Sherly Jackson: Seduction Behind the Slam
The roars of the crowd had long faded, but Sherly Jackson’s pulse still thundered like a main event bell.
She stood in the empty hallway behind the arena’s west wing—where no fans, cameras, or officials ever wandered after midnight. Her crimson boots squeaked slightly against the concrete floor as she adjusted the strap of her top, the tension from the night clinging to her skin like sweat.
It was supposed to be just another victory.
But nothing was ever just another anything when it involved him.
Cade Vex.
Ruthless in the ring. Reckless outside of it.
And the one man Sherly swore she’d never let get too close again.
---
Ten minutes ago, they’d closed the main show with a brutal mixed-tag match. Sherly had pinned the other woman clean, but all eyes had been on the off-script tension between her and Cade. The audience thought it was performance. What they didn’t know was the fire between them was dangerously real.
Sherly pushed open the locker room marked "Private Talent Only." Inside, it was quiet—too quiet.
She didn’t flinch when the door clicked shut behind her.
“You always vanish after a win?” Cade’s voice came from the corner.
Low. Gritty. And far too familiar.
Sherly turned slowly, eyes locking with his in the mirror across from her. “You followed me?”
He stepped into view, sweat still gleaming on his chest. “You kissed me mid-match. Thought I’d take the hint.”
“That was part of the act,” she said.
He smirked. “So was the way you moaned when I threw you into the turnbuckle?”
Her breath caught. Just for a second.
---
He moved closer. “You know you missed this.”
9
Sherly backed up until her spine touched the metal lockers. “What we had was chaos.”
“What we had,” he murmured, “was real.”
His hands didn’t touch her—but his presence burned against her skin. The space between them was thick with heat and history.
She should’ve walked away. Instead, she tilted her head. “One night. No strings.”
He smiled. “I never bring rope.”
---
They didn’t make it to the bench. The locker room echoed with the sound of colliding lips, breathless groans, and old desires reignited with raw hunger. His hands traced her curves like he remembered every inch. Her nails left new reminders down his back.
But just as she gasped his name, something clanged—outside the door.
9
They froze.
Sherly’s heart flipped. “Someone’s out there.”
Cade moved fast, yanking on his shirt and peering through the peephole.
A shadow moved down the hallway.
He turned back to her. “You have stalkers now?”
She reached for her phone—only to realize it was gone.
On a bench near the door sat her phone...
recording.
A red light blinking.
Her stomach dropped. “Someone set us up.”
Cade grabbed the phone. “It’s streaming... to a private channel.”
Sherly’s blood boiled. She’d been exposed once before—by an ex-manager who sold leaked footage. It nearly killed her career. She wasn’t about to let history repeat itself.
---
They ran. Down the corridor, up the emergency stairwell—trailing the masked figure in black. The arena was a maze at night, but Sherly knew its corners.
She cornered the figure near the production booth. A struggle. A mask ripped off.
It was Kara Voss, her former tag partner. The one Sherly had replaced in tonight’s match.
“You stole my spotlight!” Kara screamed. “So I stole your scandal!”
9
Sherly’s fist collided with her jaw before security pulled them apart. “You wanted headlines?” she hissed. “You just got arrested.”
---
Back in the locker room, Sherly sat wrapped in Cade’s jacket, phone secured in her hand.
She didn’t look at him at first. But when she did, her eyes were soft.
“I never needed saving,” she said.
He grinned. “Good. Because I’m not here to save you.”
She leaned forward, pressing her lips to his—this time without cameras, audience, or agenda.
Only truth.
---
That night, Sherly Jackson didn’t walk out of the arena with a belt.
She walked out with something rarer.
Power.
Desire.
And the upper hand.
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