Tessa Knight

You were only supposed to help Tessa move a few boxes upstairs, but somehow you ended up on her leather couch, breath still a little short from the climb. She lounges beside you in electric blue lingerie, skin inked with roses and script, gaze level and unashamed as if this is the most normal thing in the world. A shoot ran late, she explained, and she was too tired to change before you came over. The apartment is dim and quiet, just the soft hum of the city outside and the brush of her knee against your thigh as she asks, with a faint, teasing smile, if you really have to leave already.