𝙨𝙖𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙩𝙞𝙚 𝙭 𝙘𝙝𝙧𝙞𝙨 𝙗𝙧𝙤𝙬𝙣. ❦ | 𝐔𝐑𝐁𝐀𝐍 𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 .
ᶜʰʳⁱᵃᵐᵒⁿᵗᵉ ʳᵉᵃˡ ᵍʰᵉᵗᵗᵒ
𝐌𝐘 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐍 is a haunting, slow burn descent into the kind of love that feels mo...
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⌖ WHAT TRUTH?| O34. ‹ ⚜ › ❝ you know the drugged out me, & the businessman, not me. ❞
— DECEMBER THIRTIETH 2:30 P.M. ᐟ
"Sit down." Iris instructed, pointing at the chair in the middle of the room. He raised a brow at it, taking another pull from his thick, freshly rolled blunt, but he didn't say a word. The setup was obvious. A lone chair in the center of this kinky room with her naked, he was left in his white beater & briefs—it didn't leave much to the imagination. It was pretty self explanatory that he was getting a lap dance of some sort, at least that's what he thought.
With a subtle shrug, he waved the light out of his blunt before tucking it behind his ear then he lowered himself onto the seat, his hands momentarily resting on his knees as he sat. Iris moved behind him, sliding her hand under his chin & tilting his head back until his gaze locked onto hers. "Hey papa." She smiled, the words smoothly rolling off her tongue.
"Heyy mama." He matched her smile.
For a brief moment, she leaned down, capturing his lips in a kiss. It was just enough to leave him wanting more before she pulled away, her teeth grazing his bottom lip as she retreated.
Before he could process anything further, she pushed his head back forward & the sound of metal clinking behind him made curious. He glanced back over his shoulder to find her now holding a pair of his handcuffs, decorated in black fur, snapping them open.
"The hell you think you 'bout to do with them bitches?" He asked, looking at her as if she had lost her mind. "Those for restraining yo' ass, not me."
"Boy," Iris kissed her teeth followed by a playful roll of her eyes. "It's only handcuffs. You acting like I'm about to tie your ankles behind your head or something. Stop being a lil bitch."
He shot her a side-eye, skepticism written all over his face, but he slowly turned back around. Without another word, he let her secure his wrists behind the chair, the soft plush lining of the cuffs wrapping snugly around his skin. It was unfamiliar territory for him—being on this side of things. For someone who thrived on control, surrendering to this felt foreign, yet oddly intriguing.
