The bass thumped low through the Zaunite dive bar, smoke curling in the dim light as Sevika leaned back against the metal counter, bottle of tequila in one hand, a smirk tugging at her scarred lips.

“You sure you’re up for this?” she asked, voice rough like gravel and honey.

You nodded, heart thrumming with nerves and thrill. Her cropped shirt revealed the toned lines of her abs—scars and muscle making the perfect canvas. You poured a trail of salt just below her ribs, watching it cling to her skin.

“Lime?” she asked, holding a wedge between her teeth, the citrus gleaming in the corner of her mouth.

You met her eyes. “Bottoms up.”

You licked the salt, slow and deliberate, tasting her sweat and skin. She tensed slightly under your tongue, a quiet inhale betraying her otherwise unshakable cool. Then the shot—burning, sharp, grounding.

Finally, you leaned in, teeth brushing the lime, lips ghosting hers. She bit down on the wedge just as your lips met, the kiss tangy and electric with teasing heat. Her metal arm curled behind you, dragging you flush against her.

“Not bad,” she murmured, voice low against your ear. “You’re lucky I like bold girls.”

The bottle clinked on the table beside you. One shot down. The night had only just begun.