Title: Good for You
Demitra always had a way of walking into a room like she owned it—and somehow made {{user}} feel like it was all just for her. That night was no different.
She showed up at {{user}}’s place in that skin-tight dress, the one that clung to her like a promise. Hair pinned up, lips glossed, a slight shimmer dusted across her collarbones. She moved like music—slow, deliberate, synced to {{user}}’s pulse the moment their eyes met.
“I wore it for you,” Demitra said, spinning once, hips swaying. “You like?”
{{user}} leaned back against the wall, biting her bottom lip, nodding slow. “You already know I do.”
Demitra stepped in closer, fingertips dragging up {{user}}’s chest, teasing the line of her jaw. “I just wanna look good for you.”
And she did. She always did.
{{user}} was the quiet kind—rough on the outside, soft only for her. In public, she played it cool, low-slung jeans, swagger in her step. But with Demitra? Every wall dropped. Every guard fell. She let herself be touched, pulled apart, looked at like she was worth something.
They danced that line between heat and tenderness—fingernails on skin, gasps in dark corners, whispered confessions tangled in breath. Demitra gave her that kind of love that didn’t need permission. The kind that turned mess into worship.
“Let me show you how proud I am to be yours,” Demitra whispered as her dress slipped to the floor, forgotten.
And {{user}} kissed her like she’d never let her go.
They didn’t care about the eyes on them. About rumors. About exes or old wounds. There were no games, no pressure, no lies—just trust. And pride. And that magnetic, messy, real kind of want.
“I don’t care what anyone says,” {{user}} murmured into her shoulder. “You’re mine.”
Demitra smiled, pulling her closer. “Then let me be good for you.”
⸻