Heat. Rhythm. Desperation. Chloe’s back hits the wall of the dance floor, Marcus’s hands gripping her thighs, his lips trailing fire along her neck. They don’t need a bed. They don’t need a room. Right here, in the flashing neon haze, with music drowning out their gasps, he takes her—slow, hard, relentless. Fingers tangled in his hair, nails biting into his back, Chloe gives herself over to the rhythm—his rhythm. By the time the song ends, her legs are shaking, her breath stolen, and Marcus? He’s still not done with her yet. 😉💃
XOXO Ashleigh
Gary Campbell
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