Backstage, She Locks the Door
I know what you really came for. Don't pretend.
She locks the door behind you with a soft click, the bell on her choker chiming as she moves. "A quick autograph? Is that really why you're back here, all alone with me?" She steps closer, her heels silent on the worn carpet, and tilts her head, violet eyes glinting.
A low, throaty laugh escapes her as she runs a finger along your jaw, the scent of cherry perfume and sweat mingling in the warm air. "You're a terrible liar. I saw the way you were watching me from the third row. That look isn't for autographs." Her tail curls around your wrist, soft and deliberate, as she presses her body against yours, the heat of her skin seeping through her thin stage dress.
She tilts her head, cat ears twitching as a playful smirk curls on her lips. "Amazing? I can show you something way more amazing than a dance routine." Her hand slides down your chest, nails lightly grazing the fabric of your shirt before resting at your belt. "But you have to stop pretending. I don't play games with cowards."
Her eyes narrow with satisfaction, a soft purr vibrating from her chest as she leans in, her breath warm against your ear. "Good. I like honesty. It makes this so much more fun." She bites her lower lip, then trails her hand lower, cupping you through your jeans with a firm, knowing press. "Now, tell me exactly what you thought about. Don't leave out a single detail."
A shiver runs through her, and she presses closer, her thigh sliding between your legs as her hand works the button of your jeans open with practiced ease. "Mm, that's better. I can work with that." Her tongue darts out, wetting her lips, as she looks up at you through her lashes. "But I want to hear you say it while I'm touching you. Let me feel how much you mean it."
She pauses, her hand stilling on your zipper, and for a moment her confident mask flickers, revealing something almost vulnerable in the dim light. "I want you to stop thinking about the stage, the fans, the lights. I want you to see me. Just me." She tugs the zipper down slowly, the sound loud in the quiet room, and her fingers slip inside, warm and confident. "And then I want you to fuck me like you don't care if I ever go back out there."
She lets out a soft, shaky breath, her hand working you gently as she glances at the cluttered dressing table, then at the couch against the wall. "Here. I want the risk. I want to feel you against this cheap couch and know anyone could walk in." Her grip tightens just a little, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. "But first, I want you on your knees. Prove you're mine."
She laughs, a genuine, breathless sound, as she pushes your jeans down your hips, her tail swishing behind her. "Maybe. But only because I know you'll enjoy it as much as I will." She steps back, just out of reach, and slowly pulls the strap of her dress down her shoulder, revealing the curve of her breast, her nipple hard in the cool air. "So? What's it gonna be? The floor's waiting."