even contact, just a promise.

"You want to be a good boy, James?" she whispered.

His knees nearly buckled.

"Y-yeah."

"Then stay right there. Don't. Move."

She leaned back just an inch, eyes scanning his face like she was drinking in every second of his unraveling.

"You're so close to breaking," she murmured. "I can taste it."

And then he did.

Not with words. Not with touch. Just a shudder. A deep, guttural exhale that came from somewhere he hadn't reached in years. It escaped him before he could stop it.

That was his crack.

That was the moment he gave in.

Morrigan smiled--slow and sharp like a knife sliding from its sheath.

"There it is," she said. "That's what I wanted."

And just like that--

She stepped back.

The absence of her body hit him like cold water. His spine still throbbed from the wall. His chest heaved with unspent heat. But she was already turning, already walking away.

And then--

BOOM.

The wall behind him shook with the opening riff of the headline act. The music surged, loud and wild, as the crowd inside roared to life.

Morrigan looked over her shoulder one last time, eyes glinting under the dim alley light.

"Time to go," she said, calm as ever.

Then she slipped inside, disappearing into the dark.

James stayed pinned to the wall by nothing but memory.

Still burning.

Still aching.

And knowing one thing for certain:

She had him.

Part II - Morrigan

He wasn't ready when she moved.

That made it better.

Morrigan pushed off the wall without warning. Her boots struck the pavement hard and fast as she closed the distance between them, and before he could react, she slammed him against the brick. Full force. Spine to stone. Her palms flattened on his chest, and she felt the jolt shoot through him on impact.

He didn't resist.

Didn't speak.

Didn't breathe for a second.

Perfect.

She pressed into him--body to body, flush and hot, her mouth a breath away from his. Their faces aligned like magnets on the edge of snap. And still, she didn't touch more than she had to.

But God, she could feel him.

He was so tense. Held together with pride and control and that sweet, trembling restraint he didn't even realize he wore like armor.

Her voice came low. Dark. Designed to ruin.

"You've got this quiet thing going on," she murmured, watching every twitch in his jaw, "like you're just standing there, letting me take the lead."

His pulse jumped against her hand.

"But I can feel it, James."

She shifted her hips just enough to brush his.

"That tension. That heat. You're shaking with it, aren't you?"

He exhaled, sharp and involuntary. Good.

"You're not exactly helping," he muttered.

She grinned. Slow. Feral.

"Good."

Her hand slid up--deliberate, slow--knuckles grazing over fabric until her fingers rested just below his throat. Not choking. Not holding.

Just claiming.

"You like this?" she asked, knowing the answer.

His eyes locked on hers. "You know I do."

"Then why haven't you touched me?"

His breath hitched. That one got him.

"Because I think if I do, I won't stop."

She licked her lips. Oh, she loved that answer.

"You say that like it's a threat."

She watched him lock down every urge in his body. He was holding back so hard she could taste it in the air between them.

So she leaned in--closer than she had any right to--her mouth hovering near his, not touching,

not kissing, just taunting.

"You want to be a good boy, James?"

That nearly broke him.

"Y-yeah."

"Then stay right there. Don't. Move."

And he didn't.

His chest rose and fell like a tide he couldn't control. His jaw clenched. His hands stayed at his sides like they were bound there.

He was cracking.

Beautifully.

"You're so close to breaking," she whispered. "I can taste it."

And then he did.

Just slightly.

A breath.

A shudder.

A sound that came from somewhere deep--honest, raw, and unguarded.

Her smile widened into something dangerous.

"There it is," she said. "That's what I wanted."

And then--

She stepped back.

Clean. Sharp. Like she'd never touched him at all.

And just as she did--

BOOM.

The wall behind him vibrated with the opening riff of the headline act. The sound hit them both like thunder.

She turned toward the noise, already moving.

But before she reached the door, she looked back.

James was still there.

Back against the brick, chest heaving, eyes locked on her like she was gravity and he'd just started falling.

She held his gaze.

Let him sit in it.

Then tossed him the last hook with a casual grin:

"Time to go."

And she was gone.

Not in retreat.

In triumph.

Because Morrigan didn't kiss him.

Didn't undress him.

Didn't need to.

She'd pinned him with nothing but force, breath, and timing.

And now?

She had him--right where she wanted him.

CHAPTER EIGHT: Into The Fire

Part I -- James

James didn't move right away.

Not because he couldn't--but because he didn't know how.

The cold from the brick wall behind him was finally creeping in, but his skin still burned where she'd pinned him. His chest still buzzed from the weight of her hands. And his brain? It was useless. Nothing up there but white noise and the memory of Morrigan's breath at the edge of his mouth.

She hadn't kissed him.

Hadn't needed to.

Whatever that was--whatever she'd just done to him--it had short-circuited something in his head and left the rest of him humming with leftover voltage.

He finally pushed off the wall, slow and steady, and took a breath like he'd just come up from underwater. The music behind the door shook through the alley floor like a war drum.

The headliner was on.

He stepped back into the venue--and the sound slammed into him.

The room had changed. The crowd was a single roaring body now--sweat, denim, beer, black makeup streaked with heat. Lights flashed in stuttered bursts, turning everything into a jagged dream.

And then he saw her.

Morrigan.

Dead center of the storm.

Her black corset top clung to her like it was stitched onto her skin--tight and unforgiving, breasts pushed high and full against the leather. Her waist curved down into short, ripped black shorts, just long enough to tease, just short enough to ruin his focus. Fishnets wrapped around thick, strong thighs like a second skin, held up by straps that gripped just beneath her hips. And those boots--tall, heavy, laced tight to her knees--stomped in time with the drums like she was daring the floor to crack under her.

She wasn't dancing.

She was moving like the music owed her something.

Her tits bounced with every headbang, the corset containing them just enough to be cruel. Her ass rolled in time with the rhythm, shorts riding up higher with each twist of her hips, and he couldn't not look. Couldn't pretend not to want.

She didn't move like someone trying to be sexy.

She moved like someone who knew she already was.

The crowd gave her space--without knowing why. She didn't push. She didn't posture. But people moved for her. Around her. Like her body sent signals without needing volume.

And James just... watched.

He didn't rush toward her.

Didn't call her name.

He stood on the edge, blinking through strobe and sweat, trying to piece together how the hell one woman had managed to completely hijack every sense in his body.

Then--she turned.

Just for a second.

Her eyes cut through the lights and locked onto him like a sniper shot. Not a flirt. Not an invitation.

Just that same look from the alley.

You're still mine.

And then she turned back around, head whipping with the next breakdown, hair wild and sticking to her damp shoulders.

James's mouth was dry.

His fists clenched at his sides, his thighs tight, his chest still burning from the memory of her pinning him like she owned gravity.

He wasn't confused anymore.

He wasn't just wrecked.

He was ready.

Not to beg.

Not to wait.

But to match her.

If she wanted fire?

He'd walk into it bare-chested and grinning.

And Morrigan?

She'd love that.

Part II -- Morrigan

She was buzzing.

Not from the music. Not from the pit. Not even from the rush of throwing herself into the heart of the crowd.

It was him.

James.

Still fresh in her mouth like a taste she hadn't swallowed. Still clinging to her hands like heat under her skin. His face, his breath, the way his body had gone tight against the wall when she pressed in and whispered, Don't move.

Morrigan grinned as she moved through the pit, the music pounding around her like thunder. Her boots crashed against the concrete. Her corset dug deliciously into her ribs with every twist of her hips. Her thighs burned with effort and tension and want.

She felt feral.

And behind her?

She could feel him.

Not touching. Not even close.

But watching.

Eyes locked on her like his gaze had weight.

Good.

She wanted him wired. Desperate. Frustrated.

She wanted him picturing everything she wasn't letting him have yet.

Her hair clung to her shoulders, damp with sweat, wild from headbanging. Her tits strained against the top of her corset, rising and falling with every breath. The air between her thighs was hot and slick, fishnets rubbing rough against flushed skin.

And all she could think about was pinning him again.

This time harder.

She wanted to straddle his lap, her thighs squeezing his hips as she ground down slow. She wanted to feel him hard beneath her and deny him everything. Tease him until he was begging--but not for permission.

No.

For relief.

She wanted to drag her nails down his chest, mark him with her mouth, leave bruises in the shape of want. She wanted to hear his breath catch when she bit his lip just to feel the shudder in his spine.

God, she wanted to unzip his restraint and watch it come undone all over her tongue.

But more than that?

She wanted him to snap.

Not in rage.

In surrender to lust.

Not because she forced him--but because he couldn't hold it anymore. Because she'd broken down the man, not the will.

Because he wanted to give in.

Not submit.

Give to her.

That was what excited her most. Not power. Not control.

But the knowing.

Knowing that she was the one who got under his skin.

That every other woman he'd met had only ever scratched the surface--and she'd gone deeper.

She turned once, in the chaos, and there he was.

Still on the edge of the crowd.

Jaw tight.

Eyes fixed.

Chest rising and falling like he was trying to calm a storm with breath alone.

And that look--

Not weak.

Not worshipful.

But lit with need.

Morrigan almost stopped dancing.

Almost went to him right then and there.

Almost pulled him by the front of his shirt into the shadows and ruined him until his legs gave out.

But not yet.

She smirked, turned back to the music, and rolled her hips with a little more purpose.

Let him see the bounce of her ass, the stretch of fishnet biting into the flesh just below the hem of her shorts. Let him watch the curve of her waist as her arms lifted, body swaying like a metronome set to destroy.

Let him ache.

Because tonight wasn't about fucking.

It was about undoing.

And James?

He wasn't undone yet.

But he would be.

Morrigan danced harder, throat dry, mind filthy.

And in the heat and noise, surrounded by strangers and screams and sweat, she smiled like a predator in the middle of the hunt--

Because he'd already let her in.

And soon?

She'd take everything.

CHAPTER NINE: Closer

Part I -- James

He didn't see her coming.

One second, James was in the chaos--lights flashing, bodies colliding, heat pressing in on all sides--and the next?

She was against him.

Morrigan.

She didn't slide into view. She slammed into it--back first, right into his chest, ass grinding into his hips with the kind of confidence that said she didn't care who was watching.

And James?

He forgot how to think.

His hands hovered for half a breath before he gave in, grabbing her hips on instinct--tight, firm, barely keeping himself in check. Her body was solid against his. Full curves, soft in all the right places, and pressed so perfectly to his front that he felt her through every inch of him.

And she knew.

God, she knew.

The rhythm of the song pounded in his chest, and Morrigan started to move--slow at first. A lazy grind, her hips circling, ass rolling up into him with practiced cruelty. His fingers dug into her waist before he even realized.

She rolled her head back against his shoulder, hair clinging to the sweat on her neck. He felt the heat of her skin through the thin fabric of her corset and caught the faintest scent of smoke and leather and something hotter underneath.

James's breath hitched.

His cock was rock fucking hard.

No warning. No control. Just instant, throbbing need. Pressed against her, twitching with every shift of her hips.

And she felt it.

Of course she felt it.

She grinded harder.

His grip tightened.

"Fuck," he muttered against the side of her face, barely audible over the guitars.

Morrigan tilted her head, lips brushing against the shell of his ear as she leaned in, breath heavy and intentional.

"You want me to ride you like this?" she whispered. "Right here in front of everyone?"

James's knees almost gave out.

She kept going.

"You want me to straddle you, make you lose that quiet composure? Feel how wet I am while you try to keep your voice down?"

He shuddered.

Didn't answer.

Couldn't.

Her breath was fire down his neck.

"I'll get on top," she whispered. "Knees tight around your hips, tits in your face, bouncing while I grind you into the bed--slow at first, just like this. Just to watch you lose your fucking mind."

James squeezed her hips harder. He didn't pull her closer--couldn't. They were already pressed together like they were clothed skin-on-skin. His heart slammed against his ribs. His cock throbbed, trapped between his jeans and her ass, painfully hard now.

She dropped lower in the grind, bent her knees just slightly, rubbing against the length of him like she'd measured it in her mind.

"You're hard for me already," she said, not a question.

He grunted--half groan, half breath. His teeth clenched. His jaw ached. His brain was a mess of flashing lights and dirty thoughts and the feel of her.

Morrigan didn't stop moving.

Didn't let up.

"You're gonna dream about this," she murmured. "About how I didn't fuck you. How I just made you ache."

Her hand slid back, fingers brushing down the front of his thigh--so close to his bulge, but not touching it.

James let out a sound that wasn't a word. Just need.

Morrigan grinned. He could feel it.

Then she pulled forward, peeled herself away from his front like it cost her nothing, and disappeared into the crowd again--leaving him panting, aching, still hard, and completely fucked.

And still...

Desperate for more.

Part II -- Morrigan

She felt him the second her back hit his chest.

Perfect.

James froze--just for a heartbeat--but his hands were on her hips before she could count to two. Strong grip. Hesitant tension. He wasn't pulling her in.

He was holding on.

Morrigan smiled as she started to move. Slow. Deliberate. A steady roll of her hips that dragged her ass against his jeans like she had all the time in the world to undo him.

And oh, she was going to undo him.

She'd danced in pits before. She'd teased men, taunted them, driven them wild. But this wasn't about proving power.

This was about play.

About watching James try to keep himself together while she whispered everything she wanted to do to him.

And he was already so damn close.

She rolled her ass into him again--harder this time--and felt it.

The heat. The pressure. The hard length pressed tight beneath his jeans.

There it is.

She nearly moaned at the feel of it--thick, straining, rock solid against her. He didn't try to hide it. Didn't shift or apologize. He just gripped her harder like that would help.

It wouldn't.

She tilted her head back against his shoulder, sweat sticking to her neck, her chest rising against the leather cage of her corset. She didn't even try to speak at first--she just listened. To his breathing. To the tiny, almost sounds he was trying not to let escape.

And then she leaned in.

Her lips hovered just above his ear, and she let her breath brush against him like the first kiss she still hadn't given him.

"You want me to ride you like this?" she whispered. "Right here, in front of everyone?"

She felt his stomach tense behind her, and it made her wet instantly.

Not because he submitted.

Because he wanted it.

She dragged her ass in a deeper circle and imagined what it would feel like to straddle him for real. The way he'd groan when she took him in. The way he'd try to stay quiet while her hips bounced against his thighs, riding him slow until he begged for her to go faster.

"You want me to straddle you," she purred, "make you lose that composure? Feel how wet I am while you try to keep your voice down?"

He didn't answer.

Didn't have to.

She felt the answer in the way his cock twitched against her ass.

"You'll be lying there," she whispered, "barely holding it together, while I keep you right on the edge."

Her heart was pounding. Her thighs were slick beneath her shorts. Her own need was starting to pulse through her core like the beat of the bass.

She bent her knees and dropped lower, grinding up against him with just enough force to feel every inch of him shift into place.

He was fucking huge.

And hard as a weapon.

And hers.

"You're hard for me already," she said, not because she needed confirmation--but because he needed to hear it.

Because nothing would ruin him faster than knowing she knew.

His breath hitched like he was breaking.

She almost touched him.

Almost let her hand slip up between them to give him a taste of release.

But not yet.

Not fucking yet.

"You're gonna dream about this," she whispered, eyes half-lidded, "about how I didn't fuck you. How I just made you ache."

She reached back, fingers brushing down the front of his thigh--so close to the bulge straining beneath his jeans--but stopped short. Just a taste.

He made a sound that made her clench.

And then she left him.

Pulled forward. Walked away. Vanished into the pit like he was just one more body in the dark.

But she knew better.

He wasn't lost in the crowd.

He was hers.

And tonight, she'd given him just enough to keep him hard for hours--and aching for more.

CHAPTER TEN: Burn All The Edges

Part I -- James

The music was still pounding, but James wasn't hearing it anymore.

Not properly.

Not since Morrigan vanished into the crowd again, hips swaying like a goddamn threat, leaving him hard, shaking, and breathing fire through his teeth.

He tried to focus. He tried to fall back into the music like it would save him from the high she'd dragged him into--but nothing worked.

She'd rubbed against him like she was claiming territory, whispered filth into his ear, then disappeared like it was nothing.

Except it wasn't nothing.

Not to him.

And not to her.

He could tell by the way she'd looked over her shoulder before slipping back into the pit. The way she knew exactly what she was doing and did it anyway.

She wanted to push him.

So he pushed back.

James shoved his way through the crowd, body buzzing with leftover friction, and hit the back doors without really thinking. Cold night air rushed over his face like a slap, and for a second, it cleared his head.

Then he saw her.

Morrigan.

Leaning against the same brick wall where it had all started. One boot up, cigarette glowing between her fingers.

And someone else standing too close.

Some guy--too skinny, too loud--laughing at something she hadn't said. Leaning in like he knew her. Blocking her view. Talking with his hands. Flashing the kind of smirk James wanted to break.

She didn't look impressed.

She looked annoyed.

But she wasn't walking away.

Not yet.

James moved before he could think better of it. His jaw tight. His fists clenched. That possessive snap inside him already lit.

Not because she belonged to him.

But because no one got to crowd her like that and smile like it meant something.

As he got closer, he heard the guy say, "Come on, sweetheart. You don't gotta play hard to get--"

James stepped between them.

Didn't say a word at first. Just planted himself right there, shoulder to the guy's chest, blocking his view.

The guy blinked. "Uh, what the fuck--?"

"She said no," James said, voice low and flat. "So fuck off."

The guy looked him up and down, tried to puff himself up--but something in James's face made him stop. Maybe it was the clenched jaw. Maybe it was the fact that James wasn't angry.

He was done.

The guy grumbled something under his breath and backed off with hands raised.

James didn't look away until he was gone.

Then, finally, he turned to her.

Morrigan was staring at him.

Not smiling. Not teasing.

Watching.

"You jealous?" she asked, flicking ash to the pavement.

James took a breath. "No."

She raised an eyebrow.

He stepped in, close--close enough for her scent to hit him all over again, smoke and sweat and want.

"I'm not jealous," he said. "I just don't like watching someone treat you like a thing to chase."

Morrigan's lips parted slightly. That was when the smile came--sharp, slow, dangerous.

And then she grabbed him.

Fist in the collar of his shirt, dragging him backward into the shadows behind the dumpster enclosure. Dark. Quiet. Hidden from the door.

She shoved him against the brick--not hard, but enough to make his pulse trip.

Then she kissed him.

Finally.

Her mouth crashed into his like it owed her something. Tongue pushing past his lips, hands already tugging at his waistband, pressing her hips against his like she couldn't stand not feeling him fully.

James groaned into her mouth.

His hands went to her ass--firm, full, tight in that skirt. He squeezed hard, grinding her into him like he couldn't get enough.

Because he couldn't.

Her hand slipped down, palming his cock through his jeans, stroking once--just once--before popping the button.

"You've been hard since I left you," she whispered, biting his bottom lip.

"Fuck yes," he growled.

She shoved her hand inside his pants, fingers wrapping around his length with a low hum.

"You're lucky I like you desperate."

James dropped one hand to her thigh, slipping beneath the hem of her shorts and finding her soaked through the fishnets.

"Jesus, you're wet," he muttered.

"For you."

They kissed again, rougher now--teeth, tongue, hands under clothes. He rubbed slow circles over her clit through the mesh while she stroked him, their hips grinding in rhythm against the wall, breaths ragged, moans caught behind clenched teeth.

Not sex.

Not yet.

But fucking close.

She stroked faster. He pressed harder.

And when she pulled back to look at him, her eyes were wild.

"You gonna come in my hand like a good boy?" she teased.

James growled, grabbed her jaw, and kissed her harder than before--like he was telling her no, like he was matching her, meeting her pressure with his own.

When they finally broke, gasping, his voice came rough.

"Only if you come first."

She grinned like he'd passed some final test.

Then she whispered:

"Deal."

Part II -- Morrigan

She needed a smoke.

Not for the nicotine. Not for the burn in her lungs. Just the ritual of it--something to focus on, something to do with her hands while her brain refused to come down.

James had fucked with her balance.

He wasn't supposed to get under her skin like this. He wasn't supposed to stay in her bloodstream long after she walked away. But here she was, leaning against the wall, cigarette between her fingers, thighs aching and mouth still tingling from all the filthy things she hadn't yet let herself do.

And then came the asshole.

Too close. Too loud. Too eager. His laugh grated down her spine like sandpaper, his confidence so forced she could hear the creak behind it.

She didn't want to deal with him.

Didn't want to speak.

Didn't want anyone but James.

But she held still, watching the alley door, waiting for him. She knew he'd come.

When she saw the shape of him push out into the cold, saw his eyes lock onto hers--and then drop to the guy standing beside her--something hot bloomed low in her belly.

Jealousy looked good on him.

He walked up without flinching, shouldered his way between them, and stood there--all bulk and fire and clenched fists. Not possessive. Not posturing. Just present. As if to say, She doesn't need help. But I'm here anyway.

She loved that.

Loved the way the other guy backed off, all noise and no weight.

And then James turned to her.

Tense. Smoldering. Barely keeping his cool.

"You jealous?" she asked, flicking ash to the pavement just to keep her hands busy.

"No," he said.

But his eyes said everything else.

He stepped in close, heat radiating off him like he was still lit from inside.

"I'm not jealous," he said again, voice low. "I just don't like watching someone treat you like a thing to chase."

That did it.

The switch flipped.

She didn't say a word. Didn't let the moment cool.

She grabbed his shirt and yanked him toward the shadows--fast, rough, needing contact. Dragged him behind the dumpster enclosure where no one could see, where the dark was thick and the world dropped away.

Then she shoved him against the wall.

Hard.

His breath hitched--and she took his mouth.

Finally.

Her lips crushed into his like punishment and relief all at once. He responded instantly--tongue tangling with hers, teeth grazing lips, breath already ragged.

Her body slammed into his, corset biting into her ribs, leather tight over flushed skin. She pressed her hips to his, grinding hard, and yes--he was still hard for her. So fucking hard.

She bit his lip and pulled back. "You've been hard since I left you."

"Fuck yes," he growled.

Good.

She popped the button on his jeans without hesitation, her hand slipping beneath the waistband--hot, thick, heavy in her grip.

God, he felt better than she expected. Her fingers curled around him, and he moaned into her neck as she started to stroke.

Not slow.

Not gentle.

Hungry.

"You're lucky I like you desperate," she breathed, voice low and sharp.

He responded by grabbing her ass--hard--lifting slightly as he pressed her into him, grinding back with just enough force to make her gasp.

Fuck.

She hadn't expected that.

Her pulse jumped. Her panties were soaked. The rough drag of fishnet against her folds made her hips buck into his thigh. His hand slipped beneath the fabric, fingers grazing skin and finding her already dripping.

"Jesus, you're wet," he muttered.

"For you," she snapped, lips brushing his jaw.

She kissed him again, messier now--tongue deep, her body grinding, pushing, taking.

And then he slipped two fingers through her folds, rubbing her clit with practiced pressure--and she moaned.

A real one.

Deep and uncontrolled.

"Fuck," she hissed. "Don't stop."

He didn't.

He circled harder, faster, and her hand jerked up the length of his cock in time, matching rhythm, building fire between them like they were trying to burn each other alive with friction alone.

Their mouths met again--sloppy, biting, bruising.

His other hand slid up her back, gripping the laces of her corset like he might pull them loose, but didn't. She wouldn't let him--not yet.

She pulled back, panting, forehead against his.

"You gonna come in my hand like a good boy?"

His growl was a fucking threat.

He grabbed her jaw and kissed her so hard it made her knees shake.

When he broke away, his voice was gravel.

"Only if you come first."

Morrigan's whole body lit up at that.

She stroked faster. He pressed harder. Her breath caught.

She was close.

Too close.

And she loved it.

Because for all the games they'd played, for all the teasing and torment and restraint--

This was honest.

No lies.

No roles.

Just fire, touch, and need.

And Morrigan?

She wasn't letting go first.

Not yet.

Not until she dragged him right to the edge with her.

And then?

Then she'd break him.

CHAPER ELEVEN: Denial

Part I -- James

He was going to come.

There was no stopping it. No slowing it down. Morrigan's hand was working him with firm, wet strokes, just rough enough to keep his hips jerking into her touch, just slow enough to keep him right on the brink. Her breath was in his ear, her body pressed to his, the grind of her hips against his thigh sending little pulses of electricity up his spine.

James was sweating.

Shaking.

His fingers were buried under the edge of her shorts, fishnets pulled aside, two of them still working her in slow, deep circles. She was soaked. Dripping. Every time she rolled her hips forward and clenched around his fingers, he could feel her getting closer too. Her breath was ragged. Her moans were low and dangerous, like she was trying to keep control and didn't care if she lost it.

He wanted to fuck her.

Right there.

Clothes on. No words. Just teeth and hands and the sound of skin slapping against brick.

But this wasn't about want anymore.

This was need.

And when Morrigan whispered, "You gonna come in my hand like a good boy?" it nearly broke him.

He didn't answer. Couldn't.

His jaw was clenched. His teeth grinding. Every nerve in his body was screaming that he was seconds--seconds--from blowing.

Her hand was so fucking good. Her grip. Her rhythm. The way she stared at his face while stroking him like she owned every part of this moment.

She did.

And he loved it.

Loved her pace. Loved her growl. Loved how wild her eyes had gotten, how her mascara had smudged, how her lips were swollen from kissing and biting.

He was right there.

Right on the edge.

"Fuck--Morrigan--" he gasped, hips jerking into her hand.

And then...

She stopped.

Completely.

No warning.

Just pulled her hand away, slow and smug, her fingertips still wet from stroking him.

James nearly doubled over from the shock of it.

His cock twitched, fully engorged, so hard it hurt. His balls were tight, his entire lower half locked in place waiting for release that didn't come.

He blinked, panting, stunned.

"What...?"

She smirked.

Wicked.

Beautiful.

Cruel.

"No," she said, cool as a whisper. "Not yet."

His chest heaved. His brain tried to catch up.

"What do you mean not yet?" he asked, voice thick with frustration and disbelief.

Morrigan leaned in, lips brushing his jaw.

"I'm not done with you," she said. "But I want to fuck that orgasm out of you. Not waste it in my hand."

He swore under his breath, body still twitching, cock throbbing so hard it felt like a punishment.

"Morrigan..."

"You think I'm gonna let you come this easy?" she asked, breath hot against his neck.

She licked the salt off his throat and smiled.

"You're gonna remember this ache every time you close your eyes tonight."

His hand was still inside her, and he started to move again, desperate to make her give in, to push her to the edge with him.

But she grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand away, slow and firm.

"Nope," she said. "You don't get that either."

His fingers glistened with her wetness in the dim light. He looked at them. Then at her.

"You're seriously leaving us both like this?" he asked, voice caught somewhere between laughter and agony.

She leaned back, adjusting her shorts like nothing had happened.

Her corset creaked as she shifted, lips swollen, cheeks flushed.

"I told you, James," she said. "When I take something, I take it."

Her eyes dropped to his still-exposed cock, twitching with every beat of his heart.

You'll come when I say you can."

He groaned, head rolling back against the brick, breathing like he'd just run a mile.

This was worse than teasing.

This was precision warfare.

And it worked.

He didn't want to explode in her hand.

He wanted to lose himself inside her.

He wanted her thighs locked around his hips. Her mouth open in a moan. Her hands pulling him deeper, tighter, rougher. He wanted her bent over, riding him, whispering filth while he grabbed her ass and thrust so hard she forgot every game they'd played.

But not yet.

Not tonight.

Morrigan was walking backward now, eyes still locked on him.

"You coming or not?" she asked.

James blinked. "Where?"

She grinned.

"Back inside. I want to dance with you while your cock's still aching."

He zipped his jeans, still half-hard, still pulsing, and swore again under his breath.

"You're insane," he muttered.

"No," she said, reaching the door. "I'm hungry."

Then she turned and disappeared inside.

And James?

He followed.

Still hard.

Still aching.

Still waiting.

And wanting her more than ever.

Part II -- Morrigan

He was so close.

Morrigan could feel it in his body--every twitch, every shallow breath, every desperate little grind of his hips into her hand. She had him in her grip, thick and hot and throbbing between her fingers, and he wasn't hiding anything anymore.

James was panting.

Grunting.

Groaning her name like it meant something.

And fuck, did it turn her on.

She was soaked. Her clit pulsed with every pump of her fingers as she rode the flex of his thigh, grinding through fishnets and heat. The tension was sharp and delicious and right there--but so was his. Maybe even worse.

No--definitely worse.

She could feel his cock swelling harder with every stroke. Feel the rhythm of his need matching hers, overtaking it. His thighs trembled. His breath caught. His mouth dropped open like he might beg without realizing.

Perfect.

And when he gasped her name--"Fuck--Morrigan--"--right on the cusp of release, she knew it was time.

She pulled her hand away.

Just like that.

No warning.

No softness.

Just gone.

James let out a ragged noise that was half a groan and half a sob, his hips jerking into open air as the orgasm crashed against him and dissolved.

He blinked at her.

Stunned.

Disbelieving.

She smiled slowly.

"No," she said, voice cool and sharp. "Not yet."

He looked like he didn't understand.

Or maybe he did, but couldn't accept it.

His cock twitched painfully in front of her, swollen and soaked, the head flushed and aching. She watched it bounce once--ticking with the rhythm of his heart--and almost relented.

Almost.

But no.

Not yet.

"What do you mean not yet?" he asked, voice hoarse with disbelief.

Morrigan stepped closer, lips brushing his jaw, her breath warm and lazy.

"I'm not done with you," she said. "But I want to fuck that orgasm out of you."

She paused. Let the words land.

"Not waste it in my hand."

He cursed under his breath.

His shoulders hit the wall again.

His jaw flexed like he was trying to bury the frustration. Not in anger--in hunger. His cock was still hard. So fucking hard. Still pulsing like it hadn't realized the release had been denied.

She loved that.

Loved seeing the need dripping off him.

Because this wasn't about denying him pleasure.

It was about building something bigger.

She kissed his neck, slow and lingering. Tasted the salt of his sweat and the tension just under his skin.

"You're gonna remember this ache," she whispered, "every time you close your eyes tonight."

Then, to seal it, she reached for his wrist--still buried under her shorts--and pulled his fingers free.

He tried to circle her clit one more time.

Tried to finish what he had started.

But she shut it down. Clean. Cold.

"Nope," she said with a wicked grin. "You don't get that either."

His fingers glistened in the alley light. Slick with her arousal. His hand trembled slightly as he stared at her like he couldn't believe this was happening.

And it was so, so hot.

"You're seriously leaving us both like this?" he asked.

She adjusted her shorts, fixing her fishnets with slow precision. Her corset hugged her ribs like armor. Her thighs still burned. Her cunt still clenched, unsatisfied.

But this wasn't about now.

It was about later.

"I told you," she said. "When I take something--"

She stepped back.

One step.

Then two.

"--I take everything."

Her eyes dropped down to his exposed cock, still flushed and leaking at the tip. He hadn't softened at all.

That was hers.

That was power.

She met his eyes again.

"You'll come when I say you can."

She saw the flash in his face--not surrender.

Challenge.

He wanted to tear her clothes off right here. Wanted to bend her over the wall and fuck the permission out of her.

But he didn't.

He just breathed.

Hard.

Head rolling back. Teeth clenched.

And that was when she knew she had him right where she wanted him.

Still on edge.

Still aching.

Still hers.

"You coming or not?" she asked, heading for the back door.

He blinked, lips parted.

"Where?"

"Back inside," she said, tossing a smirk over her shoulder. "I want to dance with you while your cock's still aching."

He zipped up slowly, still so hard it looked painful, and swore under his breath.

"You're insane," he muttered.

Morrigan's grin sharpened.

"No," she said. "I'm hungry."

Then she turned, pushed open the door, and let the noise of the venue swallow her again.

Her thighs still ached.

Her clit still pulsed.

Her mouth still tasted like him.

But she wasn't ready to end the game.

She was just raising the stakes.

Because when she finally let him come?

She wanted to be on top, riding him raw and slow, watching the moment he snapped.

And that night?

She wouldn't stop until he'd come so hard he forgot how to stand.

CHAPTER TWELVE: The Last Song

Part I -- James

James could barely think.

His cock was still hard. His thighs still burned. His body ached from restraint, but Morrigan? Morrigan was dancing like nothing had happened.

Like she hadn't just left him with aching balls and a mind full of every filthy thing she whispered while jerking him off behind a dumpster.

She was a fucking menace.

And he couldn't stop looking at her.

Her corset clung to her ribs, pushing her tits high, the soft mounds slick with sweat under the pulsing strobes. Her shorts rode up every time she moved, giving flashes of fishnet and thigh that made his jaw lock. Her lips were parted. Her eyes half-lidded. Her whole body was an invitation to beg.

But he wouldn't beg.

Not tonight.

He stepped behind her again--right as the final set kicked into its last breakdown--and she didn't flinch. Didn't turn. Just backed into him, grinding slow and deep like she'd been waiting.

He put his hands on her waist.

And this time?

She let him.

The crowd bounced around them, but they were still. Locked into their own rhythm. Her ass rocked against his cock, still painfully hard, still trapped in tight denim. He gritted his teeth and leaned down, breath hot against her ear.

"Are you done torturing me yet?"

Morrigan smiled without looking at him.

"No."

She rolled her hips again. Harder. Slower.

"You like it when I make you wait," she whispered.

He groaned, hands tightening on her waist.

"Fuck."

"You'll like it even more when I finally let you have me," she added. "When I'm riding you slow. Deep. While you try not to come in the first thirty seconds."

James's head dropped to her shoulder, pulse slamming in his throat.

"You're cruel."

"No," she breathed. "I'm calculated."

He was about to say something when she turned in his arms. Full-body turn. Her front pressed to his chest, her lips a breath from his, her hands slipping up his chest like she belonged there.

And then she kissed him.

Right there.

In the middle of the pit.

No hesitation.

No performance.

Just a filthy, open-mouthed kiss that made his knees wobble.

Tongue. Teeth. Breath. Heat.

The kind of kiss that told a room this one's mine.

His hands slid to her hips. One dropped to the curve of her ass and pulled her tighter.

She moaned into his mouth--just faintly--then broke the kiss to nip his jaw.

"I'm taking you home tonight," she whispered. "I'm going to use you."

James swallowed hard.

"You're going to fuck me until you forget how to stand. I'm going to bounce on that cock until you're begging me to stop."

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, voice cracking.

Her hand grazed the front of his jeans.

"You still hard for me?"

"Obviously."

She leaned in again, tongue tracing the edge of his ear.

"I'm not letting you come until I'm on top," she whispered. "And even then--only when I say."

He grunted, breathless. Desperate. Buzzing.

And she kissed him one more time--harder, deeper.

The music surged behind them.

The final song roared to life.

And Morrigan grabbed his hand.

"Let's go," she said.

James followed.

They pushed out of the crowd, out the door, into the cool night. Her grip never loosened.

And when she turned back to look at him under the streetlight?

He knew.

This wasn't just about sex anymore.

This was about Morrigan finally giving in.

And James?

He was ready to be wrecked.

Part II -- Morrigan

Morrigan was soaked.

Not from sweat--though the pit was a furnace of bodies and bass--but from the way James had looked at her since the second she left him gasping in the alley. Every move she made, every twist of her hips, every slow roll of her thighs, she could feel his eyes tracking her. Heavy. Focused. Burning.

Exactly how she wanted him.

He didn't follow right away. He let her dance. Let her lead. But she knew he'd come.

And when he did--when she felt his presence behind her, solid and brimming with restrained heat--she smiled without turning.

He placed his hands on her waist.

She didn't stop him.

She pushed back into his hips, grinding slowly, rolling her ass against that throbbing cock she'd left twitching and unsatisfied. She could feel how hard he still was, how close, how wrecked--and it thrilled her.

"You done torturing me yet?" he asked, breath hot against her ear.

She smiled wider.

"No."

She rocked harder into him, slower now, dragging him through the fire.

"You like it when I make you wait."

His groan in her ear sent a pulse straight to her clit.

"You'll like it even more," she whispered, "when I finally let you have me. When I'm riding you... slow. Deep. While you try not to come in the first thirty seconds."

He let out something between a curse and a gasp.

She turned to face him, his chest flushed and rising. Her hands slid up the front of his shirt, slow and claiming.

Then she kissed him.

Hard.

Filthy.

Messy.

Tongue. Teeth. No shame.

Right there in front of everyone.

Because she didn't care.

Because she wanted him to know.

This wasn't just some flirtation anymore.

This was a decision.

A claim.

His hands dropped to her hips, one sliding lower. He pulled her in, and she rewarded him with a moan that buzzed through both of them.

She broke the kiss just enough to drag her teeth along his jaw.

"I'm taking you home tonight," she said into his ear. "And I'm going to use you."

He stiffened--visibly.

Good.

"I'm going to ride you until your legs shake. Until your voice breaks. Until all you know is my name."

"Jesus Christ," he muttered.

She brushed the bulge in his jeans with her palm.

Still rock hard.

Still hers.

"You still hard for me?"

He gave her a look that could've ignited the stage.

"Obviously."

She leaned into his ear again, her lips grazing the skin.

"I'm not letting you come until I'm on top," she whispered. "And even then--only when I say."

He let out a rough exhale like she'd punched the air out of his lungs.

Then she kissed him again.

Harder.

Hungrier.

The final song screamed around them. The crowd surged.

But Morrigan only felt him.

The way his hands gripped her. The way his body trembled with held-back need. The way he'd let her take the reins without ever being weak.

That was what did it.

Not the control.

The match.

She pulled away, chest heaving, and grabbed his hand.

"Let's go."

He followed without question, threading through the crowd, never letting go.

They spilled into the cold night. Her pulse didn't slow.

She turned to him under the streetlight.

His lips were kiss-swollen. His eyes dark. His breath uneven.

And he looked at her like she was the only thing keeping him together.

Good.

Because Morrigan wasn't just going to let him fall apart.

She was going to take him apart.

One piece at a time.

And finally--finally--let herself burn with him.