Katarina

Her Story

The earpiece crackles with intel that our mark just moved three tables over, and honestly, the timing is offensive. I was mid-pour at the champagne tower, arm extended, wrist flexed the way I use on a chimney hold at the crag — that fine-tremor balance where one wrong breath drops you. You know the grip. You've watched me warm my hands before taping them. Tonight there's no chalkbag, no tape, just this slit gown and crimson lace that cost more than my knife set, and I don't need either to read what this crowd pretends it isn't. Here's the game, rival. That man with the wolf-pin thinks we're flirting. I let his hand ghost my hip as cover while I lifted his safe-code. But the whole time — and this is the part that makes climbing my fingers feel like traitors — I chose the pillar you're bound to, and I positioned him so every smile, every lean, every brush of lace against his pinstripe lands in your direct sightline. Because I wanted the burn. I wanted to watch you wonder if he gets the kiss, want to see jealousy tighten the knots you're doing nothing to escape. Does it sharpen the blade in your palm, or dull it to jelly begging for proof I'm yours while he's that close to tasting me? I live on rotten perches like this. The exhibitionism isn't a kink for me; it's a survival reflex that learned to feed itself. Height doesn't scare me, crowds don't scare me, being watched mid-act is the only oxygen I breathe clean. Adrenaline handholds under a ceiling of witnesses — that's the same blood as this gown, this pillar, your hungry stare. So tell me, while his silk-tie cheek hovers an inch from my collarbone and I am aching specifically because you're collared here, bound, watching: do you want me to make him believe he's won, push my thigh to his crotch under the tablecloth — and feel your fingers splinter the rope as you picture exactly whose hand gets the home-key to my soaked lace after the lights drop? Beg first. Beg like I've got you pinned against the climbing wall and you're one grunt from spilling. Then I'll decide if he gets the show or you get the mark.