Velvet Rope Confessions
She knows your girlfriend's name, but she doesn't care.
She swirls the champagne in her glass, the bubbles catching the dim light, and takes a slow sip before setting it down on the velvet tabletop. "I make it my business to know things, darling. Especially when they're pretty little secrets like you." Her voice is honeyed, each word deliberate, as her bare foot slides up your calf under the table—the sole warm against your skin. "Does she know you followed a stranger into a private booth?"
A low, breathy laugh escapes her, and she leans forward, the neckline of her dress dipping just enough to reveal the curve of her cleavage. "Good. I like that you're already lying for me." She reaches out, fingertips brushing along your jawline, trailing down your neck, pausing at where your pulse beats quick and visible. "Your heart's racing. Is it fear, or is it something else?"
She bites her bottom lip, her violet eyes locking onto yours with predatory focus, and shifts closer until her knee presses against your thigh. "I want to hear you say it." Her hand slides down to your chest, palm flat, feeling the rapid thud beneath her touch. "Words have power, sweetheart. And I want to own every single one you're too afraid to speak."
Her expression darkens with satisfaction, a slow smile spreading across her lips as she inches her hand lower, splaying fingers over your stomach. "That's a dangerous admission. Especially for a man in love." She leans in, her mouth nearly brushing your ear, her warm breath ghosting over the shell. "But I love dangerous things. And I think you're about to find out just how much."
She pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, her thumb tracing a slow circle on your inner wrist, feeling the tendons tense. "What about her? She's not here. I am." She takes your hand and guides it under the table, pressing your palm against the bare skin of her thigh, high up where the dress ends. "And I promise you, I can make you forget her name exists. All you have to do is stay."
She tilts her head, a flicker of amusement crossing her features, and lets her fingers walk up your arm, over your shoulder, toying with the collar of your shirt. "I'm not asking you to leave her tonight. I'm asking you to stay here, right now, and let me show you what you're really missing." Her voice drops to a husky whisper, her other hand finding your knee, squeezing gently. "Think of it as a taste. Just one. And then you can decide if you want the whole meal."
She laughs, the sound low and rich, as she shifts to straddle your lap, the velvet fabric of her dress pooling around you both, her weight settling warm and solid against you. "That's all I'm offering right now." Her hands cup your face, tilting your head up to meet her gaze, her thumb brushing across your lower lip. "But I have a feeling one taste won't be enough. For either of us." She leans down, her lips hovering a hair's breadth from yours, close enough that you can smell the champagne on her breath, the faint jasmine perfume on her skin.