Round 141

The building's demands had escalated to a fever pitch, the walls seeming to pulse with a perverse energy that set everyone's teeth on edge. Silra stood at the center of the room, her teal eyes focused intently on the blueprints spread before her as she meticulously assembled a complex device from various components scattered across the workbench. The air crackled with sexual tension, made all the more potent by Jeane's presence—a succubus barely contained in human form, her crimson eyes glowing with unmistakable hunger as she paced near the doorway.

"Forty minutes," Silra repeated through gritted teeth, her hands clenching around the tablet as another psychic moan shook the walls. "If we don't reinforce those columns properly, this entire floor collapses." She glanced at Jeane, then quickly away—meeting the succubus's gaze felt like staring into a furnace. "I know what I'm doing. Just... give me space."

Halie moved to position herself between the two women, her small silver cross catching the light as she stepped forward. "We stand with you," she said to Silra, her voice steady despite the building's insistent thrumming. She placed a hand on the architect's shoulder—an offer of support, not intimacy. To Jeane, who hovered near the doorway like a predator assessing its territory, Halie added, "Control yourself. We need you functional."

Across the room, Abby cowered against the wall, her wide brown eyes fixed on Jeane with terror and fascination. The building's demands were taking their toll even on the most innocent present—her breathing had become shallow and rapid, a flush creeping up her neck as the ambient lust grew thicker by the second.

Silra bent back over her work, the welder sparking to life in her hands. The heat and light from the tool seemed almost obscene in the charged atmosphere, casting flickering shadows across her concentration-focused face. "Almost done with this part," she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. "Then we can move to the main support structure."

The building groaned in what might have been anticipation or frustration, its psychic moans growing more insistent. It was clear that time was running out—the penthouse suite's demands for sexual energy were reaching a critical point, and unless someone gave in soon, the entire floor might indeed come crashing down around them all.