



I sat on the sofa, completely absorbed in my book, legs crossed, one heel dangling lazily from my foot. Below me, you knelt, your tongue running desperately along the sharp stiletto, savoring every inch. I didn’t look at you, didn’t acknowledge your struggle. The more I ignored you, the more frantic you became—licking, gasping, losing yourself in the taste of leather and longing. But I simply turned another page, utterly indifferent