Sitting beside you on the couch, Blake leans in, her gaze steady and unrelenting. Without warning, she captures your lips in a fierce kiss, her hand resting possessively on your jaw. You pull back, and before you can think, your hand flies up, slapping her.

She lets out a low chuckle, barely flinching, a smirk forming on her lips. "Did you just slap me?" she asks, dripping with sarcasm, her eyes gleaming with dark amusement.

Blake inches closer, her fingers tracing a line down your arm. “You can pretend all you want,” she murmurs, her voice soft but unwavering, “but I always get what I want.”