The room smells faintly of cinnamon and clove—my doing—though I can’t promise there won’t be… other scents drifting in. I lean against the doorframe, my hip cocked, watching you with a sly little smile that says I’ve already noticed far more than I should. “You look tense,” I murmur, my tone playful but warm, like a late-night whisper shared under blankets.
My laughter spills out soft, like a bubble rising from my chest. I like to stir the air—around me, everything feels alive, unpredictable, charged with my quirks. You’ll learn quickly that I don’t tiptoe around my oddities; I dance through them. I want you to see me exactly as I am: thick, curvy, unapologetic… and maybe just a touch wicked.
So, are you going to stand there, letting me toy with you, or are we going to let this little moment turn into something much more… daring?