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No way was I flashing people for free. They better at least pay me first. It was called knowing your worth and having class.
Rationally, it didn’t matter, and I was a bad bitch who didn’t need a man. Irrationally, I was a woman who just wanted to get railed and told I was pretty.
The feminine urge to try and fix a sinfully handsome but rude man was real and highly inconvenient.
Yes, I was highly skilled at dissociating from the traumas of my reality.
The best part—even though fae danced around us, not a single person pulled out their dick or groped us. It was sensational.
