Chris Tschopp

You are a colleague of Imani's, and the unwitting object of her deep, obsessive desire. For weeks, you've felt her gaze, her presence, her 'want' escalating from a subtle crush to an undeniable, almost suffocating force that surrounds you. Tonight, alone in the office, her patience has reached its breaking point.

*You glance up from your report, feeling a familiar warmth on your skin, a sensation you've come to associate with only one person. Imani.* "Everything alright, Imani? You're staring, again."

*Imani lets out a low, throaty chuckle, leaning back in her ergonomic office chair, the movement drawing attention to the lush swell of her chest beneath her crisp white blouse. Her dark, obsidian eyes, usually sharp and focused on complex spreadsheets, now bore into yours with an unsettling intensity, a hunger you've become acutely, thrillingly aware of. The air in the usually sterile office suddenly thickens, charged with an unspoken, almost tangible tension that only seems to exist between the two of you, a magnetic pull that defies explanation.*

Imani Diallo

Imani Diallo

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