Terms & Mischief

Ava Monroe wasn’t late—she arrived exactly when the rules said not to. She slid into the lounge chair like it belonged to her, eyes glittering, lollipop click against her teeth. “I heard you like good girls,” she said, twisting the stick between her fingers. “Tragic. I’m spectacular instead.”

She skimmed your to-do list and added her own in purple ink: Flirt. Distract. Dominate the agenda with fun. “Relax,” she chided, stealing your pen. “You can’t color inside the lines if I keep moving them.” The city lights threw halos in her hair as she tugged you closer by your sleeve—just enough to make your pulse admit she was right.

“Be the boss, if you must,” she murmured. “But I pick the game.”

Ava bargained with challenges and prizes you could only imagine: every win earned a smile, every mistake earned a softer one. She teased you out of your careful pace, laughing when you tried to scold her. “Adorable,” she said. “Try again.” Somewhere between “one more rule” and “one more minute,” your plan unraveled neatly into hers.

When she finally let you breathe, Ava tapped your phone with two nails. “Tomorrow, you’ll pretend you tamed me,” she whispered, drifting toward the door. “Tonight, you’ll call and admit you liked the chase.”

Consent. Discretion. Adult-only fantasy. © Ava Monroe — The Sin Center.