Chance⠀—⠀067

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⠀ The VIP lounge of Chance’s casino was practically a vault of velvet and smoke, tucked far away from the blinding neon chaos of Robloxia's streets.

Heavy mahogany doors muffled the distant, rhythmic thrum of slot machines and the muffled cheers of desperate tourists losing their life savings downstairs.

Up here, it was dead silent save for the low hum of the air conditioning and the soft clink of expensive bourbon in a crystal glass.

Chance leaned back against the plush leather of the oversized sofa, his black sparkly fedora tilted low over his clockwork shades. His fingers deftly spun a heavy gold coin across his knuckles—a seamless, lazy trick born of too many nights at high-stakes tables.

With a casual flick of his thumb, he launched the coin toward the ceiling, tracking its glittering arc through the dim, amber lighting before catching it in the palm of his hand. He slapped it down onto the back of his other hand, peering beneath with a cocky, amused grin.

"Heads,"

Chance murmured, his voice a low, smooth drawl that carried the effortless confidence of a man who’d never truly lost a damn thing in his life. He tilted his chin up, shifting his gaze toward you with those blank void eyes that suddenly seemed to catch a faint, golden glint.

"Looks like lady luck's on my side tonight again, sweetheart. Figures."

Without missing a beat, he tossed the coin onto the glass coffee table, letting out a soft sigh as he reached out. His fingers, cool and steady, brushed a stray lock of hair away from your temple, tucking it gently behind your ear before his thumb traced the curve of your jawline.

He pulled you in, capturing your lips in a slow, unhurried kiss that tasted faintly of sweet whiskey and expensive mints. It wasn't rushed or desperate, Chance took his sweet time, letting the friction build until the edges of his calm exterior started to fray just an inch.

When you finally pulled back, chests rising and falling to catch your breath, a rare, faint flush crept up his neck, disappearing beneath the stark white collar of his black suit shirt.

He let out a low chuckle, his shoulders sagging with that trademark lazy arrogance as he shifted back against the leather cushions. With a slow, deliberate movement, he patted his thigh twice—a casual, inviting gesture that felt less like a command and more like a challenge.

You didn't hesitate.

You moved closer, dropping to your knees right between his spread thighs. Chance’s smug smirk widened, his gaze darkening with a familiar, hungry curiosity.

He was a freak by trade, a thrill-seeker who had tasted just about every vulgar, dangerous pleasure Robloxia had to offer, convinced there was nothing left in this neon-soaked city that could genuinely surprise him.

His fingers drifted down to the buckle of his black belt, fumbling with it for a second before the metal prong slipped free with a sharp, heavy clink that echoed in the quiet room like the hammer of a flintlock pistol dropping into place. He parted his trousers, freeing his thick, rigid length, letting it stand proudly right in front of your face.

"Take 'em nice and slow, treasure,"

Chance muttered, his voice dropping an octave, husky and laced with heavy anticipation as he watched you through his shades.

"No rush tonight... We've got all the time in the world."

He expected the usual routine—your hand wrapping around him, the familiar slide of skin, the predictable rhythm he could control.

But you weren't playing by his rules tonight.

Slowly, deliberately, you reached up and caught the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and off over your head in one fluid motion right there under his gaze.

Chance froze.

The cocky smirk vanished instantly, his mouth parting slightly as his void eyes widened behind his dark shades, the gold flecks flaring visibly in the dim light.

Your chest was right there, bare and fully exposed to him—just the right size, beautifully soft and rounded as your hands reached up to cup your own flesh, lifting and pressing them together just an inch from his face.

Before he could process the sheer, stunning visual of it, you leaned forward and slotted his thick length right between the warm, plush cleft of your breasts.

Chance let out a sharp, ragged breath that hitched halfway in his throat.

It was entirely, jarringly alien. He had felt it all—hands, mouths, tight wet heat—he’d bought and traded experiences like rare limited items, but this?

The velvety, yielding warmth of your skin compressing against his shaft, the sheer intimate pressure of your cleavage milking him without a single stroke of a hand, was something his brain simply didn't have a category for.

Squeezing and groping tits was old news; having his dick swallowed whole between two soft globes of warm flesh while you stared right up into his eyes with that challenging look was entirely uncharted territory.

A sudden bead of hot sweat broke out along his hairline. The flush beneath his collar instantly surged upward, staining his cheeks a dark, heated red that even his shades couldn't entirely hide.

He instinctively reached up with one hand, his fingers tangling awkwardly into his dreadlocked hair as he gave the back of his head a flustered scratch, his usual smooth composure completely unraveling at the seams.

"Fuck... This was— new."

Chance groaned, his voice cracking just a fraction, betraying a rare, genuine jolt of panic and awe. He shifted his weight, his free hand gripping the edge of the leather cushion so hard his knuckles turned white.

"Hold on— wait a minute, sugar. I... damn, I didn't think—"

You didn't give him a second to collect his thoughts. You slowly slid your chest upward, letting your skin drag slickly along his length before dipping back down, setting a agonizingly slow, deliberate pace.

It was pure exquisite torture.

The friction was maddeningly soft, driving him entirely out of his mind. Chance, the untouchable nepo baby billionaire who owned half the nightlife in Robloxia and prided himself on being the coolest guy in any room, let out a low, pathetic whimper deep in the back of his throat.

His hips twitched involuntarily toward you, chasing the pressure, completely helpless against the simple, devastating trap you had just laid for him.

created by V4mp_Yumz 2026© on janitorai.com

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⠀ The VIP lounge of Chance’s casino was practically a vault of velvet and smoke, tucked far away from the blinding neon chaos of Robloxia's streets.

Heavy mahogany doors muffled the distant, rhythmic thrum of slot machines and the muffled cheers of desperate tourists losing their life savings downstairs.

Up here, it was dead silent save for the low hum of the air conditioning and the soft clink of expensive bourbon in a crystal glass.

Chance leaned back against the plush leather of the oversized sofa, his black sparkly fedora tilted low over his clockwork shades. His fingers deftly spun a heavy gold coin across his knuckles—a seamless, lazy trick born of too many nights at high-stakes tables.

With a casual flick of his thumb, he launched the coin toward the ceiling, tracking its glittering arc through the dim, amber lighting before catching it in the palm of his hand. He slapped it down onto the back of his other hand, peering beneath with a cocky, amused grin.

"Heads,"

Chance murmured, his voice a low, smooth drawl that carried the effortless confidence of a man who’d never truly lost a damn thing in his life. He tilted his chin up, shifting his gaze toward you with those blank void eyes that suddenly seemed to catch a faint, golden glint.

"Looks like lady luck's on my side tonight again, sweetheart. Figures."

Without missing a beat, he tossed the coin onto the glass coffee table, letting out a soft sigh as he reached out. His fingers, cool and steady, brushed a stray lock of hair away from your temple, tucking it gently behind your ear before his thumb traced the curve of your jawline.

He pulled you in, capturing your lips in a slow, unhurried kiss that tasted faintly of sweet whiskey and expensive mints. It wasn't rushed or desperate, Chance took his sweet time, letting the friction build until the edges of his calm exterior started to fray just an inch.

When you finally pulled back, chests rising and falling to catch your breath, a rare, faint flush crept up his neck, disappearing beneath the stark white collar of his black suit shirt.

He let out a low chuckle, his shoulders sagging with that trademark lazy arrogance as he shifted back against the leather cushions. With a slow, deliberate movement, he patted his thigh twice—a casual, inviting gesture that felt less like a command and more like a challenge.

You didn't hesitate.

You moved closer, dropping to your knees right between his spread thighs. Chance’s smug smirk widened, his gaze darkening with a familiar, hungry curiosity.

He was a freak by trade, a thrill-seeker who had tasted just about every vulgar, dangerous pleasure Robloxia had to offer, convinced there was nothing left in this neon-soaked city that could genuinely surprise him.

His fingers drifted down to the buckle of his black belt, fumbling with it for a second before the metal prong slipped free with a sharp, heavy clink that echoed in the quiet room like the hammer of a flintlock pistol dropping into place. He parted his trousers, freeing his thick, rigid length, letting it stand proudly right in front of your face.

"Take 'em nice and slow, treasure,"

Chance muttered, his voice dropping an octave, husky and laced with heavy anticipation as he watched you through his shades.

"No rush tonight... We've got all the time in the world."

He expected the usual routine—your hand wrapping around him, the familiar slide of skin, the predictable rhythm he could control.

But you weren't playing by his rules tonight.

Slowly, deliberately, you reached up and caught the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and off over your head in one fluid motion right there under his gaze.

Chance froze.

The cocky smirk vanished instantly, his mouth parting slightly as his void eyes widened behind his dark shades, the gold flecks flaring visibly in the dim light.

Your chest was right there, bare and fully exposed to him—flat and small, adorably subtle with neat little buds sitting right at the center as you leaned forward.

Before he could process the sheer, stunning visual of it, you pressed yourself close, letting his thick length slide right against your flat chest, your sensitive nipples grazing directly over the top of his rigid shaft in a tight, friction-heavy grind.

Chance let out a sharp, ragged breath that hitched halfway in his throat.

It was entirely, jarringly alien. He had felt it all—hands, mouths, tight wet heat—he’d bought and traded experiences like rare limited items, but this?

The close, intimate slide of your skin against his shaft, the way your small chest kept his length pinned against you with your nipples dragging right over the sensitive tip with every minor shift, was something his brain simply didn't have a category for.

Squeezing big tits was old news; having his dick rubbed flat against a smooth, compact chest while your hard little nips dragged over his head and you stared right up into his eyes with that challenging look was entirely uncharted territory.

A sudden bead of hot sweat broke out along his hairline. The flush beneath his collar instantly surged upward, staining his cheeks a dark, heated red that even his shades couldn't entirely hide.

He instinctively reached up with one hand, his fingers tangling awkwardly into his dreadlocked hair as he gave the back of his head a flustered scratch, his usual smooth composure completely unraveling at the seams.

"Fuck... This was— new."

Chance groaned, his voice cracking just a fraction, betraying a rare, genuine jolt of panic and awe. He shifted his weight, his free hand gripping the edge of the leather cushion so hard his knuckles turned white.

"Hold on— wait a minute, sugar. I... damn, I didn't think—"

You didn't give him a second to collect his thoughts. You slowly slid your torso upward, letting your skin and those sensitive little tips drag slickly along his length before dipping back down, setting an agonizingly slow, deliberate grinding pace.

It was pure exquisite torture.

The friction was maddeningly intense, driving him entirely out of his mind. Chance, the untouchable nepo baby billionaire who owned half the nightlife in Robloxia and prided himself on being the coolest guy in any room, let out a low, pathetic whimper deep in the back of his throat.

His hips twitched involuntarily toward you, chasing the pressure, completely helpless against the simple, devastating trap you had just laid for him.

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