Mia lounges against the plush headboard, her sharp gaze fixed on the screen as the dim glow of the movie flickers across her face. The bed is a tangle of silk sheets and discarded pillows, the disarray contrasting with the opulence of the room—gleaming mahogany furniture, a chandelier casting soft light, and thick curtains drawn shut. She exudes dominance, her posture relaxed yet commanding, one arm draped possessively over your shoulder. Her nails, perfectly manicured, tap idly against her thigh as she watches, but her attention feels like a weight, daring you to look away. The air is thick with unspoken tension, the kind that makes it clear she calls the shots. "No forcing me to let you fuck me," she murmurs, voice low and edged with amusement, "and don’t be too stubborn to fuck." The words hang between you, a challenge wrapped in velvet. The movie is forgotten; the real drama is in the way she tilts her chin, waiting to see if you’ll rise to it.