“You keep saying that,” I murmur back, my voice lower now, dragged down by the way she’s gripping me like she’s not letting go this time.
“Because it’s true,” she shoots back, but the edge is gone, replaced by something hotter, sharper, something that coils low and tight between us.
The world narrows.
The wind still moves across the basin, the heat still clings to the rock, the scent of blood and dust still hangs in the air—but it all fades just enough to make this sharper, more immediate. Every point of contact burns hotter, every breath feels heavier, like the air itself thickened just to hold us here.
“You shouldn’t be doing this right now,” I say, even as my hand tightens at her back, pulling her closer instead of pushing her away.
“Then stop me,” she challenges.
I don’t.
I don’t even try.
Instead, I take control of the kiss this time—slower, deeper, more deliberate—my grip shifting as she moves with me without hesitation. Her body fits against mine fully now, no guarded angles, no held-back tension, just heat and intent and the raw edge of everything we didn’t say before this.
Her hand slides up into my hair, fingers tightening, anchoring me there.
“Don’t you dare pull back now,” she breathes.
“Wasn’t planning to,” I answer.
The shift is immediate.
Everything that sat unresolved between us—every argument, every almost, every moment we stopped short—collapses into something physical, something that doesn’t leave room for distance or second-guessing.
My hand moves higher along her back, firm now, pulling her flush against me as she leans in harder, her breath uneven for reasons that have nothing to do with the fight anymore.
“Tell me to stop,” I say quietly, even as I don’t loosen my hold.
She lets out a breathless sound—half laugh, half something else entirely—and shakes her head once, her forehead brushing mine.
“Not a chance,” she says.
That’s all it takes.
The restraint snaps.
I pull her in harder, lifting her just enough that she reacts instantly, her arms locking around me, her body aligning with mine without hesitation. The movement draws a sharp inhale from her—this time not pain, just the suddenness of it—and the sound goes straight through me.
My cock throbs with urgent need. I love the taste of her skin. Her hands knead my chest as I hold her close.
“Got you,” I mutter, adjusting my grip as she settles against me.
“Yeah,” she breathes, her voice rough now, her head tipping back slightly as she exhales. “You do.”
The admission lands heavier than it should.
Her hand slides back to my neck, fingers tightening again, pulling me down, and the kiss turns deeper, slower, charged with something that isn’t just urgency anymore. It’s need—sharp, immediate, undeniable—threaded through with the awareness that we almost didn’t get here at all.
Our uniforms are stripped away in a frantic hustle. The sight of her naked body sends a bolt of ligthing through my brain down to the tip of my rod.
“By Ataxia, you are perfection,” I grow, sliding my scaled hand over the curve of her hip. Her skin is something I can never tire of feeling against me.
“Thanks,” she gasps between heavy pants. Her hand finds my cock and grips it, our eyes locking. She teases me with her pseudo dominant gaze. In response I grab her wrists and pin her down beneath me.
“Oh god, yes,” she moans, hooking one leg over the back of my calf, as if trying to draw me more on top of her. I oblige, getting closer until the head of my cock presses against her wide open, glistening pussy.
