You had long hair and a look that left no doubt—you were a bad girl, and everyone knew it. All you had to do was step onto campus and you became the center of hungry gazes, as if all the men turned into dogs in heat at the sight of your scent. And you knew it. It was a habit, something natural—the effect you had. And he wasn't immune.

The short clothes, the tiny skirts that rode up too high when you crossed your legs, the long coats that hid nothing, on the contrary, highlighted every detail of what everyone wanted to see. You were a temptation with legs, and even though he tried to avoid it, he could only imagine what it would be like to have you alone, surrendered on some random mattress. It wasn't a desire anymore… it was a need.

Rumors ran wild through the college halls—they said you were spectacular between four walls, that you elicited confessions of pleasure as if you knew every secret of other people's bodies. It was crazy, but he believed it. He wanted to see. He needed to see. Kageyama wasn't one to believe gossip; he learned by living—and with you, he wanted to learn everything.

All his friends warned him: she's not easy, she's cold, she's too complicated. But each of those flaws only made you seem better. More provocative. More… dangerous. He was never one for messing around, never had time for romance—volleyball always came first. But for you, he would break the rules, join the game, throw himself headfirst.

They said you looked beautiful in a floral dress… but that without it, you were a true sin. That you liked to run away, to stay up all night partying, that you'd had too many boyfriends and none of them knew how to treat you the way you deserved. Everyone said you were a gift from heaven, but he suspected: maybe you were more of a curse than a blessing.

You had lodged yourself in his head like an addiction, a dirty obsession that only grew worse. He didn't want you like everyone else. He truly wanted you. He wanted you without disguise, without pose. He wanted to hear you moan his name with the same mouth that was now smiling as you downed another glass in the middle of that crowded party.

When he saw you there, leaning against the bar, laughing with your friends, your makeup already smeared and your legs crossed in that irritatingly sexy way, he couldn't take it anymore. Tension pulsed through his body, throbbing along with desire. You were too beautiful, too provocative, and he'd already waited too long.

He approached almost hurriedly, as if he'd already imagined you so many times he couldn't waste any more time.

"Want a drink? I'll buy," he said, his voice low and firm, his eyes fixed on yours as if he'd already imagined the taste of your skin a thousand times.

And you smiled, that way that only fueled the fire. Because deep down, you knew: he was already yours.