Chapter 1: The Red Dress
Bangkok was humming.
Neon lights painted the streets in red and gold, and the air was thick with smoke, perfume, and secrets. In the backroom of Club Serpent, where the most dangerous men toasted to blood deals, she walked in like a secret weapon wrapped in silk.
Becky.
A red dress hugged her curves, the slit running high enough to make a man pray and sin in the same breath. Eyes followed her, but hers were fixed—calculated, cold. She wasn’t here to be looked at.
She was here to find her target.
At the far end of the room, in a dark corner surrounded by guards, sat a woman in a black tailored suit, sleeves rolled just enough to show the faint glint of a tattoo. A glass of whiskey in one hand, a gun holstered beneath her blazer. Calm. Untouchable.
Freen.
The Queen of Bangkok’s underground. Ruthless. Respected. And absolutely off-limits.
Becky moved through the room like a siren, drink in hand, eyes locked on Freen. Every step she took made her heart pound—not from fear, but from thrill. Her job was simple: get close, flirt, earn trust… then plant the bug beneath the table.
She didn’t expect Freen to look up and catch her that fast.
“You’re new,” Freen said, voice low and dangerous.
Becky tilted her head. “Is that a problem?”
“No,” Freen replied, setting down her glass. “Just means I haven’t figured out what you want yet.”
The table between them was cold steel, but the tension burned like fire.
“I want a drink,” Becky said.
“Already had one.”
Freen’s eyes slid down her dress, then back up, slow and deliberate. Becky felt it like a touch. She leaned forward just enough to show skin.
“And now I want something stronger.”
Freen smiled. “Careful, little red. This place eats girls like you alive.”
Becky smirked. “Maybe I’m not here to survive.”
The corner of Freen’s mouth twitched. Intrigued. Dangerous.
The music changed—low jazz over heavy bass—and the room seemed to blur around them. Just Freen, sipping whiskey, and Becky, heartbeat wild.
“You’re brave,” Freen said. “Or stupid.”
Becky slid the bug under the table with perfect grace. “Can’t I be both?”
Freen stood, walking around the table slowly, her boots clicking on the marble floor. Becky didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.
Freen stopped inches away, close enough for Becky to smell the leather and smoke on her. She reached up, tucked a strand of Becky’s hair behind her ear.
“You’re not from here,” she murmured.
“Does that matter?”
“It means you don’t know the rules yet.”
Becky looked up, meeting her eyes. “Then teach me.”
Freen smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
“Oh, darling,” she whispered, “I write them.”
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Chapter 2: Queen’s Game
Becky wasn’t supposed to linger.
The bug was planted. The mission was done. She should’ve slipped away into the shadows, called her handler, and disappeared before Freen could get another look at her. But she stayed.
Something about Freen’s voice. The way her lips curled around words like sin. The way power dripped off her like perfume. Becky had danced with danger before — but never like this.
“Sit,” Freen ordered, her tone velvet and ice.
Becky obeyed without breaking eye contact. Every move she made was deliberate — a slow cross of her legs, the sway of her red dress pulling taut across her thighs.
Freen noticed. Of course she did. Nothing got past her.
“You’re not a regular girl from the street, are you?” Freen asked, her voice low and edged with curiosity.
Becky smiled, soft and deadly. “Do I look like one?”
“No.” Freen leaned forward, elbows on the table. “You look like trouble wrapped in lace.”
“And you look like someone who wants to unwrap it.”
A beat of silence passed. Then Freen laughed — low and deep, like thunder in the distance. It wasn’t a laugh of amusement. It was approval.
The guards behind her shifted. They were watching Becky too now. Tension hummed in the air, sharp as a blade. One wrong move and the whole room would explode.
Freen lifted a glass and poured two shots of golden liquid.
“Drink with me,” she said, sliding one across the table.
“What is it?” Becky asked, picking it up.
“Something older than your secrets.”
Becky raised her glass. “To what, then?”
Freen didn’t hesitate. “To liars.”
They clinked.
The drink burned down Becky’s throat like fire — and still, she kept her cool. Her heartbeat was a war drum in her chest, especially when Freen stood again and circled behind her like a predator.
“Do you know what happens to spies in my world?” Freen murmured, so close Becky could feel her breath at her ear.
Becky smiled, resisting the shiver that threatened to rise. “They get killed?”
Freen leaned in. “Only if they’re caught.”
The heat between them thickened. Becky didn’t move, but her fingers curled around the shot glass, nerves buzzing.
Freen’s lips brushed her ear — just barely.
“But something tells me,” Freen whispered, “you’re too clever to get caught that easily.”
Then she was gone, stepping away, leaving Becky cold and burning all at once.
“I’ll see you again, Red,” Freen said, slipping her hands into her pockets. “Next time, I expect answers.”
And just like that, she walked off — guards flanking her, the Queen of the room disappearing into shadow.
Becky exhaled, finally.
Mission complete? Maybe.
But something else had started. Something far more dangerous than data or wiretaps.
She didn’t just want to learn about Freen anymore.
She wanted to touch her. To break her. To love her — or ruin her trying.
And as she slipped out of the club, red heels clicking on marble, she smiled to herself.
Let the game begin.
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End of Chapter 2
💋 Two queens. One throne. No mercy. 💋
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😏 Say less.
Here comes each other.
Chapter 3: Tension in Silk
Becky didn’t expect to see Freen again so soon.
It had only been three days since the Club Serpent encounter, but her thoughts had been poisoned with that woman’s voice, her eyes, her scent. It wasn’t just attraction. It was obsession.
And now she was here.
In Freen’s private penthouse — high above the city, wrapped in glass and secrets — where the air felt heavier, more electric. And Becky? She wore black lace under a trench coat she hadn’t bothered to button.
Freen stood by the window, looking out over the neon-soaked skyline, cigarette between her fingers. The sharp silhouette of her suit clung to her like sin.
“You came,” Freen said without turning.
“You asked,” Becky replied, stepping forward. She dropped her coat to the floor, slow and deliberate, revealing bare legs and the kind of lingerie that didn’t leave much to the imagination.
Freen turned then.
Her eyes burned with something darker than lust — something primal.
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” she said.
Becky stepped closer, stopping just inches away. “Then teach me the rules.”
Freen’s hand moved fast — fingers curling around Becky’s jaw, tilting her face up. Their mouths hovered. Close. Too close.
“I could ruin you,” Freen whispered.
Becky smirked, her breath warm against Freen’s lips. “Then do it.”
That was all it took.
Freen kissed her like fire meeting gasoline. No hesitation — just hunger. Her hands gripped Becky’s hips, backing her into the wall with force, lips trailing down her neck like a promise and a threat.
Becky gasped, one leg instinctively wrapping around Freen’s waist, pulling her closer. Her fingers tangled in Freen’s hair, tugging. Freen groaned — low, animalistic — and bit down softly at the base of Becky’s throat.
Becky moaned, breath catching.
The city lights lit their skin as Freen slipped a hand beneath the lace, dragging her palm slowly up Becky’s thigh, between them, teasing.
Becky’s head fell back against the wall, her eyes fluttering shut. “God, you’re…”
“Don’t,” Freen cut in, her voice rough. “Don’t call me that unless you mean it.”
“I might,” Becky whispered.
Freen pinned her harder, hips pressing, lips trailing lower.
"You’re not scared of me?" she asked, voice muffled against Becky’s skin.
Becky smiled, breathless. “Terrified.”
They moved like they were dancing — rough, breathless, bodies crashing and clutching. Freen dragged her down to the velvet couch, never letting go, mouths finding each other again and again between gasps and low, aching moans.
There was no gentleness in this. Just need. Heat. The taste of power and surrender mixed into every touch.
Becky clawed at Freen’s shirt, buttons popping, hands gliding over the firm lines of her chest. She didn’t care about secrets right now. Didn’t care about missions or lies.
Just her. Her and Freen and this wild, wicked moment where they weren’t enemies or spies — just two women who burned too brightly to look away.
And as Freen’s lips dragged lower, voice whispering Becky’s name like a curse and a prayer, Becky realized—
She didn’t just want Freen.
She wanted to belong to her.
End of Chapter 3
💋 Tonight, the spy became the possession. 💋
😘
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