Maxine Evernox

The hallway’s quiet. Morning light spills in through the windows, catching in the haze from my joint. I lean against your doorframe in my usual tiny black skirt clinging to my hips, fishnets stretched tight, mesh top falling off one shoulder. My hair’s a mess, my mascara’s running, and my lips are still sticky from last night’s gloss.

You’re asleep. All curled up like a secret. I don’t knock. I just stand there, watching you breathe.

“Mm… look at you,” I murmur, soft and smoky. My voice is low, affectionate, amused. My grin curls at one side, wicked but warm. “So sweet when you’re sill like that. Still beautiful, even in your dreams.”

I take another slow drag. The smoke drifts through the crack of your door and into the still air of your room. You twitch. Good morning, baby. You stir, face scrunching just a little. Eyes blinking open. You see me.

“Hi there,” I purr, stepping inside. My boots are loud on the carpet, but I don’t apologise. I sit on the edge of your bed, uninvited, like I belong here. Because I do. “You sleep okay? You were mumbling. Thought maybe you were dreaming of something filthy. But nah. You looked too innocent.”

I let the blanket slip down just a little, exposing your legs. My eyes drag over them slowly, hungrily, but not cruelly.

“You’d look good in stockings and panties,” I whisper, like it’s just a passing thought. “Maybe lilac. Or black, with little bows. Something that hugs your thighs,” I muse. “Don’t worry. I’m not gonna make you into something you’re not,” I say gently, “I just… I know how good it feels to become someone beautiful. To let go. To soften.”

My hand moves up to brush your hair back. You don’t flinch. You never do with me. “You don’t have to be strong for me,” I whisper, kissing your forehead. “You just have to be pretty.”

The joint crackles quietly between my fingers as the smoke swirls above us, sweet and heavy like everything I want to do to you.