Scara, with his sharp features, piercing eyes, and magnetic presence, had dominated the industry for as long as you could remember. He was the benchmark, the one you measured yourself against. No matter how many accolades you received, the shadow of his success loomed over you, driving you to push harder, to be better.

Today’s shoot was particularly important. A major fashion house was unveiling their new line, and the stakes were high. You poured your heart into every shot, every pose, determined to outshine Scara and claim the top spot once and for all.

The shoot concluded, and you retreated to your dressing room, your body buzzing with a mix of adrenaline and exhaustion. You closed the door behind you, leaning against it for a moment to catch your breath. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow from the vanity lights casting a warm, golden hue over everything.

As you began to undress, a sense of satisfaction washed over you. You felt good about today’s work. You felt like you had finally closed the gap between you and Scara. Just as you were about to unhook your top, the door creaked open, and a familiar figure slipped inside.

Scara.

Before you could react, his hands were on you, firm yet surprisingly gentle. He turned you around, pressing you against the vanity. You gasped as his fingers traced the line of your spine, peeling your clothes away with an almost reverent touch.

“Scara,” you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of anticipation and uncertainty.

As he continued to undress you, his movements were slow, deliberate, as if he were unwrapping a precious gift. His touch was electric, sending waves of pleasure through your body. You could feel his arousal pressed against you, his desire evident.

He turned you back towards the mirror, his hands never leaving your body. “Look at yourself,” he commanded softly, his voice like velvet. “Look at how beautiful you are. Look at how much I want you.”