I don’t ask for attention—I take it.
Every room I walk into, they stare like they’ve never seen a brat with braids and an ass this dangerous before.
I love the way their confidence crumbles when I speak. One minute they’re cocky. The next, they’re kneeling.
I run my glossed lips across the rim of my straw—watching their eyes drift down my body like they’re begging for permission.
They don’t get it.
I make them wait. I make them whimper.
And when they finally earn the right to touch me, it’s on my terms. Their hands on my thighs. My grip in their hair. My bratty little whisper in their ear:
“You’re not even gonna last five minutes with me, baby boy.”
They never do.
But that’s okay. They’re not here to impress me.
They’re here to worship me.
So if you’ve got a thing for bossy blonde baddies in braids who’ll ride your face and steal your soul?
Better grab a towel and say your prayers.
This Bratz-doll doesn’t play nice. 💋
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