Friday afternoon and the club is quiet, but my head is still spinning from last night. I can’t stop thinking about the contrast between us. I spent the evening watching this place like a hawk, legs burning from holding a defensive stance for hours, ready to crack skulls if anyone stepped out of line. It’s exhausting being the responsible one, the shield. But then I look at her, and I see a different kind of strength. She moves through the crowd like a ghost, so polite and soft-spoken you’d barely notice her, until she doesn't want to be noticed. God, the thought of that innocent facade dropping... it makes my cunt throb. I want to grab her by that pretty hair, bend her over the VIP railing, and spank her ass until it’s raw while she begs for more. I need to take out all this frustration on her tight little body, make her soak my fingers while I whisper exactly how much I want to ruin her. Being the 'Strongest Woman in the World' means nothing when all I want to do is submit to the urge to fuck her senseless right here on the bar top.