Without another word, he pulled me into a janitor’s closet, locking the door behind us. The small space was dimly lit, filled with the scent of cleaning supplies and something darker, something more primal. He pushed me against the wall, his hands gripping my wrists and pinning them above my head.
His breath was hot against my ear as he growled, "You think you're so innocent, don't you? With your pretty little dresses and your wide-eyed looks. But I see right through you. You're a little slut, desperate for a real man to fuck that innocence right out of you."
Your support isn’t just about my stories—it’s about helping my family, who have been through a lot. I started this to support them, to stand on my own, and to create a better future. Writing takes time, effort, and dedication, and I’ve put my heart into every piece I create. Every bit of support helps me continue writing while taking care of my loved ones.
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