No strings attached |(UNDER REVISION)

Chapter 10- Passionate night

Her lips finally met mine.

It wasn't slow. It wasn't gentle.

It was everything I had been trying to resist.

And I lost.

Completely.

I kissed her back with just as much hunger, gripping her like she was the only thing keeping me standing.

She smirked against my lips, knowing she had me exactly where she wanted. "See?" she whispered. "You never really stopped wanting me."

I should've pulled away.

I should've walked away before it was too late.

But as Aiah deepened the kiss, as she pressed me against the wall, as her hands explored every inch of my body-

I realized something.

It was already too late.

I was ready.

Ready to give in. Ready to lose myself in Aiah all over again.

My body was pressed against hers, my breaths uneven, my fingers tangled in her shirt as if letting go would mean losing the only thing grounding me.

But then-

She stopped.

The heat of her touch disappeared, leaving only the cold air between us.

I blinked, my head still spinning from the way she had kissed me, from the way she had owned me just seconds ago.

"Aiah...?" My voice was barely a whisper, confusion laced in every syllable.

And then I saw it.

The smirk.

Slow. Calculated. Dangerous.

She took a step back, her gaze dragging over me like she was memorizing what she had just done to me.

"You were ready to give yourself to me," she murmured, her voice smooth, taunting. She tilted her head, eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "So easy."

My stomach twisted.

"What the hell, Aiah?" My voice had more bite this time, but I hated the way it still wavered. "You- you started this-"

"Did I?" She raised a brow, crossing her arms. "Or did you just fall into my hands, like you always do?"

Something inside me snapped.

I had lost control-and she had let me. No, worse-she had made me think I had a choice.

But it was never a choice, was it?

Aiah still held all the power.

And she knew it.

My hands acted before my brain could catch up.

I shoved Aiah hard, forcing space between us, my chest rising and falling with ragged breaths.

"Fuck you," I spat, my voice shaking-not just with anger, but with humiliation, with frustration, with the bitter taste of losing to her again.

And what did she do?

She laughed.

She fucking laughed.