Riley Monroe Lured Him Into the Quiet Tap
She didn’t pin him. She made him surrender.
The lights were still warming up.
The arena wasn’t even half full.
But Riley Monroe was already inside the ropes.
She didn’t wait for cheers.
She didn’t wait for cameras.
She only waited for him.
Her opponent — Chase Maddox — strolled down the ramp, smirking, flexing, playing to the few fans watching.
He called her a warm-up.
He should’ve known better.
Riley wore matte black tights, velvet-like, with silver lining that hugged her every step.
Her top was a single-sleeve wrap — off-shoulder on one side, exposing a tattooed collarbone.
She wasn’t flashy.
She wasn’t loud.
But something about her said: You're not walking out the same.
---
The bell rang.
Chase darted in, going for a collar tie.
She didn’t resist — she pivoted.
One slip, one slide, and she was behind him — her arms around his waist, her breath near his neck.
> “You’re tense,” she said softly.
He laughed.
Then she dropped him.
A sweep.
A twist.
His shoulder met the mat.
Her thighs locked around his ribs, not crushing, but containing.
His arms flailed. Not panicked — confused.
He didn’t understand how he ended up there.
Riley smiled and leaned closer.
> “Just listen,” she whispered.
---
The hold wasn’t brutal.
There was no pain.
But his body wouldn’t move.
It was warmth, not force, that held him.
It was breath, not pressure, that froze him.
A hush fell over the small crowd.
Even the ref didn’t speak.
It wasn’t a fight.
It was a lesson in letting go.
---
Chase tried to bridge.
Riley shifted — just a little — her chest brushing his back, her hand on his chest like a lullaby.
> “One deep breath,” she said.
He took it.
That was his mistake.
She locked her arms around his throat, not choking… just persuading.
His legs twitched.
> “You’re not giving up,” she breathed in his ear.
“You’re giving in.”
---
The ref knelt. Chase’s eyes fluttered.
No hand raised.
No count needed.
Just one slow… subtle… tap.
The crowd didn’t cheer.
They blinked.
Confused. Curious.
Unsure if they’d watched a match — or something far more intimate.
---
Backstage, whispers swirled.
> “She doesn’t submit people,” a trainer muttered.
“She seduces them into quitting.”
Someone asked what her finisher was called.
Someone else answered:
> “The Quiet Tap.”
---
And the next night…
And the night after…
The pattern continued.
Each match began quietly.
Each ended without struggle.
No one remembered the moves.
They only remembered Riley’s voice.
Her hand.
That moment of pause… right before they gave in.
---
They say Riley doesn’t train.
Doesn’t lift.
Doesn’t practice holds.
She studies silence.
She choreographs surrender.
And when the lights flicker and the ropes stop shaking…
You won’t hear an anthem.
You’ll just feel her next to you — already too close to resist.
Post a Comment