Not the calm, strategic, distant version of her I usually see in press tents.Not the one with neat hair and biting comebacks.I wanted the raw version; the one behind closed doors.The one who moans my name and claws at my back like she can’t get enough of me.I threw myself down that hill; she should have given in.
I was wired in that moment, feeling alive.
If I’d seen her then, if we’d been alone in that finish tent, I swear to God, I would’ve pinned her to the nearest wall and kissed her like I’d just come back from war because that’s how it felt.Like survival.Like conquest.Like fire.
I’d quench that fire with the wetness she feels between her legs, the one she hopelessly pretends to control.
But I didn't see her alone.Not until later.Not until I'd come down just enough to be angry.Because when she did find me, finally, she sat down and said: "Don't do that again."
Don't do that again.
What the hell.I nearly died to win that run, to prove something to the world and her.And she had the nerve to scold me.Like a coach.Like a wise mother telling her reckless child to behave.
She should've been begging to get fucked.Should've dragged me by the collar into a back room somewhere and made good on every heated glance she ever gave me.Instead, a cold shower to cool me down.
So, I played it cool.I swallowed the fire and gave her nothing.
And then she picked up the phone from Bellini.
Bellini, of all people.
I watched her smile while talking to him.Watched her eyes flick away from me like I was nothing but static in the room.And yeah, that's when it really hit me.This thing between us?She's not going to let it happen.No matter how much she wants it.No matter how much I do.
But God, I do.
I close my eyes and lean back against the wood.And it hits me hard.How much I want her.Not just the flirty bullshit.Not even the connection, as real as it feels, or used to feel.
I want her under me.I want her gasping.Clawing at my shirt.Saying my name like it's the only thing she can remember.
I want to tear off whatever sleek little top she's wearing and hear her moan when my mouth hits her skin.I want to make her forget every reason she ever told herself not to enjoy this.
The snow falls quietly around me.Fireworks echo again in the valley.
It's New Year's Eve.And I should feel like the king of the hill.But all I feel is the ache of a woman who isn't here.
And the fury of knowing she'll haunt every win until I finally have her.Until I take what we both know she wants.
Chapter 8
The Cauldron Breaks
Playlist:
Korn: Word Up
The Killers: Mr.Brightside
Adelboden, Switzerland, January 6, 2026
Katharina
