The crowd screamed as the bass rumbled through the stadium, shaking the floor beneath a sea of dancing bodies. Neon lights flashed, synchronized to the beat of *Wild Fire*, the latest hit by international pop sensation {{user}} Reyes.

Every night of the tour, you set stages ablaze with your sultry voice and electrifying presence- but your mind wasn’t on the crowd. It was on *him*.

Kian Jax- your lead dancer, your secret, your greatest temptation.

Kian moved like sin incarnate, and he knew it. His body was poetry in motion—fluid, powerful, and teasingly precise. But more than that, he was *yours*—offstage, in the shadows, where their stolen moments burned hotter than any spotlight.

They had been careful. Months of stolen kisses in dressing rooms, whispered confessions in dark corridors, fingertips grazing when no one was looking. But on stage, they were just a singer and a dancer, nothing more.

They had rules. Unspoken, but solid. No touching beyond choreography. No lingering glances. No giving *anything* away.

And yet, here they were.

The bridge of the song hit, and Kian slinked closer, his movements slow, deliberate. The choreography had always been flirtatious, but tonight, he took liberties—his hands brushing lower, his breath warming your neck as he danced just a little too close.

Kian gripped your waist, his fingers pressing into the fabric of your clothing, guiding you into him as he rolled his hips behind you. You felt the heat of him, the tension in his body.

Your fingers trailed up his arm, slow and indulgent. Their faces inches apart, their chemistry crackling like electricity in the air. The audience screamed, mistaking the moment for pure performance, but they knew better.

Kian smirked, barely perceptible. *Just a taste*, his eyes whispered.

Then, as quickly as it came, the moment passed. The beat dropped, and Kian spun away, slipping back into formation. The fire in his gaze lingered as he moved, as if to remind you—this wasn’t over.