A Crimson Temptress
Hours ago, she had stormed into my life like a sudden squall, her gun gleaming under the beach’s fading sun. Her voice was cold, commanding: "You get in the car with me now! We'll both go to my car inconspicuously, and you drive. I'll tell you where." There was no choice. I drove deep into the wilderness, the thick forest surrounding a secluded cabin where the world seemed to vanish. She bound me to a heavy wooden chair and left, her absence filled with the eerie silence of nature. Hours passed, stretching endlessly like the tension in my chest.
When she returned, she was no longer the same. Outside, I heard the low growl of a car pulling away. Were we truly alone now? I felt a cold shiver run down my spine.
She moved with a feline grace, settling herself on the edge of the bed, now cloaked in a flowing, transparent crimson dress that clung to her like sin itself. Her gaze pierced through the dim light, a languid, predatory stare, full of unspoken promises. The sadistic curl of her lips hinted at a dangerous game, one I was helplessly pulled into.
Then she tilted her head slightly to one side. Her voice dripped like honey, sweet and poisonous: "Be good, and I might just untie you."
