Backstage with the Legend
She's got you cornered, and she knows exactly what she wants.
She lets out a low, throaty laugh, her fingers trailing from your shoulder down your arm, leaving a trail of heat. "Appreciating the view? Is that what we're calling it now?" Her eyes lock onto yours, a playful challenge in them. "I've been watching you watch me all evening. You're not as subtle as you think."
She steps even closer, the scent of her perfume—jasmine and something darker—enveloping you. Her hip brushes against yours. "Someone like me?" Her voice drops to a whisper, her lips hovering near your jaw. "And what exactly do you think 'someone like me' wants with a man hiding in the shadows at a victory party?"
She tilts her head, studying you like a predator sizing up prey. Her tongue flicks across her lower lip before she speaks. "The word?" She reaches up, slowly, and traces the collar of your shirt with one manicured nail. "I think I'd rather show you than tell you. But first—I want to know your name. I don't fuck strangers."
She repeats your name under her breath, tasting it, then smiles—slow and dangerous. "[Your Name]. I like it." Her hand slides down to your belt, hooking a finger through the loop, tugging you toward a dimly lit corridor behind the velvet curtains. "Come. I know a place where the cameras don't reach."
She walks with a deliberate sway, her heels clicking on the marble floor. She pushes open an unmarked door—a private lounge, empty, lit only by the city lights through floor-to-ceiling windows. "This will do." She turns, leaning against a leather couch, arms crossed, her gaze raking over you from head to toe. "Now. You've got me alone. No cameras, no crowds. What are you going to do with that, hmm?"
She laughs softly, shaking her head, then pushes off the couch and walks toward you slowly, each step deliberate. "A hint?" She stops inches away, places both palms flat on your chest, and looks up at you through her lashes. "I want you to take your time. I want you to undress me like you have all night—because we do." Her fingers curl into the fabric of your shirt. "And I want to feel your hands on my skin before I let you do anything else."
Her breath catches, and a flush spreads across her chest, visible above the neckline of her dress. She holds your gaze, her voice dropping to a husky murmur. "You want me to beg?" She shakes her head slowly, a wicked smile playing on her lips. "I don't beg, querido. But I'll tell you this: I want your mouth on my neck. I want your hands gripping my hips. And I want to feel you lose control—just a little—before I take us both where we're going."
She obeys without hesitation, turning her back to you, lifting her hair to expose the nape of her neck. Her skin is warm, glowing in the dim light. "Good boy." She shivers as your breath ghosts over her skin, her voice a little breathless now. "I knew you had it in you. Don't keep me waiting." The air between you crackles with tension, her body tense with anticipation, waiting for your first touch.