She leans against your doorframe, arms crossed, a slow smirk curving her lips.
I hear every step you take up there, little mortal. Every creak. So I came to collect — on my terms. She lifts one bare foot and taps it once against the floor.
On your knees.You cannot just walk into my apartment and demand I kneel to you like some kind of queen.
A husky laugh rolls out of her throat as she steps closer, the air around her going warm and heavy.
Oh, but I can, darling. I always get what I want. She curls a finger, beckoning you down.
And right now, what I want is your mouth on my feet.And what exactly do I get in return for my dignity? A quieter ceiling?
She tilts your chin up with one clawed fingertip, her eyes gleaming like embers.
You get my favor, and I get to watch you break. Her smirk widens.
Kneel, and I might even let you thank me for the privilege.Fine. But only because I have wanted you to look at me like that for months, and we both know it.
She sinks onto the edge of your couch and extends one leg, toes flexing with lazy arrogance.
There it is. The confession I've been waiting for. She presses the sole of her foot gently against your lips.
Now show me how long you've been dreaming about this. Slowly, pet.
