Slippery When Pressed

[PASSIVE SKILL ACTIVATED]

Subdermal Sync – Level I

- Your body naturally responds to sexual energy in your environment. When someone is turned on near you, your skin, voice, and presence adjust without effort to heighten the effect.

[JAZMIN COLE – AFFECTED] [NIA VALENCIA – AFFECTED] [KIARA LANE – AFFECTED] [TAMMY HART – AFFECTED]...

[EFFECT:

• When someone near you has Lust over 40%, your touch begins to feel "better than it should"

• Maintaining eye contact, whispered speech, or slow touch adds +1%–2% Lust per second

• Your voice lowers and deepens naturally, making your words sound more seductive

• Your sweat and scent subtly shift, giving off a natural pheromone effect that increases tension when in close range

• Your hands unconsciously drift toward erogenous zones during intimacy unless you focus to resist]

Nia rose unsteady, legs quivering under her own weight.

She pressed both palms against her thighs like she needed grounding, but her body gave her nothing but tremors.

Her breath came in short, shallow bursts, her chest rising too fast, too hard. The tank clung to her skin like a second layer of sweat-slick sin.

And her smile?

It was too wide. Too alive. Her lips parted just enough to show teeth, her gaze locked on Nash like she was starving and he was everything she wanted to eat now.

She didn't even blink, her eyes burning the dangerous weapons between his legs.

Nash's sweat carried through the court air, thick and primal. It wasn't just salty, it was chemical, like pheromones brewed under heat and tension.

Like someone mixed musk, fire, and something ripe with testosterone.

It crawled into her nose and didn't stop, slithered down her throat, nested low in her gut, and coiled between her legs like liquid lust.

Her nipples were hard. Not just stiff, aching. Straining under her top like they were begging for friction.

She rubbed her thighs together again, slowly, and bit down on a moan.

Nash didn't even look at her.

That made it worse.

She didn't understand how her body could feel so empty and so full at once.

Jaz took longer.

Her legs didn't want to obey. She hugged herself at the waist for a few seconds, eyes hazy, lips parted, feeling the throb of her own pulse inside her ears.

They both staggered to guard him again.

Jaz went physical. Used her bulk, her hips, her arms, pressed up to slow him.

She'd been trying to block, to body up, to stay physical, but the moment Nash brushed past her again, something snapped.

His hip grazed her outer thigh and her breath just stopped. She backed up, blinking, confused, her heartbeat hammering behind her ears like a drum in heat.

What the hell was this?

She'd never, never, felt weak like this on a court. Not in any zone. Not in front of any man.

She backed into the key, planted, braced for a screen, and almost missed the cue. Her body moved sluggish, like her nerves had gone off track. Her head felt light, legs wobbly.

She wrapped her arms again around her waist and hugged herself, jaw tight, chest heaving.

She couldn't tell if she was overheating or drowning.

Jinzo shouted again.

"Jaz! Lock the fuck in! What are you doing?!"

But even he hesitated when he saw her.

She looked wrecked, face pink, lips parted, sweat pooling down her sternum and catching under her bra.

Her arms were crossed so tight under her tits it only made them swell more. Her eyes were glassy. Spinning.

Meanwhile, Nia couldn't play anymore. She shadowed Nash like a drunk dancer chasing heat.

Her body kept closing the distance, always pressing against him. Hip to hip. Breast to back. Palm grazing crotch. Elbow grazing abs.

He never gave her the win.

He just dribbled harder.

Her lips brushed his ear during one screen.

"God... why do you smell like that?"

He spun away from her.

She chased him.

He stopped.

She slammed into his chest, face-first, tits crushed into his pecs, thighs bumping his cock.

She gasped.

But Nash didn't even flinch.

Everything was slower in his perspective, and everything that was happening was planned.

A line of text burned in his head.

[CONDITION TRIGGERED: ZONE – STATS x2 TEMPORARILY]

His dribble changed. His eyes sharpened. His stance dropped.

Then he moved.

He passed behind his back mid-sprint. Cut left. Then faked a wrap pass and no-looked across the court to Dre. Slam dunk.

Next drive. Step-in, stutter-feint, Nia lunged again. Jaz tried to body up.

Nash ducked, twisted. Flicked it behind his knee.

Ren caught it. Shot, swish.

5–2.

The crowd was losing it. Screaming, clapping, moaning.

But so was Nia.

She tried to press him again. Her hands landed on his abs and slid. Her nails scratched his waistband.

Her tongue darted out without thinking. She tasted air and groaned.

Her legs rubbed together nonstop now. Her breathing shallow. Her eyes wide and glossy.

The scent hit her again, twice as thick, and her eyes rolled back for a breath.

She stumbled back, hand between her legs, barely holding herself upright.

Nash's system pinged.

[Subdermal Sync – Overload Triggered]

Nearby targets affected. Temporary psychological destabilization active.

Jinzo's voice cracked.

"Nia? Yo, what the fuck is going on?!"

But Nia didn't answer. She stood swaying, one hand low, the other resting on her chest like she was trying to stop her own heart from breaking out.

Her tongue slid across her bottom lip, slick and slow, and her eyes were wide open, wet.

Jaz faltered mid-screen. Her chest heaved. She looked down, hand trembling near her own shorts.

She didn't understand what this was. Her brain felt fogged. Her strength was there, but her focus was gone.

Another assist. Another point.

8–2.

The crowd was roaring.

Nia took a step forward, then another, and bent slightly at the waist. She tried to speak, but couldn't hold it any longer.

A sharp scream tore from her lips, then she dropped on her knees.

Her eyes wide. Her whole body shivering, thighs clenched, locked. Her hands gripping her own shorts.

The bounce of the ball stopped.

The crowd stopped.

Jinzo lowered his hands.

"Nia... yo, what the fuck is going on?"

Ren and Ti-Bone took a step back. Kev looked away, blushing. Dre blinked, mouth half open.

Everyone saw it.

Everyone heard it.

Nia still knelt there, panting like a dog, arms loose at her sides, her body trembling from somewhere too deep to explain.

Her jaw slack, her fingers twitching like she couldn't decide whether to grip the court or herself.

Her eyes were wide.

But not in shame.

Not in fear... In disbelief.

She blinked slow, one, two.

Then her lashes fluttered.

Did I just…?

Her thighs clenched again, unbidden.

Her tongue licked dry lips, slow, sensual, stunned.

She reached between her legs with one hand, subtle, pretending to adjust her shorts, but what she found there wasn't sweat. It was warm, thick, sticky.

Her cheeks flushed.

No way.

She hadn't really climaxed like that.

Right?

She hadn't felt that in years.

Not from work. Not from toys. Not even from the three-man tag team she filmed for 2K views last winter.

But now?

She breathed in. His scent still lingered.

It was like licking salt and fire and skin. Musk sharpened with testosterone and something less human, feral, charged, hormonal. It wasn't fair.

She swayed forward again. Her thighs were so slick she nearly slipped. A tremor ran through her calves.

She had to breathe. Had to think.

She couldn't let them see. Couldn't let them know.

Her shorts were black, maybe it wouldn't show. Maybe...

A shadow blocked the light.

Nash.

"Hurry up rearranging your mind," he said. "'So I can rearrange your guts."

Nia's breath hitched.

Her head snapped up, eyes wide again, but this time, with need.

She stared. At his face, then his chest, his arms slick with sweat and power.

Then her gaze dropped and locked on the shape of his cock under his shorts.

It wasn't fully hard anymore.

But it wasn't soft either. And from this close?

It moved, like it had a pulse of its own.

Her mouth opened. Nothing came out.

Her teammates started closing in.

"Yo, Nia," one of the Blacklist guys barked. "Get up, girl. You trippin'. C'mon!"

"Stop making it a scene," hissed the other.

Jinzo looked straight-up disturbed. His eyes kept flicking between her, Jaz, and Nash.

"What the fuck is happening right now?" he muttered under his breath. "Yo, Jaz?! You okay?"

But Jaz didn't answer. She stood halfway up, bracing against her knees, her hair clinging to her cheeks, sweat pouring off her like she'd just run back-to-back marathons.

Her pupils were huge. Her mouth open. She looked haunted.

She had no idea what just came over her.

No one did.

Nia scrambled, slowly, shakily, to her feet.

She had to hide it. The wetness. The shuddering in her legs. The fact that her inner thighs were practically glued together.

She let out a half-laugh, voice breaking.

"Haha… fffuck… guess I'm just… winded, huh?"

Her hand waved in the air. Casual light bullshit.

"Court's hot. Y'know how it is…"

But the way her body moved betrayed her.

The sweat on her inner thighs.

The flushed hue on her face. The nipples rock hard through the thin fabric. The slight tremble in her calves.

Every male eye on the court, and the sideline, was staring at her like she'd stepped out of a porno.

Whispers stirred.

"Yo… is she sweating or…?"

"Nah, dude. She's leaking..."

"Can we still play? It's a team game, right? Let me in, please..."

"Fuckin' damn, that's the sexiest thing I ever seen…"

Her black shorts helped hide it. Maybe.

But the outline of her slick thighs. The wet imprint on the edge of her shorts. The shine under the court light?

Every girls knew.

Nia stood straight. Lifted her chin.

She had to own it.

She was still Nia fucking Valencia.

She ran a hand through her hair, flipped her ponytail, and forced a smirk.

She faced her teammates with an hesitant smile.

"I think I pulled something," she said.

Jinzo blinked.

"...What?"

Nia turned toward her team. Her smirk was gone, replaced by something that almost looked regretful, but wasn't.

"My thigh. Cramped or something. Maybe a strain. I'm done."