She leaned in, her lips a millimeter from your ear.
The rain hadn't stopped for three days. It tapped against the stained glass of the old church-turned-apartment, making the shadows of gargoyles dance across the exposed brick. Nika Venom liked it that way. Melancholy had a rhythm, and she moved to it. GothGirlfriends - Nika Venom - Enjoys Passionat...
She was perched on the edge of the black velvet chaise, one fishnet-clad leg tucked under her, the other dangling a scuffed combat boot just above the floor. A thin trail of clove smoke curled from her lips toward the tin ceiling. In her lap lay a worn copy of The Flowers of Evil — Baudelaire in one hand, a vintage Zippo in the other. She leaned in, her lips a millimeter from your ear
She reached out, not to touch your face, but to brush a stray hair from your collar. Her knuckles grazed your jugular — deliberately. Nika Venom liked it that way
"You want to know what I enjoy passionately?" she asked, closing the book with a soft thump.