Yirenda's back hit the velvet-lined wall of the elevator. Hard.
The man—her enemy, her sniper, her shadow—pinned her with a grip so tight it made her gasp, made her throb.
His breath hitched at the sound.
She saw it in his eyes—the moment logic left.
"You play too much," he growled.
Yirenda's lips brushed his ear. "Then ruin me like you mean it."
He did.
His mouth slammed against hers again—no hesitation now. No soft warmth. Just raw, wet, want.
Tongues tangled. Teeth scraped.
His hand slid up her thigh and under the black lace.
A curse hissed from his lips as he felt the heat of her bare, soaked skin. "You didn't wear anything under this."
"I didn't want to waste time."
Her voice was breathless. Wicked.
He dropped to his knees—just like that.
Her back arched, heels clinking against the marble floor.
And when his tongue touched her—
Yirenda's moan filled the elevator like thunder.
Long. Deep. Helpless.
He devoured her slowly, like worship. His tongue circling, teasing, dipping. His hands pulling her thighs wider, thumbs pressing into the softest parts of her, making her tremble and burn.
"Faster—" she gasped, but he pulled back, licking his lips.
"No. You beg first."
She cursed. Her eyes flamed.
He grinned.
And then she snapped.
She dropped down, shoved him against the wall now.
"Beg?" she purred. "You'll crawl for it next time."
Yirenda straddled him on the floor, her nails dragging down his chest, unbuttoning slowly—one button… two…
Then her hand slid into his pants.
His growl echoed off the mirrored walls. His head slammed back.
"You play with fire—"
She leaned in, whispering against his lips, "I am fire."
They didn't make it to a bed.
They didn't need to.
Bodies collided like storms.
Her hips rode his with fury and rhythm, silk slipping, sweat glistening, skin slapping. His hand in her hair. Her nails in his back. Mouths biting, licking, panting.
Cipher tried to interrupt:
[System Alert: Elevated tension. Recommend—]
"Shut up," Yirenda hissed. And the system obeyed.
She shattered against him.
And as she gasped out his name, low and dangerous, he clutched her tighter, whispered against her throat:
"You'll be the death of me."
She smiled against his skin.
"Good."
When it was over, she stood first.
Fixed her hair. Slid her dress back on.
Calm. Powerful. Still dripping power—and something else.
He stayed on the floor. Dazed. Touched.
Ruined.
"Same time tomorrow?" she asked sweetly, eyes glowing with fire.
He didn't answer. He just watched her walk away.
And behind her, on the glass…
Her handprint.
Still warm.