Alayah didn't want to let go. Not even a little bit.
She'd wrapped her arms around Lyra half out of celebration, half out of pure adrenaline, and maybe a little out of a need to prove, what, exactly?
That a demon and a Celestian could win together? That she didn't always have to do it alone? Or maybe it was just that Lyra, flushed and laughing, was so fucking beautiful it made Alayah's teeth ache.
And Lyra didn't pull away, not right away. She melted against Alayah's chest, slender arms tight, head pressed to Alayah's shoulder.
The world felt like static—screen still flashing Victory Royale, old couch creaking under their weight, the afternoon sun slanting through dirty windows.
But what really did it, what really fucked with Alayah's head was Lyra's scent.
Holy shit, she smelled good. Not some fake, flowery perfume, but clean and bright and sharp, with a hint of sweat and something that was just… Lyra.
Celestian magic, maybe. Or just pure temptation. It hit Alayah's brain like a drug. Suddenly she wanted more—more of that scent, more of that body pressed against hers, more of Lyra gasping her name for reasons that had nothing to do with video games.
Alayah's thoughts were anything but pure. She was already imagining what else she could do with Lyra in her lap: tongue tracing down her throat, hands sliding under that baggy T-shirt, nails raking the inside of her thighs.
She'd pin her down, make her beg, make her come so hard she'd forget her own fucking name.
Her cock stirred—half-demon heritage, always ready for trouble.
She pressed Lyra closer, just to see if she could feel it, if Lyra would notice, if maybe she'd grind back and give Alayah an excuse to tear off her clothes and fuck her right here, right now, enemy lines be damned.
Just the thought made Alayah's breath come hot and ragged. She imagined Lyra on her knees, mouth open, eyes dazed, taking every inch like she was starving for it. Or bent over the couch, legs spread, Alayah's hands bruising her hips. Maybe she'd even—
Shit. Focus.
But Lyra must have felt it—either the hard bulge pressed against her thigh or the sudden change in Alayah's breathing, because she froze.
For a split second, those wild blue-and-gold eyes met Alayah's, and fuck, there was so much heat there. A flicker of want, curiosity, something hungry and reckless.
Alayah nearly leaned in, lips parting, ready to crush her mouth against Lyra's, taste her, claim her. She was so close—one more second and she'd have done it, enemy or not, contest be damned.
But Lyra pulled back. Fast.
Her cheeks were scarlet, her eyes wide, suddenly sharp with panic and memory. She took a step away, then another, putting distance between them as if remembering all at once that this was supposed to be war.
Alayah opened her mouth, about to say something—didn't even know what, just wanted to keep Lyra close, to chase that heat before it vanished. But Lyra was already moving, grabbing her bag and heading for the door.
No words. No look back. Just the sharp click of the door closing behind her, leaving Alayah standing alone, hard and desperate, breathless with want and confusion.
She slumped back onto the couch, scrubbing a hand over her face. Fuck. She was pathetic.
Her cock ached, pressed tight against her jeans. She thought, for a half-second, about chasing Lyra down the hallway, dragging her back inside, pinning her to the wall and letting her know exactly what she was missing.
Just take what she wanted, like a proper demon, make Lyra forget about rules and rivalries.
But she didn't. She just sat there, staring at the door, heart pounding.
Get it together, idiot. She's your rival. She hates you. She's supposed to hate you. You're supposed to beat her, not fuck her.
But all she could think about was the way Lyra had looked at her—like she wanted it too, even if just for a heartbeat.
Like maybe, maybe, under all that Celestian pride and stubbornness, she wanted Alayah to be the one to ruin her.
Alayah groaned, flopping back and staring at the cracked ceiling. She needed a cold shower. Or two. Or maybe she'd just jerk off right here, thinking about Lyra's mouth and the taste of victory.
Hell, she'd probably do both. But she couldn't quite shake the feeling that she'd lost something important the second Lyra slipped out the door.
Next time, she promised herself. Next time, she wouldn't let her go.