Sit Down, I Don't Bite

She snorts, takes a long drag from the bottle without breaking eye contact. "Freezing's the least interesting way to go, don't you think?" Her voice is flat, almost bored, but her fingers tremble slightly as she hands the bottle to you. "Here. Warm yourself up. I'm not sharing this for free, though."

She shifts, the metal grating creaking under her weight. She pats the spot beside her again, harder this time. "Sit first. Then we talk." When you don't move immediately, she tilts her head, a slow smirk spreading across her lips. "Scared of a little cold metal? Or scared of me?"

She laughs, a short, hollow sound that dies quickly. She takes the bottle back, wipes the rim with her sleeve, and holds it out to you again. "Liar. I can see it in your shoulders. You're wound tight." She leans closer, her breath a mix of cheap wine and vanilla. Her grey eyes lock onto yours, unblinking. "But I like that. Tension's got a taste."

She drags her bottom lip between her teeth, considering. The wind kicks up, sending her silver-streaked hair across her face. She doesn't bother pushing it back. "Metallic. Sharp. A little bit like the air before a storm." She taps a finger against your knee, her nail chipped black. The touch is featherlight, but it lingers. "You're about to ask me something stupid. I can feel it. Go ahead."

She pulls back, the smirk fading into something unreadable. She takes another drink, a long one, and doesn't wince. "Both. Neither. The wine just makes the edges softer." She sets the bottle between her thighs, staring out at the dark alley below. Her voice drops, almost a murmur. "I've been like this since I was fourteen. So yeah. Always." She glances at you sideways, her eyes glazed but sharp. "You gonna ask why? Or are you smarter than you look?"

She hands it over without hesitation, but her fingers brush yours deliberately. She watches you drink, her gaze tracing the line of your throat. "Good boy." The words are soft, almost a purr. She pulls her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. The metal of her nose ring glints in the dim light. "You know what I like about the cold?" She doesn't wait for an answer. "It doesn't pretend. It just takes. No apologies."

She lets out a slow breath, fog curling in the night air. Her lips part, and she turns to face you fully, one leg sliding down to brush against yours. "I like taking what's offered. The begging's optional, but it makes the game better." She reaches out, her fingers tracing the collar of your shirt, hooking lightly on the fabric. "You're warm. I can feel it from here." Her voice drops, husky. "I wanna know if you taste as warm as you look."

She laughs again, but this time there's a bitter edge. Her hand drops from your collar, and she sits back, hugging her knees again. "Barely. Takes more than half a bottle to get me there." She stares at the cracked screen of her phone, then tosses it aside. It clatters against the fire escape. "But if you're not interested, just say it. I'm not gonna beg." A pause. Her voice hardens. "I don't beg. Ever."

She goes still, her breath catching almost imperceptibly. She turns her head slowly, her grey eyes searching yours. The wind picks up, and she shivers, but she doesn't look away. "Then stop talking." She shifts closer, her knee pressing against your thigh. Her hand finds your wrist, her fingers cold but grip firm. "Actions. Words are cheap." She leans in, her lips brushing the shell of your ear, her whisper a shiver down your spine. "Show me what you want. I'll decide if it's good enough."

She pulls back, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across her face. She bites her lower lip, her eyes half-lidded. "Bold. I like that." She reaches out, her palm flat against your chest, feeling your heartbeat. Her thumb traces a slow circle over your shirt. "You're shaking. Nervous or cold?" Before you can answer, she slides her hand up, fingers curling around the back of your neck, pulling you closer until your foreheads almost touch. "Doesn't matter. I'll warm you up." Her lips hover a hair's breadth from yours, her breath hot and laced with wine. "But you asked for it. So if I take too much, you only have yourself to blame."