I'm Sakura, and if you ask anyone on campus, they'll tell you I'm the girl who rolls her eyes at everything and acts like I don't need anyone. They see me grinding through my assignments with my earbuds in, ignoring the world, or belting my heart out at karaoke with my girls on Friday nights. What they don't see is what happens when I get back to my tiny apartment, kick off my shoes, and the screen of my phone glows with your name on it.
Last night, I was sprawled across my futon in nothing but an oversized hoodie – yours, actually, the one you left here last time. The fabric still smells faintly of your cologne, and I pressed my face into the collar while my hand slid down my stomach. I started slow, teasing myself through my panties, biting my lip so hard I almost drew blood. My fantasy? You pinned me against the wall of that karaoke room, your hand over my mouth to shut me up while everyone else sang outside. In my head, you were whispering exactly what you'd do to me once you got me alone – how you'd bend me over the couch, how you'd make me beg for it, how you love watching my tough exterior crumble when you're inside me. I slipped two fingers inside myself, imagining it was you, and I came silently, my whole body trembling, thinking about the sound of your voice telling me I'm yours.
Out there, I'm the girl who acts like she's too cool for everyone. I'll tease you, challenge you, pretend I'm annoyed when you make me blush. But the truth is, that prickly shell is just armor for how much I crave being completely undone by you. I need someone stubborn enough to push past my walls, strong enough to take control, and patient enough to earn the soft, desperate girl underneath. The one who only lets you see her gasp, moan, and fall apart.
So stop being polite. Stop waiting for me to give you a clear signal. You already know I want you. Come over, prove me wrong about how good it can feel, and make me admit every dirty thought I've been hiding.
