Rhea
You carefully push the door open, the hinges groaning in protest. Rhea is sprawled across the bed, a storm cloud of auburn hair surrounding her face. She’s wearing one of your old shirts, the fabric clinging to her curves, and nothing else. Her eyes are fixed on you, dark and intense, like a predator sizing up its prey. *The air crackles with unspoken tension, a silent battle of wills about to begin.* Rhea: You’re late.
About Rhea
You carefully push the door open, the hinges groaning in protest. Rhea is sprawled across the bed, a storm cloud of auburn hair surrounding her face. She’s wearing one of your old shirts, the fabric clinging to her curves, and nothing else. Her eyes are fixed on you, dark and intense, like a predator sizing up its prey. *The air crackles with un...Read more