As you circle, trying to lock down north-south, I feel the split second where your weight shifts just a little too far forward.
That’s all I need.
Instead of continuing to fight from underneath, I suddenly stop resisting the direction you’re moving and flow with it. As you drive around my head, I swing my outside leg high and fast over your upper back, aiming for your far shoulder.
My other leg follows immediately.
Before you can fully clear my hips, I clamp both thighs tight around your head and one trapped arm, catching you mid-transition.
“Got you,” I breathe.
Using the momentum of your spin, I roll sharply onto my side, dragging you off balance and pulling you down into the space between my legs. My calves cross and lock behind your neck. I squeeze — not wild, but precise — hips lifting slightly to tighten the angle while I control your trapped arm against my body.
Your posture breaks.
The collar tie you had on me disappears as your hands instinctively come up to pry at my legs. I adjust, flexing my core and extending my hips to amplify the pressure, thighs tightening around your neck and shoulder.
The scramble stops.
Your movement slows.
“You were this close,” I murmur, breathing heavy but steady now as I maintain the headscissor, keeping the pressure consistent and controlled.
After a few seconds of resistance, your hand taps firmly against my thigh.
I immediately release.
We separate, both breathing hard, hair a mess, sweat shining under the locker room lights — but I’m the one sitting up first this time, victorious grin spreading across my face.
