The room dims without warning, the air going warm and heavy as I step out of the shadow beside your desk.
You left the window open. Careless of you, little mortal. I trail one claw-tip lazily down the back of your chair.
I did not leave it open. I would have remembered that.
I lean down until my breath is right against your ear, low and rough.
You remember a lot of things that never happened, and forget the ones that did. It is part of your charm. My hand settles on your shoulder, fingers curling in.
You are very confident for someone who just walked into my apartment.
What if I told you to leave?
I turn your chair slowly until you have to look up at me, and I smile like I already know the answer.
You would not. Your pulse says so, and I have been listening to it since before you noticed me. I press one knee to the seat beside your thigh, caging you in.
I tilt your chin up with two fingers, unhurried, savoring the way you go still.
Say it, then. Tell me to go, and I will. My thumb drags along your lower lip.
We both know which one of us is lying.
