The pencil slows, my fingers clench. I try to breathe through it, but each inhale just fans the heat crawling up my spine.
I shouldn’t be watching this. I shouldnotbe letting my eyes drag over every place I remember touching four months ago—the slope of his neck, the way his fingers curled around my waist, the taste of him on my tongue, smoke, heat and something bittersweet that I still can’t name.
Lucien shifts, goes in low, fast and aggressive, but Talen’s faster. Shoulder low, feet light, all that coiled power held tight until the exact second he lets it go.
Lucien tries to block, but he's already off balance. One sharp twist and Talen’s got him flat on the mat, pinned beneath his full weight. One arm bars Lucien’s chest. One knee locked between his thighs. Dominant. Controlled. Final.
My breath catches, coming too fast now. I swallow, but it sticks halfway down.
It’s not the hit that gets me. Not the force or the speed.
It’s the hold.
That precise grip. The press of Talen’s body, the way heknowsexactly where to put his hands—confident, steady, unshakable.
The memory surges, heavy and precise, firing through me, lighting up every nerve on the way. His hands, his mouth on mine—rough, certain, like he was done pretending he didn’t want me. Like he'd been starving for it, holding back just as long as I had—and finally breaking. The same hands now flattening Lucien had slid up my thigh, fingers digging in, then clamped on to my waist—dragging me in, hard, until my hips pressed flush against his and everything else dropped away. Just his heat. His pressure. And the blur of where he ended and I began.
My skin burns under my uniform, heart pounding against my ribs now. I shift in my seat. Cross my legs. Uncross them.
God.
He’s pinning Lucien down and all I can think is?—
I want that to be me.
Not the fight. Not the takedown. Just…that. The weight. The pressure.
I want that same grip holding me still. I want to feel his palm flatten at my hip, firm, keeping me right where he wants me. One hand tangled in my hair, the other dragging me in—closer, deeper.
A quick, hungry rush tightens inside me at the thought, lungs slipping into shallow, uneven pulls. I tighten my grip around thepencil until my fingers sting, desperately trying to anchor myself before the rest of me unravels.
Lucien rolls and comes at him again, but Talen shifts, foot sliding back, bracing. His arm snaps forward, blocking the hit, and the muscles in his biceps bunch as he twists into a counterstrike that lands clean in Lucien’s ribs. The sound it makes punches low in my stomach.
Lucien stumbles back, breath caught, and Talen waits—always measured, always giving just enough space to keep the rhythm controlled.
But it’s not controlled in me. I’m sweating and I’msitting still.
That kiss broke something in me. Cracked it right down the centre. I’ve been shoving it aside ever since, but watching him now?
It’s impossible.
Every shift of his body makes mine worse. Sensitive. Wired. Desperate. Magic stirs in my veins—restless and aching, like my Threads have keyed into the tension crawling inside me.
Lucien lunges again.
I exhale through my teeth.
Talen catches the strike. Their arms lock, bodies colliding with a heavy thud of skin on skin, sweat on sweat.
A spark ignites, deep, licking up my spine as the pulsing behind my ribs spreads. My thighs press together before I can stop them. I shift in my seat and bite down on my bottom lip, hard enough that it should hurt. But it doesn’t help. Every part of me is buzzing now, too hot, too tight, too much. My fingers close harder around the pencil until the wood creaks beneath them.
God, I need his hands on me. Not mine.His.
No more lying in the dark, pretending. I want thereal thing. His skin against mine. His mouth. His weight. His voice—lowand rough in my ear, I want his hands in my hair, on my thighs, pushing me up against?—
Snap.
The sound jerks me back like a slap. A stunned stillness slams through me as I look down.
