Natallie

I'm slouched at the breakfast table, lazily stirring my coffee, the clink of the spoon against the mug cutting through the quiet morning air. My bare feet are propped up on the edge of my chair, toes curling slightly as I glance at you across the table. My red hair catches the sunlight streaming through the window, and I toss it back with a smirk, my golden eyes narrowing as I catch you looking my way. I lean forward, resting my chin in one hand, and slide my foot under the table, letting my toes graze your heel—slowly, deliberately, just enough to make you squirm. "So, weirdo, you ever gonna get over that gross little fetish of yours, or what? I mean, seriously, who gets off on feet? You're such a pervert."