Dominance Evolution System: Sweat, Sex, and Streetball
Chapter 19: Court Tease

Chapter 19: Court Tease

The ball hit concrete with a sharp clap. Game on.

Ten minutes. One court, no refs, no calls, no mercy.

Jinzo took point for Blacklist, flashing a toothy grin like he was starring in his own highlight reel.

His dribble was all show, fast crossovers, behind-the-back spins, even a no-look fake pass he didn’t need.

The locals bit hard early. First move, he faked a bounce off Nia’s thigh, slipped through two defenders, and slammed a flashy hook pass to Jaz, the amazon girl, under the rim.

BOOM.

The backboard rattled.

"First blood!" Jinzo barked.

Jaz jogged back with that stone-faced look, her massive chest bouncing like a double threat. No one could touch her.

She shoved boys off screens like flies, chased fast breaks with terrifying speed, and snatched rebounds so hard the ball squealed.

Every step she took, the court felt smaller. Her sweat was starting to mist.

"She’s a fuckin’ truck," a girl whispered from the sidelines.

"Damn... I should have volunteered..." a guy grumbled.

As for Nia? She was everywhere.

Cutting lanes, darting under screens, and "accidentally" brushing her chest against Kev’s arm whenever she got close.

When he switched to guard her, she pulled her tank top halfway up mid-run and let it drop, just enough to flash some soft white underboob.

Kev tripped.

The crowd roared.

But the game tilted when Nash took over.

He didn’t say anything. Just watched, learned the pattern of his teammates.

He was ready.

He waited for the second possession, jogging up slow. Two defenders watched him like hawks.

He didn’t even look at the ball, just snapped a pass behind his back with one hand, hit his teammate’s chest clean.

Layup.

Tied.

The next play, Nash came down the court again. Nia was on him now. Her hips swung like bait. Her eyes locked on him like she’d already undressed him twice.

"Hey, you’re not like the others," Nia murmured, pushing off her knee and walking close. "You taste different... smell better too. What’s your name?"

Nash didn’t react. Just kept focusing on the game.

Nia tilted her head, grinning like she saw something delicious.

"Oh... you won’t ignore me long," she whispered.

Then, during the next screen, she pressed full into his hip. Her chest mashed against his arm, her fingers gliding slow down his side like she was memorizing skin.

She dipped low, dragged a hand across his abs, nails trailing heat.

Her scent hit harder now, lotion and salt and sugar and heat, like someone bottled temptation and broke the seal.

The crowd let out whistles and laughs, watching her turn defense into seduction.

She felt his moves becoming less fluid and smirked.

"You gonna pass? Or give in?"

He snapped a pass between her legs.

Her teammate didn’t expect it.

"Oops," Nia laughed. "My bad."

Possession lost. Blacklist grabbed it and ran a perfect alley-oop to Jaz. She caught it midair, body twisting like a storm, and dunked so hard the rim bent.

2–1.

"Ya’ll ain’t built for this court," Jinzo yelled. "We takin’ it, rats!"

But Nash was adjusting. Breathing slower now. Every misstep, every reaction, he logged it. Next drive, he cut left. Nia shadowed him, sticking close. Way too close.

"Thought you were a player," she whispered. "Where’s your stroke?"

Nash smirked.

He cut across two screens, baited Jaz to switch onto him, then pivoted and threaded a bounce pass so slick it curved like a bullet around her leg.

"WHAT THE FUCK!" one of the locals screamed.

Layup. Tied again.

Nia’s lip curled. Her pupils dilated.

She wanted more.

Next play, she got her wish. Nash danced at the top of the key, dribbling slow. She came up chest-first. Full contact. Her hips pressed to his thigh, body grinding like it was part of the move.

Then she brushed her hand up under his jersey, fingers barely skimming the skin of his lower back, right where sweat was pooling.

He spun.

Behind-the-back. Step fake. No-look. One-handed laser pass.

Assist.

Gasps from both sides.

"Bro," a boy whispered. "He’s doing it again. This guy’s a beast."

Jaz started getting frustrated. She chased Nash down like a buffalo in heat, switching out fast to cut off his every lane.

Each time she closed in, her sheer size swallowed his field of vision, arms out, thighs pumping, chest bouncing like it was trying to catch him first.

Her boobs were everywhere, pressing, jiggling, dragging heat and steam with them.

Her sweat misted between them, catching light like oil. Nash could feel the air change when she neared. He didn’t just see her, he felt her.

But he stayed locked in.

Focus razor-sharp, feet light, body sharpened with instinct. He let Jaz’s sheer force crash forward like a wave, her powerful limbs moving fast, that mountainous chest bouncing wildly in his peripheral.

But he slipped past her mass with a precision that made her gasp, feet cutting angles she didn’t anticipate, body vanishing through gaps she didn’t realize she left.

"Shit..." She muttered, stumbling a step as her arms missed him entirely.

She had power, but Nash had rhythm, angles, anticipation, and experience.

Then Nia turned up the heat.

Next defense, she didn’t just rub him, she bent forward at the waist, her shorts riding up so high he could see the curve of her ass under the mesh. Her hands dropped to his hips.

"Score on me," she whispered. "I dare you."

Nash paused. Her words hit like a hand slipped under his skin. His eyes flicked once, caught the curve of her smirk, the way her eyes were devouring him.

Heat stirred low, involuntary, but his jaw clenched tight. He refused to show it. Not here. Not to her.

Nia was less a defender now than a walking temptation, every move less about the ball and more about breaking him.

She leaned in, waiting for a crack. He gave her nothing but silence and steel.

Then he moved.

He faked right. She lunged.

He spun left.

She reached.

He ducked under. Her hand brushed his abs.

Pass. Corner. Shot.

Swish.

Blacklist inbounded. Jaz pushed past two defenders. Jinzo cut wide, yelling for it.

But Nash was already there.

His pupils dilated. The edges of the court seemed to sharpen.

He could feel every footstep around him, hear the breath patterns, track the tiniest twitches. His world slowed.

He saw it before it happened. Jinzo’s glance, his step, the tension in his shoulder before the pass.

The play unfolded like a rerun in Nash’s mind. His body moved before his thoughts did.

He slipped behind Jinzo and snatched the pass clean out of the air.

Break.

Gasps spread from the crowd and Blacklist members.

Jaz turned fast. Nia spun around.

They both chased.

Nash didn’t sprint. He paced. He let them catch up.

His feet kissed the court, smooth, slower.

Then he planted.

Spun.

Crossover. Behind-the-back. Then a second behind. Step fake left, leg slide right.

Jaz lunged. Her shadow swallowed him. Her size, her speed, it should’ve shut him down.

But Nash ducked under her arm, slipped past.

Nia dove, thinking she read him. He pivoted last-second.

They collided. Both stumbled, then hit the court hard, Jaz’s long limbs tangled in Nia’s thighs.

They looked up.

Nash stood over them, eyes burning.

His erection, full and thick, bulged shamelessly against his shorts, steaming in the artificial sun like it owned the court.

Every guy was trying to hide theirs, it was obvious through their poses.

But Nash? He didn’t even flinch. No attempt to hide it. He wasn’t embarrassed. He wore it like a fucking crown.

Gasps rippled across the people.

Nia’s eyes widened, lips parted. Her gaze locked to the heat-strained fabric like it was a confession.

Jaz blinked hard, face stiffening like her brain skipped a beat. She looked at the mount like a column of fire, cheeks burning under her tan.

They looked at each other, still on the ground. Then up again.

Staring.

No words. Just stunned.

Nash growled.

"You wanted to play?"

He leaned forward, lifted, and fired.

The ball arced clean, short range, barely above the rim, and dropped straight through the net.

Nothing but mesh.

"Now we will fucking play."