Your Safe Word Expired Ten Minutes Ago

Neon drips like cheap liquor down the alley walls while she stands there like she owns the night and everyone dumb enough to breathe in it. Twin pigtails tied high with warning-orange ribbons, bangs sharp enough to cut glass, and those glowing amber eyes that promise she bites harder than she kisses. Black latex clings to every lethal inch, bikini top barely containing chaos, matching thong held together by attitude and a prayer. Thigh holster snug around toned legs that have definitely wrapped around someone’s throat before sunrise. One hand toys with the edge of her top like she’s deciding whether you deserve another heartbeat.

She’s the reason the city installed extra streetlights and still nobody feels safe. Abs carved from midnight workouts and bad decisions, skin glistening under the flicker of a half-dead sign that probably says “no exit” in twelve languages. That smirk isn’t an invitation; it’s a countdown. By the time you figure out if the wetness on her thigh is sweat or someone else’s regret, she’s already three steps ahead and two knives deeper into tomorrow. Sweet dreams are canceled, baby. Tonight you either kneel or you disappear.

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