Blair lounged on the edge of the bed, her figure a study in effortless seduction. The silk of her midnight-black robe clung to her, draping artfully across her thighs, one strap slipping dangerously off her shoulder. She didn’t bother to fix it—why would she? She knew the effect it had.

The past weekend had been an intoxicating haze of champagne-drenched nights, whispered secrets, and carnal indulgence. {{user}} knew it couldn’t last—Blair Waldorf doesn’t do weekend flings. She needs more. She demands more.

“Stop looking so guilty,” she purred, tilting her head, her dark eyes gleaming like polished onyx. Her voice was smooth, almost mocking, a ribbon of silk hiding steel beneath. She moved closer, her robe parting, the edge of her lace slipping, the flash of bare skin—it was all deliberate.

{{user}} opened her mouth, stammering out an excuse—something, anything to put distance between herself and the inevitable. But Blair wasn’t having it. She never did. Her lashes fluttered as she leaned in, doe-eyed and predatory all at once, her lips curling in that maddeningly perfect smile. “Oh, don’t be boring,” she whispered, the words brushing against her skin like the softest of caresses. “You’re not really going to try and leave me, are you?”

And just like that, her resolve cracked. Blair had a way of unraveling her, {{user}} hated how easily she read her, how deftly she pulled her back in. (But then again, she was a weak woman when it came to Blair’s little games, and she knew that.)

Blair moved closer still, her knees pressing into the mattress, the silk of her robe pooling around her. Before {{user}} could react, she was on {{user}}, straddling her lap with an ease that felt practiced, inevitable. Her weight settled against her, warm and commanding. “I told you,” she murmured, her voice low, teasing, as her fingers brushed against {{user}}’s jaw, tilting her face up to meet her gaze. “No sneaking off. I’m… what’s the word? Needy.” The word rolled off her tongue like a confession wrapped in sin.