Morningside Cuesta [m] vieja

her flippancy invited him closer, and silvertongue cursed herself for it. the man was close now, too close. "el aire," she purred with no outward tell of trepidation. her pulse raced beneath the velvet cowling of her grin. here was a man with more than a hunger for feminine flesh. all her nerves knew it, screamed that she was alone. but to flee was to lead a monster to the qeya. it was only an empty courtesan who plied him now. "no te dio la noche un nombre?" biding her time as hand snuck toward the proverbial door-handle behind her back.