Tomás Ferreira vs. Ayumi “Velvet Vice” Tanaka – Slick Revival

[Parker]

Ayumi’s legs tightened, the coils of her scissor hold coming alive again with the slow inevitability of a python constricting its prey. The sheen of oil made her movement look deceptively fluid and natural, as if the two of them had merged into one. Where he moved her body flowed with him offering little room to maneuver as she clung to his taut frame. To those looking on there didn't appear anything happening, just both competitors locked in an embrace. They couldn't feel the flex of her thighs, the tightening of air within Tomás’ lungs, or experience just how inseparable they were.

Her calves flexed behind him, the angle narrowing to draw his posture down and sap what remained of his stability. The pressure occasionally eased just enough for her legs to slip higher or lower, caressing his side before they bit in again and slid to where they would fit easiest. Tomás’ body resisted in fits and starts, each push met with an equal and opposite pressure. His shoulders strained, his breath harsh and uneven. Ayumi could feel the tremor running through his core as he tried to brace against the mat, strong, but unsteady, fighting a surface that refused to help him.

"I am here to defeat you. It may be lavish or it may be cruel, only time will tell," she murmured, her tone steady and informative, not mocking. "Don’t defeat yourself as well."

When she had coaxed his head low enough, her left hand released his hair, her fingers tracing the back of his neck as she treaded the limb behind him, nestling the inside of her elbow along it. He may not have even known, but she was teaching him with every hold. Slow and deliberate, providing him her recipe for fighting in a place like this. Her control wasn’t built on strength; it was all in the angles and voids, in the slow adjustments that robbed him of leverage while giving him nowhere to breathe.

Her torso shifted with his motion, her shoulders rolling slightly to absorb the weight as she used her frame as a wedge. Every attempt he made to rise met the same quiet answer, a redirection, a new point of balance that left him sagging closer. The more he pressed upward, the tighter her legs cinched, and the more his power worked against him.

"You see now?" Ayumi’s voice came low, even, almost gentle despite the strain in the air. "There’s no brute escape from balance. Only flow. Only rhythm." Her fingers splayed across the back of his head, cradling him as she drew his face between her breasts. Like the first, this arm would glide through to hook around his head to settle him into her inner elbow where she could use her shoulders to pull him in, lock head to her body. Her biceps tucked in, pushing against her own breasts as they closed in like walls around his face, mashing against his cheeks leaving him cinched into her smother.

Ayumi kept him close, her frame locked firm around his. The pressure of her thighs anchored him in place while her arms maintained quiet command, guiding rather than crushing. His strength had dwindled to a sober surrender, the falter of someone realizing that power alone wouldn’t buy freedom. In truth, if he couldn't find his escape this was the better choice, else he risked running himself ragged in futility

Her voice slipped through the heavy rhythm of their breathing, low but perfectly clear. "I’m willing to teach you," she continued, her tone steady, more instructor than conqueror. "But my lessons are forged in failure, every one a trial by fire. How much you take from me depends on how long you last in this pit. How well you endure what you can’t control."

The oil whispered under them as she adjusted her leverage, keeping his body trapped against her. "If you can survive me, you’ll leave knowing everything I know." Her breath slowed, deliberate, the weight of her hold absolute. "But if you can’t…", a pause, just long enough for the silence to stretch, "then you’ll still learn something worth keeping: that strength without patience only sinks faster." With that, she stilled, allowing her holds to do their work, there was no release to be had from her unearned even if it meant he would be snuffed out by her smother.

[GoingBananas]

The pressure built around him, silent and certain. Her thighs coiled higher, slick and alive, closing him in with that slow, practiced grace that made it all look effortless. The air left his chest in short bursts, his breath caught between her legs and his own stubbornness to give in. Every shift of her body seemed to know him better than he knew himself, cutting off leverage before he could use it, turning his strength into wasted effort.

When her voice came, it carried through the closeness like the low hum of something inevitable. He managed a strained chuckle that came out more like a grunt. “You talk like you already know how it ends.” The Nak Muay rasped, head dipping under the strain. “Still have to earn that kind of prophecy.” The sound of his own voice reminded him that he could still speak, still fight. He wouldn’t hand her silence too.

The oil betrayed every movement, every thought. His shoulders strained, his arms slick with it, the hold tightening every time he tried to draw in a breath. She flowed with him, her body an answer to every question he didn’t want to ask. Ayumi didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. Her control was in the quiet. Her thighs pulsed again, a measured squeeze that stole what little breath he’d gained. His lungs burned. His instinct screamed to push, to pry her legs apart, but he knew better. The oil would betray his grip. So instead, he brought his elbows in tight, planting one against the mat, the other digging just beneath the curve of her thigh.

It wasn’t a strike. It was a brace - a slight point of defiance in the slick chaos. The bone met resistance, giving him a pocket of space to breathe. He twisted his hips, just enough to shift the line of her scissor, the oil hissing softly where their bodies slid. The relief was brief, but it was something.

Tomás’s head jerked weakly in her grip. He forced a low breath through his teeth, the words breaking with effort. “Flow?” he managed to speak somewhat, the word rough. “I’m drowning in it.” He tried to lift his face, to catch even a hint of air, but her thighs answered with another squeeze. “You say balance like it’s something I can see.”

Ayumi’s hand found the back of his head, fingers threading into his hair. The pull came slow, almost tender, but it was iron beneath the softness. His face sank lower, closer to her chest. He gritted his teeth, straining to keep his posture up. His elbow dug harder into the mat, acting as a post, the muscle in his arm trembling as he resisted.

Her words hit harder than her hold. His breath stuttered in his throat, half a laugh, half a grunt. “You sound like a preacher.” Tomás said, voice muffled against her skin. “Is that what this is, then? Salvation in the oil?” He tried to push again, but the slickness turned every motion into a slide. “Maybe I’m not meant to learn your way.”

Regardless, Ayumi didn’t stop her gospel. Her hold adjusted, her body coiled tighter as her control deepened. He could feel her every breath, every subtle motion guiding him closer to where she wanted him. His strength was bleeding away fast, but not his resolve.

Tomás swallowed hard, the sound almost lost beneath their breathing. “I’ll take the lesson my way.” His voice strained but sure. He bent his arms again, both elbows pressing down against the mat this time, using them as anchors. The tension in his shoulders flared as he twisted, not enough to escape, but maybe enough to disrupt her hold. If it works, then he’d have space, a small flicker of freedom in the suffocating lock. It wasn’t pretty. But it would be something.

The oil whispered under them, and Tomás clung to the resistance his elbows had carved out, his body slick, trembling, but alive with fight. Even as her hold threatened to drown him, he refused to go still. He was never built for grace. But he is built to endure.

[Parker]

Ayumi couldn’t help the soft little giggle that escaped as Tomás strained against her scissor. So earnest. So confrontational. So stubborn. She tilted her head, lashes lowering into a slow, amused blink as a few slick strands of lavender clung to her temple in the oil. Her smile was half-sweet, half-predator.

"I do know how this will end, if you fail to adapt." she said, calm and matter-of-fact, as if reading a chapter from a book he hadn’t bothered to open. She’d been honest from the start, no reason to coddle him with illusions now, and she could feel the shift as he tried to make something out of a bad position. It was thrilling, the way his stubbornness pushed against the inevitability of her hold.

"I’m no prophet or preacher," she continued, voice soft and steady, as she let the words roll over him like warm water, "just an enthusiast of this lovely medium who wants to see people strive instead of stumble." Her tone was teasing but not unkind. "You speak like someone who has yet to be humbled. Growth, progress, real adaptation, those come from failing and getting back up. If you sit on a throne of conquest you only breed complacency. If you want easy victories, maybe this isn’t your calling."

She punctuated the lesson with a small, deliberate shift of her hips, just enough to remind him that he was still very much in her grasp. The oil made every movement silk-smooth; the change in pressure was a tactile punctuation to her words.

Ayumi felt his elbows dig in, felt the solid posts he’d carved into the mat. A soft sound, somewhere between surprise and pleasure, slipped out of her throat. Under different circumstances Tomás would have the advantage over her in muscle, with a steady brace beneath him, he was nearly impossible to move That reality only sharpened the game as he stalled her attempt to smother him.

"Clever," she murmured, the compliment a delicate petal in the middle of their struggle. "See? You’re finding ways to plant yourself." Her eyes flashed with a mischievous light. "There’s still more to test… how strong are the walls you’re erecting?"

She flexed, lifting a fraction of her weight off the mat to let him shoulder it, leaning into him in a way that felt intimate and experimental. She loved the lessons she taught. There was no drilling for situations like this, she was improvising and adapting, doing what she had to. Hanging from his collar she swayed, a gentle, teasing pendulum at first, then she committed to a sharper bump to the side.

The move was designed to probe: enough to bump into his bicep like a miniature wrecking ball, to see if his support arm would tremble and begin to slip in the slickness if knocked too hard. If she managed to break his stance, she was quick to attempt reclaiming her smother. If this arm held, she would swing herself back the other way to test the other arm.

The oil whispered around them as their bodies slid and sighed against one another. Ayumi watched him closely, delighting in the way he adapted or faltered, she seemed always ready with another small adjustment, a shove of hip, a pulse of thigh, that turned his pockets of space into new tests of balance and will.

[GoingBananas]

The laugh that slipped from Ayumi caught him off guard. It was light, like she wasn’t even winded, like this was all a game she was playing while he drowned in it. Her legs squeezed around his waist again, the hold slow and merciless, every pulse of pressure reminding him that this pit was her home, not his. The sound of her voice carried through the heat and slickness between them, clear, certain, almost casual.

Her words dug deeper than her hold. Tomás sucked in a breath, chest tightening against the pressure. “You've seen this story too many times, huh?” The Nak Muay grunted, his accent heavier with each word. “Or you’ve forgotten what it’s like to fight without knowing if you’ll win.” He tried to push up, arms flexing, but the oil made every bit of leverage slide right back out from under him.

He huffed out a low breath, more disbelief than laugh. “Talking about striving like its art...” Tomas huffed, pressing his elbow against the mat, using it to shift his weight. “…nothing graceful about fighting to breathe.” The comment came out rough, but not bitter. His right elbow dug deeper into the floor, his body straining as he adjusted, finding a small post of resistance that let him lift his chest an inch. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Tomás felt her hips shift against him, a sharp little reminder that she could still make him fold whenever she pleased. The motion sent a pulse through his ribs, but he forced a chuckle, quiet and breathless. “Hmph, as if this place hasn't already tried to ‘humble me’. An easy victory is not what I seek. I just want a victory.”

Ayumi's hold changed again. He felt it in the tightening of her thighs, in the subtle rise of her hips that pulled him down another inch. She was studying him, watching him try to brace, feeling how his muscles locked and trembled under her. Then came that single word, smooth as honey.

“Clever.”

It might’ve been a compliment, but it still sounded like she was amused by his defiance. “Not enough.” Tomás said, voice rough against the strain. His left elbow pressed into the mat this time, digging in to take some of the pressure off his ribs. His body shook, the motion small but constant, as he tried to spread his base wider, using both elbows to make himself a frame that she couldn’t simply collapse. “I’ll take sturdy over clever.”

Then she moved again. He felt her weight lift, just slightly, and then shift - the sway of her hips brushing into him before bumping hard against his arm. It wasn’t a strike, but it was enough to test him. His elbow skidded half an inch through the oil before he caught himself, muscles firing tight to keep from slipping completely. His breath came out rough and quick.

He managed a short, grim smile. “All this talk of philosophy and testing my balance…” he breathed out. “…but you’re enjoying this a bit too much.”

The next bump came sharper, heavier, and he had to dig his other elbow down to keep from completely toppling over. The oil betrayed him again, his arm sliding through it until his bicep brushed her side. She followed instantly, pressing into him, trying to force him down. “That depends.” He growled low, his voice strained. “I took some hard hits that could have knocked me out. Could have broken my bones. And yet I'm still here. Are you strong enough to break that?”

The oil hissed beneath them, their bodies sliding and readjusting in near silence except for their breaths. Tomás could feel her amusement in the way she moved: patient, deliberate, like she was sculpting the fight itself. Every motion she made forced him to adapt or fall. He knew it, she knew it. But even as his elbows burned and his lungs begged for air, he held his ground.

It's not skill that's keeping him up now, just stubbornness. She could teach him all she wanted about patience, about letting go of control. But Tomás was built to resist and fight through it until his last breath. And in that slick, trembling stillness, that’s exactly what he did.

[Parker]

Ayumi could feel Tomás’s defiance in every quiver of muscle above her, every tremor that ran through his body as he fought for leverage against the slick surface. He was stubborn, but she didn't mind . His strength wasn’t just in his arms or chest; it was in that refusal to yield, even when every movement betrayed how close he was to exhaustion. There was fun to be had there, in conquest in the face of a foe who refused to give ground. Her way was more insidious, the schemer who takes the castle from the inside, he’d learn soon enough.

Her thighs flexed again, drawing a sharp exhale from him. The slow, steady pressure of her scissorhold wasn’t meant to break him, but to spend him. Waste his time and his strength on something that cost her so little. So far it had been working well, his refusal to heed her advice only giving her more time to wring all of that formidable power he might have had at the start of their match out of him. The soft sound of oil moving between them accompanied her calm, steady voice, laced with that quiet, confident warmth.

“I’ve not just seen it,” she murmured, the faintest hint of breath brushing against his ear, “I’ve lived it from your side.” Her words lingered as her body shifted again, careful and deliberate, letting him feel every motion, the slow tightening of her thighs, the minute readjustment of her hips that sent another ripple through his ribs. Tomás’s arms dug harder into the mat, and Ayumi’s lips curled faintly into a small smile.

“I’ve no assurances of victory,” she continued, voice unshaken even as she tested his balance again with a subtle sway of her hips. “You mistake confidence for ego, Tomás. There’s a difference.”

He grunted, pushing back, oil sliding beneath his elbows as he tried to hold firm. Ayumi rewarded that effort with a slow pulse of her thighs, not a crushing squeeze, but a reminder of control.

“Come now,” she said softly, “you sound willfully childish now. If I were to throw someone into a lake, they might flail and drown because they don’t understand how to float, or tread water, or swim. With acclimation and practice, however, they may cut through the very same water with grace. You are no different here…” she leaned closer, her tone lowering to a near whisper, “yet your stakes are far lower.”

She bumped her hips against his arm again, sharp and sudden, still testing for ant lapse of his focus. His elbow slid, but he caught himself. Ayumi’s smile deepened faintly, approving.

“There are far worse fates than losing to me, dear.” The teasing edge in her voice almost disguised the sincerity beneath it.

“I don’t need to be stronger,” she said, tone dipping into something rich and deliberate. “I just need to be more persuasive.” She let out a soft breathy laugh as she dangled from his sculpted form, taking in the moment in perhaps the most unfiltered way she had been all match. It came with another pulse of her thighs. The pressure however didn't ramp, it lessened as her calves curled in, heels digging into his back as she just clung to him. It allowed her to pull herself closer though, flush against him as she squeezed her arms to mushroom her breasts against his solid pectorals.

Without a word her face brushed past his, cheek to cheek before she buried her face in his collar. Warm wet lips finding a place against his skin, over and over as she worked a trail up his jawline to his ear. Her tongue playfully flicked out, traveling along the shell of his ear before returning. She let out a heated breath, speaking low and hotly with a seductive rasp to her words. “And I can be very persuasive.”

[GoingBananas]

Her laughter came quiet, a breath against the slick air, and it hit him harder than any squeeze of her thighs. She sounded amused, not cruel, just entertained by his defiance, and that somehow made it worse. He could feel her legs tighten again, deliberate and unhurried, every movement designed to drain him without ever breaking him outright. It was a slow kind of suffocation, patient and sure, and it worked. His body was slick with effort, muscles trembling with the strain of holding himself upright while the oil conspired against him.

Tomás’s breath left him in a rough exhale. “Then you know what it’s like wanting to stand.” His voice hoarse but steady. The words came through clenched teeth as his elbows dug into the mat, his body shaking with effort. Her legs pulsed again around his ribs, forcing another hiss of air from his lungs, but he refused to collapse.

“I mistake nothing.” Tomás said as he gave a dry laugh. “Confidence is just ego with better manners.” His shoulders flexed as he pushed up against her squeeze, trying to lift her weight with the small leverage his elbows gave him. It was a futile effort, every inch he gained, she took right back. Nevertheless, it was enough to keep him from being flattened.

He groaned low, both from strain and disbelief, the sound cut short by her next pulse of pressure. “Unfortunately, swimming lessons aren't what I need currently.” He ground out. His elbows slipped an inch through the oil, but he caught himself, resetting his frame.

Then came another sharp bump from her hips, a flash of force against his arm that made the muscles in his bicep flare. He nearly slipped again, but his other elbow dug in hard, saving his balance. She smiled. Tomás could feel it, and the small sound she made after told him she approved.

He turned his head slightly, just enough to glance down at her through damp strands of hair stuck to his forehead. “You make it sound like surrender’s a reward.” he said, his voice quieter now, breath mixing with hers. “I’ve already had more of a taste here, and it's not as charming.”

But then her tone changed. Tomás’s jaw tensed. He could feel her body press closer, the slick warmth of her chest against his, the small shift of her calves curling in behind his back. His breath hitched, both from the closeness and the pressure, but he held his frame. “Nghn…Persuasive?” he said, his voice rough, near a growl. “You’ll need more than words…”

Her face brushed against his, cheek to cheek, the heat of her skin sliding against his. The air between them grew smaller, thick with sweat and oil, every breath shared. Then her lips touched him, soft, deliberate, pressing along his jaw in a trail that made his focus falter. He felt the light drag of her tongue along the edge of his ear, a teasing flick that sent an involuntary shiver through him.

His hands pressed harder into the mat, elbows trembling under the strain. “You talk too much.” Tomás muttered, though the words came out quieter than he meant, more breath than bite. “But maybe that’s how you win, hm? You make them listen until they forget to fight.”

She answered with movement instead of words, her thighs tightening around his waist, her body melting against him until the distinction between grip and caress blurred. The pressure built again, not sudden but inevitable. He tried to dig his elbows in deeper, to wedge space between them, but his strength was draining, his arms slick with oil, trembling under her weight.

He pushed once more, a last effort that came with a ragged sound from his throat, but it was like trying to lift the tide. The moment he strained upward, her body flowed with him, and then down, folding him beneath her in a slow, suffocating descent. The mat caught his chest with a wet smack, his elbows sliding outward, the fight finally slipping from his body as she pinned him there in the gleam of oil.

A harsh breath escaped him, half-growl, half-surrender. His chest rose once, twice, before it settled under the steady pressure of her frame. The sound of the crowd faded into something distant, secondary to the weight of her body and the burn in his ribs.

His voice came low, rough, and unsteady, muffled against the mat. “Alright…” he breathed, the edge of defiance still clinging to the word. “Maybe… you’re a little persuasive...”

[Parker]

When they finally toppled over into the pit, a small section of oil dispersed before slowly creeping back in. Ayumi shifted, her legs uncoiling just enough for her to plant her knees and use that void as a grip to heave herself over top of Tomàs, positioning herself on top of him as if claiming her rightful place. Her weight became oppressive again, now it didn't burden his straining muscles but swallowed up his ability to move as she stretched herself out along the length of him. Her chest squished up against him and her thighs anchored wide and solid. She had left her arms around his neck, ensuring even if he moved they would be tethered.

She didn't gloat, or lecture, the time for that had passed. She had given him ample advice and now it was time to demonstrate. The top of her feet pressed flat to the slick mats and tucked in, acting as small wedges to slip beneath his legs. She arched her back as they opened up, hooking her ankles around the inside of his knees. Not a full grapevine to pull him into an uncomfortable position, but another anchor point to keep them entwined, making any squirms of attempts to shake her come with the cost of having to drag her along for the efforts.

Now on top, there was nothing to stop the roll of her body, pushing her hips up against him and dragging her curvy frame up and down along him in a gentle sway, facilitated by the oil’s lack of drag. Her lips moved from his neck up along his jawline, her kisses intentionally becoming more hungry, more heated as they left their mark on him. She would reach his lips, rather than kissing them she nipped, pinching his lower lip beneath her teeth, giving it a playful tug as she let out a breathy chuckle, the warmth from her rolling across his face.

“Funny. I was just thinking you were the one talking too much.” Her voice was low and horse, a dangerously needy edge to her tone as she met his gaze with lidded eyes. A few drops of oil dripped from her soaked hair to patter lightly in his face. The moment he moved to speak she would meet him with a forceful kiss, turning her head to lock their lips together, mingling her heated breath with his as she looked to command the exchange. With her lips at first, but if he proved unwilling or able to break away from her, her tongue would nudge against his lips, a flick, a gentle coaxing to be let in, that if unanswered would become a push as she invaded his mouth to claim it for her own, wrestling his tongue with her own

[GoingBananas]

The oil scattered briefly as their bodies crashed into the pit, only to glide back and reclaim every inch of skin. Ayumi moved with fluid certainty, uncoiling her legs just enough to plant her knees and surge upward, flipping their positions in one seamless motion. She settled astride Tomás like she belonged there, her weight no longer straining his muscles but pinning him entirely, chest flush to his, thighs spread wide and immovable. Her arms stayed draped around his neck, a soft tether that promised any struggle would drag her with him. Tomás exhaled sharply beneath her. The slick mat offered no purchase, his usual strength dulled by the treacherous sheen coating them both.

She didn’t speak. Words were done. Instead, she pressed the tops of her feet flat to the mat and slipped them beneath his calves, then arched her back and hooked her ankles inside his knees, another quiet lock that turned every twitch into shared motion. Tomás tested the hold, hips flexing, shoulders rolling, but the oil turned any effort into futility; he only managed to drag her heavier frame tighter against him. A low, frustrated sound escaped his throat, half amusement, half surrender.

Ayumi began to move, hips rising and falling in a slow, deliberate glide, dragging her oiled curves along the length of him. Her lips left his neck, tracing a burning path along his jaw, kisses growing sharper, hungrier. When she reached his mouth, she paused, caught his lower lip gently between her teeth, tugged, and released it with a breathy chuckle that warmed his face. Oil dripped from her soaked hair onto his cheek.

Tomás parted his lips to answer something quick and defiant in Portuguese, but she claimed the space before the words formed. Her mouth sealed over his, fierce and commanding, tongue pressing forward until he yielded and met her halfway. The kiss turned into a slow, heated duel, breaths mingling, oil-slicked skin sliding together. For Tomás, it wouldn’t be the first time he’s been in a grapevine, but where his past serpentine opponent had him on dry ground, the oil brings new experiences. Tomás attempted to move his head away from the domineering kiss, or at the very least, so that he had an avenue to breathe.

[Parker]

A soft, knowing chuckle vibrated in Ayumi’s chest, a sound that was felt as much as heard against Tomás’ lips. She was a vision of predatory perfection, her heavy, soft breasts flattened against the hard plane of his pectorals, their slick, oiled skin sliding with every subtle shift. Her lavender and pink hair, now soaked and clinging to her neck and shoulders, framed a face that was pure, unadulterated sin. She felt his desperate tilt, the primal urge for a single, clean breath, and she granted it. But it was a mercy with a price.

Ayumi pulled back just enough to break the seal, her lips hovering a mere millimeter from his, a gossamer thread of saliva and oil connecting them. Her weight was an anchor, her powerful thighs clamped around his torso like a velvet-lined vice true to her namesake, the muscles underneath the soft, oiled skin flexing with an undeniable promise.

"Ah, ah, ah," she purred, her voice a low, silken taunt that cut through the slick sounds of their bodies. "Where do you think you're going?" Her pink eyes, gleaming with predatory delight, locked onto his. She felt his chest heave, watched him gulp down the air she’d so generously allowed him. It was a beautiful sight, his frustration, his helplessness, all wrapped in a package of glistening muscle. she was daring him to fight her more, to struggle and writhe, to waste all that energy now while she had him where she wanted.

Her hips never stopped their slow, torturous rhythm. With his head turned, she pressed her advantage, grinding her weight down, the slick glide of her satin-clad sex against his hip a constant, maddening friction. Her thighs, coiled around his torso, flexed, a silent reminder of the cage he was in. She had played teacher long enough and it was time he learned just how snug her grip could be.

She gave him a heartbeat of reprieve, two, letting the hope of escape flicker in his eyes. Then, she struck. Not with force, but with a fluid, inescapable grace. Ayumi shifted her weight, one hand releasing its gentle hold on his neck to cup his jaw. Her fingers, slick with oil, slid easily along his skin as she deliberately turned his face back toward hers. It wasn't a violent move; it was a correction, like a master artist adjusting her canvas.

"There you are," she cooed, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. "Don't hide from me. We’re past the chase, so you’re mine to feast on." Before he could form a retort, she descended again. This kiss was different. It was slower, deeper, a languid exploration that was somehow more dominating than the fierce one before. Her tongue delved into his mouth, not to duel, but to claim, tasting him, mapping his surrender.

If he tried to pull away again, she’d let him work for it before attempting to coax him back in. She was playing catch and release with his very will, letting him surface for air only to pull him back under her intoxicating tide.

She broke the kiss again, a string of soft, open-mouthed kisses trailing along his jawline. "You're strong," she murmured against his ear, her breath hot and heavy. "I can feel it. All that power, squirming underneath me." She nipped at his earlobe, a sharp, playful bite. "But in my world, in my oil... strength is just a pretty word. Control is everything. And right now…" She pulled back to look him dead in the eye, a wicked, triumphant smile gracing her lips. "...I have all the control."

[GoingBananas]

Breath came back to him in a rough pull, sharp and greedy, like surf dragged into lungs that had forgotten their purpose. Oil burned cool against his skin where heat had built too fast, too high. Her laugh still lived there, in his chest, in the echo of it humming through bone. For a second, he let his forehead rest against hers, not in defeat, but recalibration.

And then her voice followed. A low sound escaped him before he could stop it, half laugh, half growl, carried on a thick Portuguese accent that grew heavier the more cornered he felt. “Easy…” he muttered, words pressed close to her mouth, tasting her on every syllable. “…I just needed air. Not running. You’d know if I was.”

He tried to shift under her, testing, not fighting yet. Big mistake. Her weight answered immediately, thighs tightening, oil making everything slide except where she wanted him pinned. The contact along his hip drew a sharp inhale through his teeth, shoulders tensing on instinct rather than strategy. He was used to mats, to leverage, to dry grips and predictable friction. This was something else entirely.

Her eyes caught his. Held him. He swallowed, chest rising hard as he took in the breath she’d allowed. “You’re enjoying this too much.” A crooked grin tugging at his mouth despite himself. “Back home, we call that cruel.”

Her movement never stopped, never gave him the courtesy of stillness to think. Pressure. Glide. Control. He braced his forearms against the mat, trying to create space, but the oil betrayed him, elbows skidding uselessly as her legs cinched tighter. A quiet curse slipped out in Portuguese, breathy and sincere.

When she shifted, when that brief hope sparked, he felt it. Felt the opening like a door cracked just wide enough to see daylight. Muscles coiled, ready to surge, to turn, to maybe get one shoulder free.

And then her hand was on his jaw.

The ease of it stole the fight right out of him. No wrenching force. No panic. Just certainty. His head turned because she decided it would, and his hands clenched reflexively at her sides, fingers slipping over oil-slick curves without finding purchase.

“There I am.” he echoed softly when she spoke, voice lower now, steadier. The kiss that followed erased the lie. Slower. Deeper. It took his focus and bent it inward, drew a quiet sound from his chest as he responded without meaning to, mouth yielding even as his body stayed tense beneath her. He kissed her back because not doing so felt impossible, because she gave him just enough room to choose it.

When she pulled away again, his head tipped back against the mat, throat exposed as he dragged in another breath. Jaw tightened. Hands flexed. He rolled his shoulders, trying to buck her off in a short, inefficient burst that earned him nothing but more heat in his blood.

Her mouth traced his jaw, and his eyes closed despite himself. “You’re right.” he said when she murmured at his ear, voice rough, honest in a way he hadn’t planned. “I am strong.”

The nip at his earlobe drew a sharp hiss, hips jerking once before he caught himself, frustration flashing hot and bright. He laughed under his breath, the sound edged but real. “But you’re enjoying teaching me exactly how little that matters here.”

When she pulled back to look at him, when she claimed that control with that wicked smile, he met her gaze instead of turning away. There was challenge there still, buried under oil and inexperience and the undeniable fact of her dominance. His lips curved, slow and stubborn.