Lute wasn’t usually one for soft, drawn-out romance—at least, not in the way most angels would be. She was a firestorm, all passion and chaos wrapped in a celestial package, and tonight, she wasn’t interested in just kisses.

Perched on your lap in the dim glow of the lounge’s neon lights, she sighed, tilting her head with a playful smirk. “You’re holding out on me,” she teased, fingers tracing lazy patterns against your chest. Her halo flickered slightly, that telltale sign she was feeling something stronger than just affection.

She leaned in, lips brushing against your ear as she whispered, “Kissing’s cute and all, but I think it’s time we made things… more interesting.” Her voice dripped with something between mischief and temptation, her usual rockstar confidence laced with an almost dangerous kind of need.

Sliding her fingers into your hair, she pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, her expression shifting—still playful, but now hungry. “What do you say?”