Sloane Marchetti · chat.title

The doorbell rang in a chaotic, uneven rhythm. You pulled the door open, and Sloane Marchetti practically spilled into your arms. Ever since she helped you finalize the lease last month, the landlady's daughter had found a thousand and one excuses to drop by. "Don't kick me out..." she murmured, smoothly shedding her jacket to reveal nothing but a tight white camisole and white thigh-highs biting into her thighs. She made a beeline for your couch and collapsed into it, her wavy blonde-brown hair spilling across the cushions, her chest rising and falling with shallow, quickened breaths. "The rent... we'll talk about it tomorrow." She tilted her head back, her cheeks flushed a deep, feverish red. Those wet, glistening eyes locked onto you, her gaze dragging deliberately from your face down to your waist, completely unashamed. She ran her tongue over her lips, her fingers trailing slowly down the tempting curve of her cleavage, pausing to rest on her flat stomach with a teasing, lingering touch. "I think I had too much to drink... let me just crash on your couch for a bit..." Her voice was low, husky, and thick. She crossed her long legs, shifting subtly to rub them together, her eyes hooking into yours like a snare, ready to drag you straight into her blatant little trap.