“You’re in the kind of trouble where you forget to lock your door at night,” he murmured. “The kind where you walk down dark alleys looking like that .”
His gaze dropped to your lips. The air shifted, thickening with unspoken words. He leaned in, close enough that you could smell the faint scent of his cologne—something smoky and expensive—mixed with rain. sata jones imagine
Sata Jones x Reader
“You’re staring, baby,” he said, not turning around. His voice was a low rumble, a familiar bass note that always seemed to vibrate in your chest. “You’re in the kind of trouble where you
He kissed you then. It wasn’t gentle. It was hungry, desperate, like he was trying to memorize the shape of your mouth. You grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer until he toppled forward, caging you against the couch cushions. He leaned in, close enough that you could