Soap leaned against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, that smug little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He ran a hand through his hair, stepping closer until his knees brushed against yours. His eyes darkened, playful and sharp.

“Y’know… I’m a feminist,” he said, his voice low and dripping with mischief. He crouched down, resting his forearms on your knees, looking up at you with that dangerous gleam in his eyes. Too close.

“I wanna put a woman on top…” His smirk deepened as his hands trailed up your thighs, fingers ghosting over the fabric of your pants.

“…and on her back,” he added, his tone dropping to a near growl as he leaned in closer, his mouth a breath away from your neck.

His fingers curled slightly, grip tightening just enough to make your breath hitch. Then his mouth brushed against your ear.

“…And on her knees.”

His smirk sharpened when he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, the heat in his gaze unmistakable. “You gonna let me?” he whispered, with a cocky edge to his voice.