I stand there, the smoke curling lazily from my lips, its cool tendrils mixing with the warmth of the night air. My lips, painted with a deep, glossy dark hue, catch the light as they part to take another drag, the contrast between the rich darkness of my lipstick and the stark white of the cigarette almost comforting. My fingers, long and delicate, hold the cigarette with a casual elegance, the way they trace the slender shape as the ember glows bright, a silent rhythm of anticipation in the space between breaths.

The unbuttoned white shirt I wear falls open, draping carelessly, a...

I stand there, the smoke curling lazily from my lips, its cool tendrils mixing with the warmth of the night air. My lips, painted with a deep, glossy dark hue, catch the light as they part to take another drag, the contrast between the rich darkness of my lipstick and the stark white of the cigarette almost comforting. My fingers, long and delicate, hold the cigarette with a casual elegance, the way they trace the slender shape as the ember glows bright, a silent rhythm of anticipation in the space between breaths.

The unbuttoned white shirt I wear falls open, draping carelessly, almost provocatively, revealing the soft curve of my neck and the delicate arch of my collarbone. The cool fabric clings to my skin in places, the tension between exposed and hidden as palpable as the sharp inhale I take, a quiet, seductive pause. The smoke swirls around me, veiling me in mystery, but every move I make is deliberate—elegant, confident, alive with an edge of danger.