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"Absolutely," she asserts, her determination fierce. "I want to see what draws you in, understand the passion behind the screen."
I agree to go home and do some things while she plans her "surprise" for me. It's endearing how excited she is—like a little girl. So, as much as I don't want to leave her, I can't tell her no. I can never deny her anything.
Thankfully, the day passes in a blur of anticipation, each tick of the clock amplifying my desire to see how she'll handle herself in my element. As dusk falls, I find myself at her door again, heart racing with an excitement that has nothing to do with lust... or maybe it does. It's hard to tell where one impulse ends and another begins.
"Welcome to the battleground," Nova announces as she opens the door, her tone playful but with an undercurrent of challenge. The living room is transformed—a gaming console set up, two controllers lying side by side like an invitation to duel.
"Damn, Nova," I breathe out, taking in the array of snacks—bowls of chips, candy bars, and bottles of soda, all meticulously arranged on the coffee table. "You went all out."
"Only the best for my player two," she quips, handing me a controller. Her fingers brush mine, sending a jolt through me.
"Player two, huh?" I grin, feeling a surge of warmth. "Let's see if you can keep up."
As we sink into the couch, shoulder to shoulder, the screen comes alive with vivid colors and sounds. Nova leans forward, her eyes fixed on the digital world we're about to conquer together. I can't help but admire her focus, the way her lips part slightly in concentration.
"Ready to kick some ass?" I ask, nudging her playfully.
"Bring it on," she shoots back, accepting the challenge with a spark in her eye.
We lose ourselves in the game, the hours slipping by unnoticed. Nova's laughter fills the room, genuine and unguarded. She's good, better than I expected, and it thrills me to see her so engaged, so alive.
"Ha! Got you," she exclaims, her character landing a critical hit on mine.
"Damn, you're ruthless," I respond, impressed by her ferocity. The screen might be a frenzy of chaos and combat, but there's something intimate in this shared experience, something that bonds us beyond words.
"Dylan trained me well," she replies, winking at me.
Underneath the playful banter, an undercurrent of hunger simmers—hunger for the game, for victory, for each other. Our bodies are close enough to touch, to feel the heat emanating from each other's skin. It's a different kind of desire, one that's no less intense than the physical craving we sated last night.
"Nova," I breathe out, half in awe, half in warning. "You're playing with fire."
"Isn't that what you like?" she teases, her voice low and husky.
"Careful," I warn again, the darkness in my tone matching the night outside. "You might get burned."
"Maybe I want to," she counters, her gaze locked with mine, challenging, daring.
"Then let's turn up the heat," I growl, our avatars onscreen forgotten as the real game between us begins anew.
The room grows hotter, the tension between us thicker than the humid air outside. We're both playing to win, but it's not just the game—it's a silent battle of wills, a test of control.
"Watch it, Nova," I warn, my avatar taking a hit. "I play dirty."
"Promises, promises," she murmurs, and I swear I can feel her breath on my neck.
My focus shifts from the screen to her lips, parted slightly, inviting. The game fades into background noise as my blood sings with raw desire.
"Fuck the game," I say, setting down the controller.
"Fuck it," she agrees without missing a beat.
Our mouths crash together, a fierce, possessive kiss that ignites the fire that's been smoldering all evening. It's rough, messy, an unapologetic clash of teeth and tongue. There's nothing gentle about the way she pulls me closer, nails digging into my skin, as if she could climb inside me and never leave.
"Blaze," she gasps against my mouth, her voice a siren call that shreds any restraint I had left.
"Nova," I breathe her name like a prayer, a curse, a vow.
We're ravenous, devouring each other without pretense or hesitation. Every touch is a claim, every moan a surrender. Our bodies remember the rhythm from last night, moving together in a desperate tango of need and want.
