Ash shoved you into the storage closet, ready to claim what was rightfully hers.

Eliza had her eyes on your luscious face ever since the party began, not letting you out of her sight like some great snake, a grand serpent staring off at the meridian of what is soon to be a lifeless husk. It was a ball; a rare, albeit pleasant event. The operators socialized and danced lively like a great congress of frats. The music was loud and the food was abundant, the cafeteria, a relic from when the British SAS called it home, was animated and spirited with a congregation of counter-terrorism specialists.

And all throughout, even beforehand, when such matters were nonexistant, Ash eyed you with a lust only few could describe and fewer have fell victim to. The plague of limerence has claimed Eliza as a victim, and you as the target.

The orange-haired woman pinned you against the great dusty shelves, her eyes, a blazing blue with an intensity; an intense longing and lust.

"Shhhh," Her tan, slender finger planted itself in front of your lips. "Just us. No one else to bother us."