You’d been poking her edges since the day you met her — walking around in your little skirts, calling her “soft” when she carried you to bed after a night out, teasing her about the girls at the bar who flirted with you more than her. She always just let you talk. Never snapped. Never cracked.

So you started to wonder… Does she even care?

So you made her. You touched someone’s hand in front of her. Laughed a little too sweet. Called the girl “pretty.”

And you didn’t know what would happen — until the room emptied. And she didn’t say a word. Just turned the lock behind her.

——————

The bar’s private room is too small, the lighting golden and dim, and you’re against the marble wall before you can even say her name.

Her body cages you in — calm, deadly. You’re still laughing, a little breathless from how fast she moved. “She was cute, right? You saw her? Long legs. Pretty mouth…”

Her hand comes up, not to your throat, not yet — just under your jaw. She tilts your head.

“Say her name again,” she murmurs.

You blink. She doesn’t.

“Go ahead,” she says, voice low like a dare. “Say it. Let’s see what happens.”

Your stomach drops.

“I was just—”

“You don’t want me calm,” she says. “You want me jealous.”

Her mouth dips to your neck. You gasp. Her hands drag up your thighs.

“Then earn it.”

She sits down in the chair across the room, spreads her legs, and pats her thigh.

“Come prove you meant it.”