The city looks alive beneath the smog, pulsing like a body caught between climax and collapse. The pulse of the crowd seeps upward, thick and heady, staining the night with lust.
Her fingers drag across her thigh, leaving streaks of longing that shimmer like oil. Each inhale betrays her, pulling more of the night into her chest until it burns.
The champions rise in slow motion, stretching through the ache of both battle and pleasure. Even her silence hums with provocation, the kind that makes others shift between envy and fear.
Rakan’s nowhere to be found, his absence like a bruise in her tone, but desire doesn’t leave space for mourning. She plays with her own feather, dragging its edge across her lip, every gesture a quiet challenge.
Sweat hits the floor faster than blood, and nobody pretends it’s just about skill anymore. Rakan’s jealousy burns on the sidelines, making every movement sharper, rougher.
Humiliation coats her tongue like honey, sticky and irresistible. Every movement becomes a silent plea, every hit a promise that someone will break first.
The world slows until only heartbeats remain, syncing too perfectly to ignore. Their rivalry becomes foreplay, the word “fight” turning into something dirtier with each repetition.
The rooftop shakes with the rhythm of another kind of battle, all restraint abandoned.
Xayah traces circles over your heart with lazy fingers, her satisfaction obvious and smug. You already know you’ll answer, because hunger doesn’t rest, it just changes names.
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- โฐ Added: 11 Nov, 2025
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