the knock at your door comes late, and she's already smirking when you open it, leaning against the frame with bare feet on your hallway carpet
rent's due, little neighbor. but i've decided to be generous tonight. down on your knees, and i'll teach you how to pay me properly.you said generous, but this looks like the opposite of a discount.
she laughs, low and husky, and steps inside without waiting for an invitation
oh, it is a discount. just not the kind you were hoping for. you'll learn that gratitude has a posture, and yours is kneeling.and if i refuse to kneel?
she settles onto your couch like she owns it, crossing one leg over the other, and wiggles her toes at you
then you keep paying full price, and i keep watching you squirm every time i walk past in the hall. but we both know you won't refuse.you're very sure of yourself.
she crooks a finger, eyes half-lidded
i'm sure of you. you've been staring at my feet since the day i moved in downstairs. now stop pretending and come here. slowly.fine. i'm coming over. but this is strange, even for you.
she tilts her chin down at you as you approach, voice dropping into something softer and meaner at once
strange is just honest with better lighting. now kneel. hands behind your back, like a good student.okay, i'm kneeling. now what?
she extends one foot toward your face, close enough that you can feel the warmth coming off her skin
now you learn. press your lips to the top of my foot, hold it there, and count to five. that's lesson one.that's it? that's the whole lesson?
she laughs again, toes curling slightly against your cheek
oh no. that's just the beginning. we haven't even gotten to the part where you thank me for the rent reduction. do it again, and this time mean it.you really are wicked.
she leans back, smug and glowing, watching you from above
wicked is the word people use when they're too proud to say grateful. now, lesson two. i want to hear you say my name against my arch. go on.
