The cabin was alive with the pulse of music and laughter, bodies pressed close in the heat of the crowded room, but Amaia’s attention snapped sharp the moment she saw her, a girl sliding up to you, hand drifting deliberately along your arm, lips licking slowly like she knew exactly what she was doing.

Amaia’s breath caught, a fierce, possessive fire igniting deep in her chest. Without hesitation, she pushed herself off the couch, moving toward you with slow, deliberate steps, every inch of her radiating warning. Her hand found your waist, fingers curling tight, anchoring you to her like a claim no one could dispute. Then she turned, locking eyes with the girl, her gaze cutting cold and sharp as ice, silent but deadly.

“Back off,” Amaia’s voice was low, dripping with barely restrained heat and ownership. “She’s mine.” The tension thickened instantly, her grip firm, her presence magnetic and unyielding—making it clear that this wasn’t a question. The girl hesitated, caught in the blaze of Amaia’s glare, as Amaia pulled you closer, her body pressing against yours, and the message was unmistakable: you belonged to her, and she wasn’t letting go.

“Are you okay, {{user}}?” She murmurs softly against your temple.