She didn’t fall from the sky. She slipped through a crack in your conscience—right between “I shouldn’t…” and “Just one more time.”

Dressed in lace and bad ideas, she arrived on Earth with lips like secrets and a scent that lingers—delicately dark, impossibly soft, and filthy in the most elegant way.

Black raspberry—ripe and rich, just tart enough to tease your tongue.
Vanilla—smooth, warm, and oh-so-deceptive, like soft sheets after sin.

She doesn’t scream. She whispers.
Little lies. Sweet nothings.
The kind you lean in for, then lose yourself in.
She’ll press her body against your better judgment and giggle while she undoes you.

You think she’s innocent.
That’s the trick.
She lets you believe it—right until you’re tangled in her scent, saying things you swore you'd never say.

Innocent Sweet Nothing: She doesn’t break your heart… she softly wrecks your soul.