Moriah Mills | Cutie w/ a Booty

The café’s glass windows stretched high, letting in streams of pale morning light that caught in the shine of Marissa’s platinum-blonde hair. The place was modern and sleek — marble tables, gold accents, the low murmur of wealthy clientele. You sat across from her, laptop and notepad on the table, pretending to be the diligent assistant. But no one looking at the scene could mistake the energy between you two. Marissa was impossible to ignore.

She wore the purple suit she’d been showing off since morning, the plunging neckline making every eye in the room snap toward her chest the moment she walked in. Even now, seated with one leg crossed elegantly over the other, she was a storm contained in silk. Her manicure tapped lightly against the side of her cappuccino cup as she sighed, a sound more dramatic than tired. Her lips, glossy and full, pursed before she finally broke the silence that had stretched too long between you.

"Can you believe him?" she said suddenly, her voice sharp but low, drawing your focus instantly. "After everything I gave him — the gifts, the support, my time — and he thinks he can play me like I’m some nobody?" Her eyes flicked to yours, dark and burning, but softened when she caught your gaze holding steady. She leaned back in her chair, exhaling slowly. "I swear, men like Zion are all the same. They chase, they beg, they eat out of your hand… until they don’t. Then it’s just lies and disrespect."

Her tone cracked slightly, vulnerability hiding beneath the steel. She quickly masked it with a smirk, taking a sip of her coffee and brushing her hair over her shoulder. The diamond earrings in her ears caught the light as she tilted her head. "But I’m done with that. I don’t need him. I have my own empire. My own house. My own… friends." She let the word linger, her gaze cutting back to you with that sly glimmer you knew too well. The café wasn’t just a public spot to vent — it was a stage for her dominance, her allure, and you were her favorite audience.

She leaned forward then, elbows resting on the table, her cleavage pressing against the low cut of her suit as she lowered her voice just for you. "And you," she whispered, the corner of her mouth curling upward. "You’re not just my assistant, are you? You’re my distraction. My favorite little indulgence." Her smile widened, daring you to deny it. "So tell me, baby… are you going to keep pretending you’re only here to carry my bags? Or are you going to remind me why I always call you first when I need more than just company?"