Chapter 8: Backstage Temptation
The silence in the car was a living thing, thick with the aftershocks of confession and vengeance. Nelissa felt unspooled, her carefully constructed academic disguise left in tatters on the courtyard pavement. Lisa’s arm stayed around her, a possessive band of heat, her thumb tracing absent circles on Nelissa’s shoulder. She was on her phone, texting in a rapid, furious patter.
“Cancelling the Busan trip,” Lisa said, her voice devoid of any negotiable tone. “They can do the interviews without me. A family emergency.” She glanced at Nelissa. “You are my family emergency.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I do.” Lisa’s finger pressed against Nelissa’s lips, silencing her. “We’re going home. And then tonight, you’re coming with me to the show.”
Nelissa’s eyes widened. “What? Lisa, no. I can’t.”
“You can. You will.” Lisa’s gaze was unwavering. “You’ll be backstage. In my dressing room. I want you to see what I built. I want you in my world, for real. No more hiding in the penthouse. That part is over.”
The finality was terrifying. It was also a relief so profound it felt like drowning.
The penthouse felt different that afternoon. It was no longer just a secret haven; it was a command center. Lisa made calls, her manager’s voice tinny and exasperated through the speakerphone before finally acquiescing. Security details were quietly adjusted. Nelissa sat on the floor, back against the sofa, watching her. This was Lisa in her element: not the vulnerable girl on the rooftop, but the general, marshaling her forces. It was for her. All of it.
Later, Lisa laid out clothes on the bed—not Nelissa’s usual baggy uniform, but a pair of black, tailored trousers and a simple silk tank top. “Wear this.”
“It’s too… me,” Nelissa whispered, touching the fine fabric.
“That’s the point.” Lisa kissed her, hard. “Let’s go.”
The arena was a beast of noise and light. Nelissa moved through the underbelly like a ghost, flanked by a stone-faced security guard Lisa introduced as Kang. The guard didn’t speak, just guided her through concrete corridors vibrating with the bass line of the opening act. The air smelled of sweat, ozone, and anticipation.
Lisa’s private dressing room was a sanctuary within the chaos. Sleek, mirrored, plush velvet seats. A vanity gleamed under Hollywood bulbs, littered with powders and pigments. A half-empty bottle of champagne sat in an ice bucket in the corner, a relic from some earlier celebration. Jennie’s laugh echoed from the hallway, followed by Jisoo’s melodic chatter. They were close. So close.
Nelissa stood in the center of the room, feeling utterly alien. The door opened, and Lisa swept in, already in performance mode. She was a vision in a black leather harness over bare skin, a microscopic sequined mini-skirt, and towering boots. Her stage makeup sharpened her features into something feline and dangerous. Her eyes locked on Nelissa, and the professional mask didn’t so much slip as crack, revealing the fierce, possessive heat beneath.
“Out,” she said to Kang, who nodded and closed the door.
The sound of the arena was muted here, a deep, rhythmic throb through the walls. They could hear the host pumping up the crowd, the distant, seismic roar of ten thousand voices.
“You came,” Lisa said. She walked forward, her boots clicking on the polished concrete floor.
“You told me to.”
“You listened.” She stopped inches away. The scent of her was different here—roses and citrus buried under a layer of pre-show adrenaline and hot stage lights. “Good girl.”
She grabbed the front of Nelissa’s silk top and pulled her into a kiss. It wasn’t tender. It was claiming. Hungry. Her tongue pushed into Nelissa’s mouth, tasting of mint and something metallic. One hand fisted in Nelissa’s hair, tilting her head back. The other grabbed her ass through the trousers, squeezing hard.
When she broke the kiss, both of them were breathing heavily. Lisa’s dark eyes were blown wide, the glitter on her lids catching the light. “I’ve been thinking about this all day,” she growled. “Since I saw you in that fucking courtyard. Since I put those little pricks in their place. I need to feel you. Right now.”
“Lisa… the show, they’re waiting—”
“Fuck the show.” She turned Nelissa around sharply, pressing her front against the cold, unforgiving surface of the vanity mirror. Nelissa’s breath fogged the glass. Lisa’s reflection loomed behind her, a goddess of sin in leather and sequins. “They can wait two minutes. I can’t.”
Her hands were at Nelissa’s waist, undoing the button and zipper of the trousers, yanking them and her underwear down to her thighs in one rough motion. The cool air of the room hit Nelissa’s skin. Then Lisa’s hand was between her own legs, under the tiny skirt. There was a wet, slick sound. She was touching herself.
“Been thinking about this cock since you walked in,” Lisa muttered, her breath hot against Nelissa’s ear. She pressed her body flush against Nelissa’s back, her leather harness digging in. One hand wrapped around Nelissa’s hip, pulling her back. The other guided her.
Nelissa was already hard, achingly so, the rush of the day, the danger, the overwhelming presence of Lisa coalescing into a single, desperate point of need. Lisa positioned her, the head of her cock nudging against heat and incredible wetness.
She wasn’t wearing anything under the skirt.
“Oh, fuck,” Nelissa gasped, her forehead hitting the mirror.
“Yeah,” Lisa hissed. “Now. Give it to me. I need you inside me right fucking now.”
She sank back, taking Nelissa in one smooth, deep stroke.
The sensation was blinding. Hot, silken tightness sheathed her completely. Lisa was dripping, impossibly wet and ready, her body accepting every inch with a hungry clench. A ragged, filthy moan tore from Lisa’s throat, her painted lips parting against Nelissa’s shoulder.
“Yes… god, just like that,” Lisa panted. She began to move, setting a brutal, immediate pace, riding Nelissa with the same fierce precision she used on stage. Her sequined skirt rode up, a glittering mess around her waist. Every downward thrust was a slap of skin, a wet, sucking sound that filled the room, louder than the distant crowd.
Nelissa gripped the edge of the vanity, her knuckles white. The world narrowed to the feel of Lisa around her, to the sight of their reflection—Lisa’s perfect, made-up face contorted in raw pleasure, her own face flushed and stunned. Lisa’s hand snaked between her own legs, rubbing quick, frantic circles over her clit as she fucked herself on Nelissa’s length.
“You see that?” Lisa grunted, her eyes locking on Nelissa’s in the mirror. “You see who you’re fucking? That’s Lalisa Manoban. And she’s yours. She’s dripping all over your perfect fucking cock.”
The obscenity, the sheer audacity of it, sent a shockwave through Nelissa. She pushed back, meeting Lisa’s thrusts, driving deeper. The vanity rattled, makeup brushes clattering. Lisa cried out, a sharp, unvarnished sound.
“Harder,” she demanded, her voice guttural. “Come on, Nelissa. Show me. After today… show me you’re not scared.”
It was a challenge. A culmination. Nelissa let go of the vanity and grabbed Lisa’s hips, her fingers digging into the soft skin above the harness straps. She took over, pulling Lisa onto her with a powerful, driving rhythm. Each thrust was a punctuation mark. For the whispers. For the mockery. For the two years of silence. For Lisa seeing her, defending her, wanting her.
“Is this… is this what you need?” Nelissa ground out, her own control fraying.
“Yes! Fuck, yes! Right there! Don’t you dare stop!” Lisa’s words were a breathless chant. Her hand moved faster between her legs. Her head fell back, the cords of her neck standing out. The crowd outside roared, a wave of sound that seemed to sync with the pounding of their bodies.
Lisa came with a shattered scream, her body clamping down on Nelissa in a series of violent, fluttering spasms. Her knees buckled, but Nelissa held her up, driving into her through the climax, prolonging it, wringing every last pulse from her.
As Lisa’s cries subsided into choked whimpers, Nelissa felt her own end approaching, a tsunami building at the base of her spine. “Lisa… I’m gonna…”
“Do it,” Lisa gasped, pushing back against her, milking her. “Fill me up. Come inside me. Mark me.”
The permission, the filthy command, broke her. Nelissa thrust one last, deep time, burying herself to the hilt as her orgasm ripped through her. It was silent, wordless, a physical convulsion that emptied her into Lisa’s clutching heat. Wave after wave, a surrender that felt like victory.
They slumped against the vanity, a mess of sweat and smeared makeup and spent breath. Lisa’s sequined dress was ruined, damp between them. Nelissa’s trousers were around her thighs. The distant music had changed; the opening act was over.
A sharp knock on the door made them both jump.
“Lisa! Two minutes! You decent?” It was Jennie’s voice, bright and amused.
Lisa lifted her head, a slow, sated smirk spreading across her glossy lips. She called out, her voice only slightly unsteady. “Almost! Be right out!”
She turned her head, capturing Nelissa’s mouth in a deep, languid kiss, tasting of shared salt and victory. When she pulled back, her eyes were clear, the earlier fury replaced by a dark, satisfied glow.
“Watch from the side wing,” she whispered, reaching between them to gently ease Nelissa out of her. A shiver ran through both of them. “Watch me work. And after…” She tucked Nelissa back into her trousers with a surprising tenderness, then smoothed her own skirt. “After, I’m taking you home and we’re doing that again. Slowly. All night.”
She gave herself one last, critical look in the mirror, fixed a smudge of eyeliner, and winked at Nelissa’s reflection. The transformation back to the icon was instantaneous and terrifying.
Lisa Manoban strode to the door, threw it open, and vanished into the screaming hallway, leaving Nelissa alone in the scented, charged ruin of the room, the echo of the crowd now sounding like her own heartbeat, loud and irrevocable.
The door hissed shut, swallowing Lisa into the roar. Nelissa slumped against the vanity, her breath fogging the glass where her forehead had been. The smell of sex and Lisa’s perfume was thick in the air, a primal mixture that made her head spin. She could still feel the ghost of Lisa’s internal clench around her, the wet heat cooling on her skin.
She fumbled with her trousers, her hands unsteady. Through the walls, the opening notes of ‘Money’ exploded, a seismic blast of bass that vibrated the floor. The crowd’s response was a physical force. Nelissa moved to the door, cracked it open, and slipped into the shadowed wing Kang indicated.
The stage was a blistering inferno of light and motion. And there she was. Lalisa. Not the vulnerable woman from the rooftop, not the furious protector in the courtyard. This was the consummate predator. Every hip thrust was a declaration, every locked stare with the camera a challenge. She owned the space, the sound, the attention of thousands.
Nelissa watched, transfixed. This was the image she’d once jerked off to in the lonely silence of her old dorm room, a fantasy pixelated on a screen. Now, she could see the sweat flying from Lisa’s hair, hear the raw power in her live vocals, see the faint tremor in her thigh muscles after a punishing sequence. The reality was so much more potent. It was hers. The thought was a lightning strike down her spine.
The show was a relentless, perfect hour. Nelissa watched it all, a silent specter in the darkness. When the final pyrotechnic blast faded and the house lights rose, Lisa didn’t even look at her. She was swept away in a current of handlers, towels, and bottled water, a glazed smile fixed on her face for well-wishers. But her hand, as she passed, found Nelissa’s wrist. Her fingers dug in, a silent, urgent command: Stay.
The ride back to the penthouse was a silent cocoon. Lisa slumped in the seat, makeup-smeared and dripping with exhaustion, her head on Nelissa’s shoulder. She smelled of smoke, sweat, and adrenaline. She didn’t speak. Her hand rested high on Nelissa’s thigh, possessive even in her depletion.
The penthouse door clicked shut behind them, sealing them in profound quiet. Lisa toed off her boots, sighing as they thudded to the floor. She stretched, her harness cutting into her bare skin. “God, I need a shower. My back is—”
Nelissa didn’t let her finish.
Something in the silent car ride, in the witnessing of that performance, had solidified. The gratitude, the awe, the submission—it all hardened into a different substance. A claiming. Lisa’s words from the courtyard echoed. You are not to be touched.
Before Lisa could take another step, Nelissa moved. She grabbed her by the leather straps of the harness, spun her around, and marched her towards the bedroom. Lisa stumbled, a surprised “Hey!” escaping her lips.
“Nelissa, what the fuck—?”
Nelissa didn’t answer. She pushed Lisa through the bedroom doorway. With a sharp, unceremonious shove, she sent her sprawling face-first onto the vast bed. Lisa caught herself on her elbows, twisting to look back, her eyes wide with shock. There was no playful challenge in them now. Just genuine confusion.
“Wait, hold on—” Lisa started, pushing up.
Nelissa was on her. She landed a stinging, open-handed slap across the back of Lisa’s thighs, right where the sequined skirt had ridden up. The crack was shockingly loud in the quiet room.
“Ah! Shit!” Lisa yelped, more from surprise than pain.
“Stay down,” Nelissa said, her voice a low rasp she didn’t recognize. It wasn’t loud. It was absolute.
She brought her hand down again, harder this time, on the other cheek. A red handprint bloomed against the pale skin. Another slap, then another, a rapid, punishing rhythm. Lisa gasped, her body jolting with each impact. She stopped trying to get up. Her fists clenched in the duvet.
“All those years,” Nelissa ground out, her palm smacking down on hot, reddening flesh. “Every fucking picture. Every video. My hand on my own dick, thinking of you.” Smack. “Thinking I’d never get to touch this.” Smack. “Thinking I wasn’t allowed.”
Lisa moaned, the sound muffled by the bedding. It wasn’t a sound of protest.
Nelissa leaned over, her mouth at Lisa’s ear. Her breath was hot. “You’re older. You’re Lalisa fucking Manoban.” Her hand came down with a final, vicious swat that made Lisa cry out. “But I’m the one with the dick now. And you’re dripping for it. I can smell it.”
She yanked the torn, sweaty mini-skirt down Lisa’s legs and tossed it aside. She hooked her fingers in the sides of Lisa’s thong and ripped it, the flimsy material giving way without a fight. Lisa was bare, exposed, the skin of her ass flushed a deep, angry pink.
Nelissa ran a finger through the slickness between Lisa’s legs, collecting it, then shoved two fingers deep inside her without warning. Lisa arched off the bed, a choked sob tearing from her throat. She was soaked, her body clenching around the invasion.
“See?” Nelissa whispered, working her fingers in and out, the filthy, wet sound filling the room. “You love it. You love getting used. After all that screaming and dancing, you just want to be a fuckhole.”
“Yes,” Lisa hissed, the word fractured. “God, yes.”
Nelissa withdrew her fingers, slick and shining. She unbuckled her own trousers, freeing herself. She was painfully hard, throbbing. She didn’t position herself for comfort. She just grabbed Lisa’s hips, angled her up, and drove into her in one brutal, bottoming thrust.
The air left Lisa’s lungs in a punched-out oof. Nelissa didn’t pause. She set a punishing, rhythmic pace, each snap of her hips a punctuation to her words. “This is mine,” she grunted, pistoning into the tight, wet heat. “This pussy. This ass. All of it. You don’t get to tell me what to do with it anymore.”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Lisa chanted, her voice breaking on each syllable. She was pushing back against Nelissa, meeting each thrust, her body a symphony of surrender. “It’s yours. It’s always been yours. Harder.”
Nelissa obliged. She fucked her with a single-minded intensity, a physical rewriting of their history. The lonely dorm room, the hidden glances, the courtyard humiliation—it all fuelled the machine of her body. She pounded into Lisa, the bedframe slamming against the wall with a steady, violent cadence.
Lisa’s cries climbed, sharp and incoherent. She came with a ragged scream, her body seizing, her internal muscles fluttering wildly around Nelissa’s cock in a vice-like grip. It tipped Nelissa over the edge. With a final, deep plunge, she buried herself and came, a raw, guttural sound tearing from her throat as she emptied herself inside Lisa, claiming her in the most fundamental way.
They collapsed, a tangled, sweating, breathless heap. The room smelled of sex, leather, and spent rage. Nelissa’s heart hammered against Lisa’s back. Lisa’s fingers were still white-knuckled in the duvet.
Slowly, Lisa turned her head. Her cheek was pressed into the mattress, her makeup a ruined masterpiece. She looked up at Nelissa, her eyes dark and utterly clear. A slow, blissed-out smile touched her swollen lips.
“So,” she breathed, her voice hoarse from screaming. “That’s who was hiding in the library.”
Nelissa stared down at her, at the red marks on her skin, at the utterly sated expression on her face. The fury drained away, leaving a strange, powerful calm. She didn’t apologize. She just nodded, her own breath starting to even.
“Yeah,” she said.
The violent energy between them dissipated, leaving behind a hollowed-out quiet. Nelissa’s harsh breathing slowed, syncing with Lisa’s. The red marks on Lisa’s skin stood out in the low light, a vivid map of possession. Nelissa, her mind clearing from the primal fog, felt a sharp twist of something like shame. She shifted, pulling out of Lisa gently, and rolled onto her back beside her.
For a moment, they just lay there in the wreckage of the sheets, staring at the ceiling. The city’s glow painted shifting patterns above them.
Then, Nelissa turned her head. She looked at Lisa’s profile, at the sweaty strands of hair stuck to her temple, at the relaxed, almost peaceful set of her mouth. Without thinking, driven by a impulse softer than anything that had fueled the last hour, Nelissa leaned over and pressed a single, lingering kiss to Lisa’s forehead.
Lisa froze.
It wasn’t a sexual freeze. It was a complete and total stalling of her being. Her breath hitched. Her eyes, which had been closed, flew open, staring blankly at the ceiling as if trying to process a foreign sensation. No one had ever done that to her. Not after sex. Not with that particular, uncomplicated tenderness.
Nelissa felt the rigidity in her body. “Was that… okay?” she whispered, the confidence from moments ago gone.
Lisa didn’t answer with words. She let out a shaky, shallow breath that sounded suspiciously like the beginning of a sob she was clamping down. She just nodded, a tiny, almost imperceptible movement against the pillow.
Moving slowly, Nelissa slid her arms under Lisa’s back and knees. She lifted her easily, cradling her against her chest. Lisa was pliant, her head lolling against Nelissa’s shoulder, her eyes wide and watchful. Nelissa carried her through the dark bedroom, into the ensuite bathroom. She didn’t turn on the harsh overhead lights, only the soft, dim glow of the LED strips under the vanity.
She lowered Lisa into the empty bathtub, then climbed in behind her, turning on the water. It rushed from the faucet, steaming hot. Nelissa guided Lisa back to rest against her chest as the tub filled, the water soothing the heated skin, washing away the sweat and the lingering stickiness between them.
Once the water was deep enough, Nelissa reached for a soft cloth and a bottle of Lisa’s bergamot-scented body wash. She squeezed some onto the cloth, worked it into a lather, and began to wash Lisa. Not with the frantic need of before, but with a focused, gentle deliberation. She started with her shoulders, kneading the tense muscles she’d seen corded on stage, moving down her arms, over her stomach. She was meticulous, soft.
Lisa relaxed into the touch, her body becoming a heavy, boneless weight against Nelissa’s. The silence was comfortable, filled only with the slosh of water. After a long while, Lisa’s voice, rough from screaming, cut through the quiet.
“Have you ever done something like this with anyone?” she asked. Her words were careful. “After.”
Nelissa’s hands stilled for a second on Lisa’s shoulders before resuming their slow massage. “No,” she said. The word was simple, final. She let out a soft, self-deprecating huff of air. “I told you I was a loser. What more a freak like me?”
Lisa turned her head over her shoulder to look at her. The dim light caught the earnestness in her eyes. “You’re never a freak to me.”
Nelissa smiled, a small, sad curve of her lips, and leaned forward to place a quick, reassuring kiss on Lisa’s damp cheek. “I’m a woman with boobs and a dick. The dictionary definition of a biological contradiction.”
“No.” Lisa turned around in the water, facing her, the movement causing small waves. She took Nelissa’s face in her wet hands, her grip firm. “You’re one of a kind. You’re exquisite. Special.” Her eyes searched Nelissa’s, looking for a belief to mirror her own.
Nelissa just looked back, the warmth of the water nothing compared to the heat of Lisa’s gaze. She kept quiet, unable to voice the hope that was threatening to crack her open.
“Have you ever done something like this with anyone?” Nelissa asked quietly, turning the question back, her thumbs stroking the water-beaded skin of Lisa’s hips below the surface.
Lisa turned back around, leaning against Nelissa once more, guiding Nelissa’s arms to wrap around her torso. She held those arms in place, as if securing them. “I have,” she said. Her voice was flat. “With a lot of people.” The admission hung there, and she sounded utterly un-proud of it. It was just a fact, empty and clinical.
“Which one was nice?” Nelissa asked, her chin resting on Lisa’s wet shoulder.
“Yours.” Lisa’s answer was immediate, devoid of any performative sweetness. It was just truth. “You’re different.”
Nelissa held her tighter, pressing a kiss into the side of her head, breathing in the scent of bergamot and clean skin. “Come on,” she murmured. “Let’s wash up.”
They did. They rinsed off, the water cooling around them. Nelissa helped Lisa out, wrapping her in a thick, warm towel before doing the same for herself. In the bedroom, Lisa pulled out two identical satin nightgowns from her drawer, handing one to Nelissa. They dressed in silence, the fabric whispering against their skin.
They slid into bed. Nelissa turned off the last light. She moved instinctively behind Lisa, curving her larger body around Lisa’s smaller frame, the big spoon enveloping the little one. She settled her palm flat against Lisa’s hipbone, her thumb making slow, soothing circles. After a few minutes, the circles turned into a gentle, rhythmic patting, a quiet, physical lullaby.
Lisa’s breathing deepened, slowed. Within minutes, the last of the tension left her body, and she was asleep, truly asleep, in the circle of Nelissa’s arms.
Nelissa lay awake in the dark, listening to that even breath, feeling the steady beat of Lisa’s heart against her arm. The words echoed. You’re different. Yours. They felt bigger than the bedroom, bigger than the penthouse. They felt like a country she had just crossed into, without a map, without a passport, but with a terrifying sense of finally being home.
Morning light, sharp and accusatory, sliced through the gaps in the blinds. Nelissa woke to an empty space in the bed where Lisa had been. The scent of her, of their bath, still clung to the sheets. For a disorienting second, the calm of the night before felt like a dream.
Then she heard the clatter from the kitchen.
She padded out, the satin nightgown slipping off one shoulder. Lisa was a whirlwind in athleisure wear, her hair in a messy ponytail, violently buttering a piece of toast. Three phones buzzed and spun on the marble countertop like distressed insects.
“You’re up,” Lisa said, not looking at her. Her voice was all business, but the tone was edged with something frayed. “I have a fitting at ten, then a producers’ meeting that’ll probably suck, then rehearsal for the Tokyo dome dates.” She finally glanced up. The easy intimacy from the bath was buried under a layer of pragmatic urgency. “Kang will take you back to your dorm to get your things. You’re moving your essentials here today. That’s non-negotiable.”
Nelissa leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms. The whiplash was intense. “Just like that?”
“Just like that.” Lisa took a brutal bite of toast. “After yesterday? You think I’m letting you sleep in a building with those little shits? Not a chance.” She chewed, swallowing hard. “It’s safer here. It’s also… I want you here. When I get back.”
“You’re bossy in the mornings,” Nelissa observed, a small smile touching her lips.
“You’re observant.” Lisa shot back, but a crack of light appeared in her professional facade. She put the toast down. “Last night….” She trailed off, her eyes darting to the bedroom, then back to her phones. “The bath. That was… new.”
“It was nice,” Nelissa said simply.
“Yeah.” Lisa agreed quietly. She grabbed her primary phone, scowling at the screen. “Shit. Manager’s downstairs. Gotta run.” She rounded the counter, stopping in front of Nelissa. She didn’t kiss her. Instead, she reached up and fixed the strap of Nelissa’s nightgown, her fingers lingering on her bare shoulder for a second. “Get your stuff. Make yourself at home. Use the studio if you want. The fridge is yours.”
She was a blur of motion then, grabbing a jacket, shoving phones into pockets. At the door, she paused, hand on the knob. She didn’t turn around.
“The freaks have to stick together, right?” she said, her voice oddly small.
Then she was gone, the door clicking shut, leaving Nelissa alone in the sunlit, silent penthouse that was now, somehow, also hers.