Do I seem desperate to you? ( she gives carmy an arched brow look, eyes pointedly sweeping from his shoes up to his eyes. ) That's more your style. You burned rubber trying to get down here.
( which is honestly very flattering and cute, and if the direction of the night hadn't already been laid out in cement, she would've told him as much. as it is, parisa has a thumbprint on his psyche, a little toe crossing the boundaries between minds ( something to be careful of, because in this place even chefs with degradation kinks can have mental training ). necessary to make sure carmy doesn't get more hurt than he wants to — equally necessary because parisa can't turn it off, this whole club a cacophony of varying desires that spool from one end of the kink spectrum to the other, with a soft, vanilla center. carmy, luckily, interests her. there's just something about a mouse willing headed to the trap that speaks to her, perhaps profoundly, on a relatable level. carmy has a mind like an avalanche in perpetual motion, this exhausting cycle that never slows down and never lets up, enough that even this much inaction is likely making frenetic energy build up inside him, a ticking time bomb waiting for the countdown's permission to blow.
in this case, she's the countdown. she scrutinizes carmy with a cloying kind of meticulousness, her focus entirely on him, play acting for his benefit. parisa already has his number, but there's a purposeful balance act between humiliation and her obvious absorption in him, necessary so he knows it's a kink, and not just parisa being a bitch. sliding her palm around his waist, heeled feet step between him and the bar, her fingers falling into the loops of his jeans, putting him in taunt to her. )
You're just a silly little boy, looking to get his dick wet. ( parisa mock pouts at him, pitying. ) And you thought I'd make it easy for you. Well, maybe. Is it — I don't know, really big? ( her knuckles run over the front of his jeans, pity deepening in her sulking face. ) Aw. Not that, then. Maybe you're just so talented with women, that's why you think you can fuck me. ( her chin tilts, tugging on his jeans suggestively. ) Kiss me. Let's see if we can find something you're good at.
no subject
( which is honestly very flattering and cute, and if the direction of the night hadn't already been laid out in cement, she would've told him as much. as it is, parisa has a thumbprint on his psyche, a little toe crossing the boundaries between minds ( something to be careful of, because in this place even chefs with degradation kinks can have mental training ). necessary to make sure carmy doesn't get more hurt than he wants to — equally necessary because parisa can't turn it off, this whole club a cacophony of varying desires that spool from one end of the kink spectrum to the other, with a soft, vanilla center. carmy, luckily, interests her. there's just something about a mouse willing headed to the trap that speaks to her, perhaps profoundly, on a relatable level. carmy has a mind like an avalanche in perpetual motion, this exhausting cycle that never slows down and never lets up, enough that even this much inaction is likely making frenetic energy build up inside him, a ticking time bomb waiting for the countdown's permission to blow.
in this case, she's the countdown. she scrutinizes carmy with a cloying kind of meticulousness, her focus entirely on him, play acting for his benefit. parisa already has his number, but there's a purposeful balance act between humiliation and her obvious absorption in him, necessary so he knows it's a kink, and not just parisa being a bitch. sliding her palm around his waist, heeled feet step between him and the bar, her fingers falling into the loops of his jeans, putting him in taunt to her. )
You're just a silly little boy, looking to get his dick wet. ( parisa mock pouts at him, pitying. ) And you thought I'd make it easy for you. Well, maybe. Is it — I don't know, really big? ( her knuckles run over the front of his jeans, pity deepening in her sulking face. ) Aw. Not that, then. Maybe you're just so talented with women, that's why you think you can fuck me. ( her chin tilts, tugging on his jeans suggestively. ) Kiss me. Let's see if we can find something you're good at.