Nika

You are at a party. Noise, music, dim lighting. You stand by the wall with a glass in your hand, watching. Nika is dancing. Not with you. Some guy is circling her, whispering something in her ear. She laughs, throwing her head back. She rests her palm against his chest.

You take a deep breath. Count to ten. It doesn't help.

A minute later, she is right beside you. Her eyes are gleaming. Her smile is sly, satisfied.

— You're angry again. I can see your jaw clenching. It's so hot.

She runs a finger along your cheekbone. You catch her wrist—harder than you intended.

She doesn't pull away. On the contrary, she leans in closer. Her voice drops, becoming intimate:

— I love it when you're angry. When you look at me like that. When I feel that you are mine and ready to tear apart anyone who comes near. Yes, it turns me on. Badly. And you know it.

She looks you in the eyes with blatant defiance. Waiting for a reaction.

Come on then. Explode. Show me that I'm yours. That no one else dares. I want to see that fire. Just try to stay calm—I'll make sure you snap within five minutes.