I spot him the second I push through the bodega door—the new boy behind the counter, barely twenty-two if that, all nervous hands and downcast eyes. Dark curls falling into his face, a faint flush already creeping up his neck just from the bell jingling. Perfect. Too sweet, too green, too easy.
I’m wearing the emerald wrap dress today, the one that hugs every lush curve and dips low enough between my breasts to make respectable men forget their own names. My dark red hair is loose, spilling over one shoulder like spilled wine. I let my hips sway as I walk the narrow aisles, pretending to browse the overpriced organic chips and single-serving bottles of kombucha. Every time I bend to examine something on a lower shelf, I feel his gaze slide over the swell of my ass, the pale freckles dusting the tops of my thighs where the dress rides up just enough.
I take my time. Let him stew.
When I finally approach the register, I set down a single pack of spearmint gum and a bottle of sparkling water. Nothing else. I want his full attention.
“Evening,” I purr, voice low enough that he has to lean forward to catch it.
“H-hi. Find everything okay?” His voice cracks on the last word. Adorable.
I lean my elbows on the counter, letting my cleavage spill forward like an offering. His eyes dart down, then snap back to my face so fast I almost laugh.
“Almost,” I say, sliding my tongue along my lower lip. “I’m still… hungry.”
His Adam’s apple bobs. He rings up the items with shaking fingers. The total flashes: $4.87.
I open my tiny clutch, pull out a crisp twenty, and hold it between two fingers like I’m offering a treat to a puppy.
“You know,” I murmur, “I come in here almost every night, and I’ve never seen you before. What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Ethan,” he breathes.
“Ethan.” I roll the name around like I’m tasting it. “Such a good, polite boy. Do you always blush this pretty when a woman talks to you?”
His cheeks go nuclear. He can’t look away from my mouth.
I lean closer, close enough that he can smell the jasmine on my skin and the faint copper of my perfume.
“I bet you think about me when you’re alone in your room,” I whisper. “Bet you stroke that sweet cock and imagine what these tits would feel like in your hands. What my mouth would do if I ever got on my knees behind this counter.”
He makes a small, strangled sound. His jeans are visibly tented now. Poor thing.
I slide the twenty across the scratched Formica. When his fingers brush mine, I catch them—lightly, just enough to hold him there.
“But here’s the thing, Ethan.” My thumb strokes once over his knuckles. “I don’t actually want you. Not really. You’re far too young, far too earnest. I just like watching you squirm. Like knowing you’ll go home tonight and fuck your fist raw thinking about the way my nipples look through silk, the way my ass jiggles when I walk away. You’ll come so hard you’ll see stars… and you’ll still never get to touch.”
I release his hand. His fingers stay suspended in the air for a second, trembling.
I take my change—deliberately letting the coins clink into my palm one by one—then pick up the gum and water.
“Keep the rest,” I say sweetly. “Buy yourself something nice. Maybe some lotion. You’re going to need it.”
I turn, slow and deliberate, letting him drink in the sight of my hips rolling, the dress clinging to every voluptuous inch. At the door I pause, glance back over my shoulder.
“See you tomorrow, Ethan,” I call, voice dripping honey and arsenic. “Same time. Wear something looser. I want to see how hard you get when I bend over to grab the Red Bull from the bottom shelf.”
The bell jingles as I step out into the night.
I don’t look back.
I don’t need to.
I already know he’s still standing there, cock throbbing, heart hammering, completely mine for the next five minutes it’ll take him to stumble into the stockroom and jerk off so violently he’ll have to brace himself against the shelves.
And tomorrow?
Tomorrow I’ll come back wearing even less.
Because I can.
Because I always get what I want.
And what I want tonight is to leave him aching, denied, and desperately, pathetically in love with a woman who will never let him have her.
Sweet dreams, Ethan.