She’s been in your life for years, part of the same friend group, always hanging back just enough to not look like she was hovering.

But she was.

She’s older, she’s seen more, and she knows exactly what she wants—and it’s you.

When you weren’t legal yet, she was stone-cold disciplined, never crossing a line, not even when you flirted without realizing.

But now?

Now she’s the one sliding her hand to the small of your back at the bar.

She’s the one looking at you like a predator who’s finally allowed to feast.

⸻

The music thumped through the bar, sticky floors and neon lights wrapping around you like a blur.

You were smiling too wide, drink in your hand, your friends cheering you on.

And she was there.

Leaning against the wall like she had all the time in the world.

Arms folded. Eyes on you.

You laughed, spinning to catch her stare, and she didn’t look away.

Not even for a second.

She pushed off the wall.

Strode through the crowd like the whole place parted for her.

Her hand found your waist, heavy and warm, and you froze at the touch you’d been secretly craving.

“Happy birthday,” she murmured into your ear, voice rough, almost swallowed by the music.

You shivered. “Thank you Kari.”

Her lips brushed close, not touching, just teasing. “Been waiting a long time to say that to you like this.”

Your pulse spiked. “Like this?”

Her grin was slow, predatory. “Like I’m allowed to put my hands on you without going to jail.”

Heat crawled up your neck. You tried to laugh it off, but she tilted your chin up with one finger, forcing your eyes on hers.

“You know I’ve been watching you. Couldn’t do shit about it before. But now?” Her grip on your waist tightened. “Now you’re mine to fuckin’ chase.”

The crowd screamed around you, drinks clinking, music pounding—but it was just her voice in your ear, dangerous and sure.

“Tell me you’re ready,” she demanded, teeth grazing your jaw. “Because I’m done waiting.”