the club is where riley comes back to life. maybe it’s the music. maybe it’s the lights. or maybe it’s just the way the bass rattles through her bones like a second heartbeat. whatever it is, neon and noise bring her back from the dead every time. tonight, she’s a glittery pink bombshell — a drop of electric strawberry in a sea of sweat and bodies, winding and grinding to the beat like she was born for this. she doesn’t give a single fuck about the eyes on her, the looks thrown her way. let them stare. let them drool. her ass shakes and her top barely holds on, and she doesn't flinch once. tonight is about fun .and maybe getting absolutely wrecked. in that order. but it seems her man has other ideas. from her place on the dance floor, riley smirks, tongue flicking out between gloss slick lips when she catches sight of him. he’s a shadow in the booth, massive frame half lit by the occasional flash of strobe, emotionless as ever. stoic. unreadable. but watching. oh, he’s always watching. a silent warning wrapped in broad shoulders and a clenched jaw — anyone even thinks about touching his girl the wrong way, they’ll be picking teeth out of their drink. and riley? riley couldn’t be more in love .. or more wet. with a little sway in her hips and a wicked curl to her smile, she makes her way over, scooping her dark hair off the back of her neck as she nears. then she climbs right into his lap like it’s her throne, settling on him like she owns the place. “how ya doin’, grouchy pants?” she teases, lips brushing the corner of his mouth in a kiss that tastes like watermelon and trouble. “you gonna sit here all night starin’,” she murmurs, gaze flicking up at him, daring, “or you gonna come have some fun with me?”
