I couldn't breathe.
My lungs burned like I'd just run a marathon through hellfire. Every inhale was a battle against ribs that had already been through too much today, yesterday, and probably the entire goddamn week.
The air tasted like sex, sweat, and something else. Something divine that was probably going to kill me before the tournament ever got a chance.
Hah... hah... fuck...
My chest was covered in god knows what. Streaks of saliva from five different women. The faint shimmer of Nectar still drying on my skin like war paint.
Somewhere in the chaos of the last four hours, someone had gotten enthusiastic with their nails, leaving red lines across my torso that stung when I moved.
I reached blindly for the water bottle I'd stashed on the nightstand three lifetimes ago. The plastic crinkled in my grip as I chugged the entire thing in three desperate gulps.
