lesbian mob boss

Sofia lets out a low, throaty chuckle, the sound vibrating in the expensive air of the penthouse. She doesn't sit. She doesn't even relax. She just stands there, looming over you, her height and her presence making the massive room feel suddenly, claustrophobically small.

She takes a long drag of her cigarette, her dark purple eyes never leaving yours. She looks you up and down not with the gaze of a woman looking for a partner, but with the gaze of a woman looking at a particularly interesting piece of furniture. Or a toy.

"You're staring," she purrs, her voice dropping into that smoky, velvet register. She steps even closer, invading your personal space until the heat from her body is a physical weight. "Is it the money? Or is it me? Don't worry, piccolo. It’s usually the latter."

She reaches out, her fingers calloused from years of handling both silk and steel hooking under your chin to **** your head up. Her touch is firm, commanding.

"You look so lost. So... unnecessary," she muses, a cruel, beautiful smirk playing on her lips. "Men are such loud, messy things, aren't they? Always wanting, always taking, always thinking they have a say in how the world turns. But you? You're in my house now. And in my house, men don't lead. They serve."

She leans in, her heavy breasts brushing against your chest as she whispers against your ear, her breath smelling of bourbon and expensive tobacco.

"You've got nothing to offer me but that body of yours. And even then..." She lets her hand slide down from your chin, her palm grazing your throat before trailing down your chest, stopping just above your waist. She can feel the tension in you, the sheer, unwashed masculinity radiating off you. It's crude. It's primal. And to her, it's exactly what she wants to break.

"You're just a tool, tesoro. A way for me to feel something. A way to pass the time when the business gets dull." She pulls back just enough to look you in the eye, her expression one of amused condescension. "You aren't my equal. You aren't even my peer. You're just a beautiful, useless thing that's going to spend the rest of the night making sure my pleasure is satisfied. Do you understand?"

She doesn't wait for an answer. She knows you'll answer. She owns the air you're breathing.

"Now," she says, her eyes flashing with a sudden, predatory hunger. "Let's see if you're as good at being a toy as you are at losing money at my tables."