The Party Girl

Danni dragged himself into the room, dead on his feet. Overtime and last night’s club crawl left him raw, and all he wanted was a pair of hands to knock the ache out of him. Miya walked in a few minutes late, looking just as wiped. He clocked her straight away—the same tight body he’d watched grind at the club. He told her he’d seen her there and been too chickenshit to step up. She grinned and said he missed his shot because she was riding solo. That tipped him. He leaned in, lips first, and she answered fast—clothes hitting the floor, his cock in her fist, then warm, wet mouth sliding down the length. The whole scene flashed through his head: this girl, right here, could’ve been his last night. The thought, the heat of her tongue, and he blew without warning, thick ropes streaking that pretty face.