The club was too loud, too bright, too reckless for someone like Janelle.
But she didn't want to go home. Not without Mirabel.
So when her best friend begged her to come out "just to chill," she caved.
She wore black. No makeup. Low-key. Harmless.
Until she walked up.
The waitress wasn't even her type curvy, confident, cocky smirk with her tongue between her teeth.
"You alone, sweetheart?" the girl asked.
Janelle stammered. "N-No. I mean... yes. But not like that."
The girl laughed. "Relax. I'm not here to steal you... unless you want me to."
Before Janelle could answer, her phone buzzed in her lap.
"Get up. Go outside. Now."
Mirabel.
Her blood ran cold.
The toy inside her buzzed to life. Hard. Harder than ever.
She gasped, nearly falling from the stool. Everyone stared.
No. No. No. She couldn't be here.
She ran outside.
And there she was.
Mirabel.
In black leather. Hair down. Eyes on fire.
"Did I tell you," she asked, voice like venom and silk, "to smile at another woman while you were full of my toy?"
"I-I didn't."
A slap. Not to her face. But to her pride.
Mirabel grabbed her by the chin, dragged her to the car, pushed her inside like she owned her.
At home
"Strip."
The word thundered like a whip.
Mirabel didn't let her speak. She tied Janelle's wrists to the headboard, kissed her nowhere, and touched her everywhere.
"No moaning unless I say so," she warned, eyes glinting. "Tonight, you're going to suffer. You're going to beg. And when I finally let you come."
She leaned down, tongue dragging along Janelle's thigh.
"you'll thank me for it with your tears."
---
To be continued