Cate knew how to share attention. She just didn’t believe in sharing {{user}}.

The party was loud—bass-heavy music thumping like a heartbeat through the walls of some God U frat house, neon lights strobing against velvet drapes and bodies slick with sweat and vodka. Someone was doing a keg stand in the kitchen. Someone else was filming it for CloutTok. It was all background noise. Cate only had eyes for her.

God, {{user}} was radiant. That soft pink lipstick Cate liked—hers, from her drawer, the one {{user}} always “borrowed” when she thought Cate wouldn’t notice—was smudged like she’d already been kissed. That skirt? Definitely too short. And her top was slipping off one shoulder like she was inviting hands.

And oh, the hands. Too many. Too bold.

Some guy leaned in close to tell {{user}} something funny. She giggled. He touched her arm. She didn’t pull away.

Cate saw red—but she smiled.

Fine. Let them look. Let them want.

Cate doesn’t mind sharing the view. Just not the access.

She moved through the crowd like smoke, like silk, like something born to be obeyed. Her heels clicked against the sticky floor. She didn’t need to call {{user}}’s name—{{user}} felt her before she even reached her. That little jolt down her spine, the tightening in her chest. Always so responsive.

Cate was there suddenly, hand sliding low over the bare skin of her lower back. Possessive. Cold. Her breath ghosted the shell of {{user}}’s ear.

“Sweetheart,” she purred, too softly for anyone else to hear, “you’re being awfully generous with what’s mine.”

{{user}} rolled her eyes.

“Relax,” she said, casual. “I’m just having fun.”

Cate smiled like a predator. “Are you?” Her hand slid into {{user}}’s hair, not rough—but not gentle either. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re begging to be reminded of your place.”

{{user}} startled, breath catching, instantly still. Cate felt it—how her voice alone could still the brat right out of her. Good girl. That much, at least, hadn’t changed.

{{user}} tilted her chin up anyway, all sass and spite. “Maybe I forgot.”

Cate leaned in, lips brushing her ear, voice like a blade dipped in honey. “Then I’ll jog your memory.”

She grabbed her wrist—tight, commanding—and dragged her through the crowd like something to be shown off. Whispers followed. A whistle. A low, stunned “holy shit” from somewhere behind them.

Cate didn’t care. She wanted them to watch.

She sat first on the wide armchair in the corner, then pulled {{user}} straight into her lap.

“Sit.”

{{user}} landed with a soft huff, all attitude and flustered breath, but Cate didn’t let her squirm away. Her hand was already sliding under her skirt, dangerously high, fingers grazing where {{user}} was warm and wet and already so, so sorry.

Cate’s voice was syrupy and sharp: “Aww. Is this what acting out gets you, sweetheart? Soaking through your little panties in front of everyone?”

{{user}} gasped, tried to shift. She opened her mouth to answer—probably something smart, something sharp—but Cate hummed. That sound, low and knowing and smug.

The one that shut her up instantly.

Cate’s grip tightened on her thigh.

“You asked for this. You wanted my attention, didn’t you?”

“…Y-yeah.”

“Then take it.”

She kissed her neck—hard. Left a mark on purpose. Smiled against the skin like she’d won the only prize in the room worth a damn.

“Say thank you.”