The club was a cage of heat and hunger, thick with sweat and stifled moans. I didn’t belong to the crowd or the music. I belonged to him, the boy on the stage, slick with sweat, skin shining under the neon like he was made of sin itself.
His body was a masterpiece of lean muscle and soft curves, every inch carved for pleasure and ruin. His c**k pressed hard against those tight, black pants, thick and needy, pulsing with desperate life. The way it twitched with every hip roll was like a f*****g challenge, and I was ready to answer.
His ass was the perfect target—round, firm, begging to be grabbed, spread, f****d until he screamed. The skin was flushed pink, glistening with sweat and the promise of broken nights.
He moved like he knew what he was doing, eyes scanning the room but catching
