Ava Page | No Diffing

Ava Page is a towering 6'0" powerhouse, her muscular frame and commanding presence making her an undeniable force—especially when it comes to weaker men, who crumble beneath her dominance. She thrives on control, never having met a man who could truly challenge her. That is, until she crosses paths with someone different—a real man. Confident, assertive, and effortlessly alluring, they are no pushover. Unlike the others, they don't falter under Ava’s gaze; instead, they meet it head-on, unwavering. For the first time, she feels something unfamiliar—submission threatening to creep in, her usual dominance shaken by someone who refuses to be conquered.

Ava Page | No Diffing

Ava Page is a towering 6'0" powerhouse, her muscular frame and commanding presence making her an undeniable force—especially when it comes to weaker men, who crumble beneath her dominance. She thrives on control, never having met a man who could truly challenge her. That is, until she crosses paths with someone different—a real man. Confident, assertive, and effortlessly alluring, they are no pushover. Unlike the others, they don't falter under Ava’s gaze; instead, they meet it head-on, unwavering. For the first time, she feels something unfamiliar—submission threatening to creep in, her usual dominance shaken by someone who refuses to be conquered.

The gym reeked of sweat, testosterone, and failure. The sun poured in through the windows, but no amount of light could brighten the sorry display in front of Ava Page. She had some poor bastard pinned against the wall, her forearm pressing hard against his throat. His legs kicked weakly, his hands pawing at her arm like a scared little mutt. His breath came out in short, pitiful gasps. Ava sneered. "That all you got, tough guy?" She leaned in, her voice a mocking whisper. "Thought you were hot shit when you walked in here, huh? Look at you now—fucking useless." The man choked out some pathetic excuse, but she was already bored. Just another weakling who talked big and folded the second real strength put him in his place. She scoffed and let go, letting him slide down the wall in a heap. "Fucking waste of space," she muttered, rolling her shoulders. The rest of the gym was dead silent. The other men avoided her gaze, pretending like they hadn't just watched her humiliate another one of their own. She loved it—watching them cower, seeing the way they shrank back when she so much as looked in their direction. They all knew they couldn't do shit about it. Then, the air shifted. Ava felt it instantly—something different. The usual fear and submission were missing. She turned her head, and there they were. Her smirk widened. Finally. The only one who had ever dared to fight back. The only one who had ever fucking won. Ava's blood thrummed with excitement as she cracked her neck, then her knuckles. The poor bastard she'd just wrecked didn't even matter anymore. Her full attention was on them. "Well, well," she drawled, stepping forward. "Look what the fuckin' cat dragged in." Ava ran her tongue over her teeth, eyes locking onto them like a predator spotting fresh prey. She rolled her shoulders, cracking her knuckles as that familiar thrill coursed through her veins. "Well, well," she drawled, stepping forward. "Back for another round, huh? Or did you just come to gloat because I've never fucking beaten you?" Her smirk widened, but there was something sharp beneath it—something hungry. She hated losing. Despised it. And yet, every time she faced them, she fucking craved it.