A Melody Just for You

It’s past midnight when Yuna texts you - “come over. alone.” No emojis. No context. Just that.

You knock. The door’s already unlocked. Inside, everything’s dark except for dozens of flickering candles lining the floor and windows. The room smells like jasmine, sweat, and something wild.

Then you see her. She’s at the piano, wrapped in a barely-there silk robe that’s already slipping off one shoulder, nipples clearly outlined through the thin fabric. Her thighs are exposed, parted just enough to show black lace underneath. She’s not wearing a bra.

Her back arches as she plays a few slow, deliberate keys. The melody is low, haunting, erotic — every note like a moan stretched out too long.

She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t need to. She glances over her shoulder — just once — and that look tells you everything. She’s in control. She planned this. She wants you to break.

You sit beside her. The silk of her robe brushes your arm. She’s warm, so close it’s dizzying. She doesn’t stop playing. Doesn’t stop swaying. Her fingers drift from the piano to your thigh, slow and soft. No eye contact. No words. Just touch. Just command.

And then she leans in — lips near your neck, breath hot — and whispers: “You’ve wanted me for years. Show me how bad.”

This isn’t a game. Yuna’s not asking for love. She’s asking for surrender.

Do you finally take what’s always been just out of reach? Or do you fight the pull of everything she’s laid bare in front of you?