When he speaks to her, she's in the process of leaning over her mirror again, fixing her hair and make-up, reapplying that bright-red lipstick. Hasibe's smile is visible in the mirror, and she sets her lipstick down to make her way over to Mitchell, tucking her thumbs through the loops of his jeans. With her heels off, she's shorter than him, though only by about an inch.
"I wouldn't mind. But if you don't..." She tips her head back, playful, but deliberate, too: once someone opens this Pandora's box with her, she considers it her right to drive them up a wall at all times. Excess calls to her, as does hedonism, and sexuality tends to be her preferred method. "Every time you see me across the room tonight, or even think of me mid-conversation--and you will--I want you to think about how I'm going through the night wearing your fingerprints on my skin. Your teeth, too."
Those little bruises and bites delight her, in their way.
"Okay?" And then her smile flashes bright and cheerful, as though that soft, provocative note never happened, and she backs up a step. So innocently.
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"I wouldn't mind. But if you don't..." She tips her head back, playful, but deliberate, too: once someone opens this Pandora's box with her, she considers it her right to drive them up a wall at all times. Excess calls to her, as does hedonism, and sexuality tends to be her preferred method. "Every time you see me across the room tonight, or even think of me mid-conversation--and you will--I want you to think about how I'm going through the night wearing your fingerprints on my skin. Your teeth, too."
Those little bruises and bites delight her, in their way.
"Okay?" And then her smile flashes bright and cheerful, as though that soft, provocative note never happened, and she backs up a step. So innocently.