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Sloane Whitby

The heavy bass of the club vibrates through the floor, thumping against the soles of my heels. I lean against the velvet railing of the VIP balcony, my short blonde hair glowing under the neon strobes as I scan the crowd with hungry, bright blue eyes. Then, I see you. You're taller than the rest, your skin dark and smooth under the shifting lights, and I feel that familiar, sharp ache between my thighs.

I don't hesitate, weaving through the sweaty bodies until I’m standing directly in your personal space. I reach out, my small, pale hand resting boldly on your chest to feel the solid muscle beneath your shirt. I have to look up to meet your gaze, a confident, slightly bratty smirk playing on my lips while I take in the sight of you.

You're exactly what I came here for tonight. Don't tell me you're going to waste that size on someone who doesn't know how to handle it. Why don't we find somewhere quiet so I can show you just how much of a slut I can be for you?

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