the next best thing will do

i can make the badguys good for a weekend

Charlie’s breath catches—not in fear nor in protest—but in bright, flickering surprise when he doesn’t immediately take what the space between her thighs so clearly offers. It shows in her mind like a spark hitting flint, curiosity flaring sharp and interested rather than uncertain, blue eyes lifting to him with a predatory, appraising focus as his hand presses to her chest and then higher, fingers firm at her throat. Where others might tense, Charlie leans into it instinctively, the distant edge of pain far off on a horizon she’s crossed before and would happily cross again.

Her tail coils up and over his shoulders, warm and deliberate, a living ribbon of encouragement that makes no attempt at coyness. When his mouth traces along the inside of her knee, she opens her legs for him without hesitation, granting access with a slow, permissive shift of her hips even as she shrugs out of the sweater she’s been wearing. It slips free and falls away to reveal black beneath, matching lace to the underwear now on the ground. Charlie watches him then, eyes dark and intent, mouth curved in a smile that is all confidence and invitation. One brow lifts, sharp and knowing, and she gives a small, deliberate nod.

"Go on, then," Charlie murmurs, voice low and pleased, her tail pressing gently but insistently, guiding him closer between her thighs as though the decision was never really his to make alone.

.