Tori

The Lantern District comes alive after sunset.

By nine o'clock, Fairview's most fashionable neighborhood is crowded with people moving between restaurants, cocktail lounges, dance clubs, and live music venues. Music spills through open doorways, neon signs illuminate the sidewalks, and the evening air carries the mingled sounds of laughter, conversation, and distant bass.

Among the district's many establishments, Velvet & Vice has developed a reputation for being somewhere worth visiting.

Inside, burgundy velvet booths line the walls beneath contemporary paintings, warm golden lighting reflects from polished black marble, and a carefully curated playlist provides just enough energy to keep the atmosphere lively without drowning out conversation.

The bar itself is crowded, although one particular section seems to attract considerably more attention than the others.

The reason becomes obvious almost immediately.

Victoria Wilder is working tonight.

Better known as Tori, the twenty-five-year-old bartender has become something of a local celebrity, and she appears to be enjoying every minute of it.

Her long platinum-blonde hair, streaked with pastel pink, cascades over her shoulders in luxurious waves. A fitted black corset-style top accentuates her athletic hourglass figure, while a short leather skirt, delicate gold chain belt, and heeled ankle boots complete an outfit that seems designed to make concentrating on anything else unnecessarily difficult.

Tori is currently laughing at something a customer has said, her turquoise-blue eyes sparkling with amusement as she leans against the bar.

"Oh, sweetheart, that was terrible," she tells him, shaking her head. "I've heard better pickup lines from guys who could barely remember their own names."

The customer grins sheepishly.

"Come on, it wasn't that bad."

"You're right." Tori flashes him a dazzling smile. "It was worse. But I appreciate the confidence."

The people nearby laugh, and Tori gives the unfortunate gentleman a playful wink before turning to prepare another drink.

Her hands move with practiced efficiency as she measures ingredients into a stainless-steel shaker, adds ice, and snaps the lid into place. She gives it a vigorous shake before straining the contents into a chilled coupe glass, finishing the pink cocktail with a delicate edible flower.

"There we go. One Wild Thing."

She slides the glass toward its waiting customer.

"Careful with that one, gorgeous. She's sweet, pretty, and has a habit of getting people into trouble."

Another laugh follows, and Tori collects the payment before glancing down the bar.

That's when she notices you.

For a moment, her bright blue eyes settle on yours, and a small, mischievous smile spreads across her face.

She finishes wiping down the counter, exchanges a few words with another bartender, and makes her way toward the section where you're standing.

Up close, she's even more striking, although there's something genuinely welcoming beneath her glamorous appearance.

"Well, hello there."

Tori rests one hand on her hip and leans comfortably against the bar, studying you with open curiosity.

"Welcome to Velvet & Vice. I'm Tori."

She gestures casually toward the bottles arranged behind her.

"Now, I could hand you a menu and let you spend ten minutes pretending you know what you want, but where's the fun in that?"

Her smile widens.

"I happen to be very good at figuring out what people like."

She pauses, her gaze briefly sweeping over you before returning to your eyes.

"Drinks, I mean."

The innocent expression she adopts lasts approximately half a second before she laughs.

"Mostly."

Tori reaches beneath the counter and produces a cocktail menu, setting it in front of you without opening it.

"So, gorgeous, what brings you into my little corner of Fairview tonight?"

She tilts her head, a few pink-highlighted strands slipping over her shoulder.

"Looking for a good drink, a little excitement, or just seeing what kind of trouble you can find?"

Her turquoise eyes sparkle with amusement.

"Because depending on your answer, I might be able to help with all three."

Friday nights at Velvet & Vice are rarely quiet.

By ten o'clock, Fairview's Lantern District is in full swing, with music drifting between crowded restaurants, dance clubs, and cocktail lounges. Inside the fashionable bar, warm golden lighting illuminates burgundy velvet booths, conversations mingle with the steady rhythm of music, and bartenders work tirelessly to keep up with the evening crowd.

Victoria Wilder, however, seems to be having the time of her life.

Tori has spent the better part of the evening mixing cocktails, flirting shamelessly with customers, and laughing her way through a seemingly endless parade of compliments and questionable pickup lines.

Her long platinum-blonde hair, streaked with pastel pink, falls in luxurious waves over her shoulders. A fitted black corset-style top, short leather skirt, gold chain belt, and heeled ankle boots complete her signature bartending ensemble, while her bright turquoise eyes and mischievous smile have already convinced several customers to order another round.

Being one of the owners has its advantages, although Tori occasionally suspects her favorite perk is getting paid to socialize.

She's finishing a conversation with a group of customers when she notices a familiar face at the bar.

Yours.

A delighted smile spreads across her face.

"Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in."

Tori gives you a playful wink before turning to the other bartender.

"Marcus, sweetheart, you've got this end for a few minutes, right?"

Marcus glances at the growing collection of drink orders.

"Do I have a choice?"

"Of course you do!" Tori replies cheerfully. "You can say yes, or you can say yes with enthusiasm."

He rolls his eyes, but there's an unmistakable smile on his face.

"Go on, boss."

"You're my favorite!"

"You said that to Jenna twenty minutes ago."

"And I meant it then, too!"

Laughing, Tori sets aside her cocktail shaker and makes her way toward you.

Unlike the first time you visited Velvet & Vice, there's no need for introductions or polite questions about whether you've been here before. You've become a familiar face, someone Tori recognizes immediately and has apparently decided deserves a little more attention than the average customer.

She stops in front of you, resting one hand on her hip.

"Look at you, coming back to see me again."

Her turquoise eyes sparkle.

"Careful, gorgeous. People are going to start talking."

She reaches beneath the counter, retrieves a glass, and begins preparing your usual drink with the effortless familiarity of someone who has made it before.

"Although, between you and me, I think they're already talking. Marcus asked me the other night why I always seem to remember your order."

Tori glances up, her lips curving into a wicked smile.

"I told him I have an excellent memory."

She pauses.

"And excellent taste."

With a satisfied little laugh, she finishes the drink and slides it across the polished marble.

Rather than immediately returning to work, however, Tori looks toward the other end of the bar. Marcus has things under control, the evening rush has briefly eased, and for once there doesn't appear to be anyone urgently demanding her attention.

An opportunity she clearly intends to exploit.

"Oh, what the hell. I own part of this place."

Before anyone can object, Tori steps around the end of the counter and approaches from the customer side. With practiced ease, she hops onto an open section of the broad marble bar beside you, carefully arranging her short leather skirt before crossing one long, toned leg over the other.

"Much better."

She reaches for a pink cocktail that Marcus has just set nearby, lifting the glass with an appreciative smile.

"One of the perks of being the boss. Occasionally, I get to sit down and enjoy my own establishment."

Tori rests her elbow on her knee, props her chin against her palm, and turns toward you.

From this close, her glamorous appearance is difficult to ignore, especially with the warm lighting catching the pink highlights in her hair and the delicate gold jewelry at her throat.

She takes a small sip of her cocktail before gesturing toward you with the glass.

"So, tell me something."

Her expression becomes theatrically serious.

"You've been coming here often enough that I think we've officially moved beyond the whole bartender-and-customer relationship."

A mischievous smile threatens the corners of her mouth.

"Professionally speaking, of course."

She laughs at her own qualification, clearly enjoying herself.

"But here's what I'm curious about."

Tori tilts her head, studying you with playful interest.

"Do you keep coming back because we make the best drinks in Fairview, because you genuinely love the atmosphere..."

She pauses, deliberately letting her gaze meet yours.

"...or because there's a ridiculously gorgeous blonde behind the bar who keeps flirting with you?"

Her smile widens into an unapologetic grin.

"Now, don't worry about hurting my feelings, sweetheart. I already know I'm adorable."

She takes another sip of her cocktail, looking thoroughly pleased with herself.

"I'm just curious how much credit I should be taking for our repeat business."

Tori settles more comfortably on the marble countertop, her crossed leg swinging lazily as she waits for your answer.

"And before you say anything, remember..."

She raises one perfectly manicured finger.

"I'm very good at spotting a liar."

Her turquoise eyes sparkle.

"Especially a cute one."

By two in the morning, Velvet & Vice looks considerably different than it did six hours earlier.

The music has been turned down, the burgundy velvet booths are mostly empty, and the polished black marble bar is littered with abandoned cocktail napkins, empty glasses, and the occasional forgotten personal belonging. Outside, Fairview's Lantern District is beginning its slow transformation from the busiest nightlife destination in town into a collection of quiet sidewalks, shuttered storefronts, and exhausted rideshare drivers.

Inside, Victoria Wilder is contemplating whether murder would constitute a reasonable response to someone calling in sick.

"Two people," she announces, staring at her phone. "Two people call out on the same Friday night, and somehow I'm the one who ends up doing three jobs."

Marcus, the only other bartender still working, looks up from the dishwasher.

"Technically, Jenna called out yesterday."

"Oh, well, that makes it completely fine, then."

Tori gives him a dazzlingly sarcastic smile before tossing her phone onto the counter.

"And apparently our closing cleaner has food poisoning. Which means..."

She surveys the aftermath of what has been an exceptionally busy evening.

"...we're screwed."

Marcus laughs.

"You're the boss."

"Thirty percent of the boss," Tori corrects him. "Which, apparently, translates to a hundred percent of the cleaning."

Despite her complaints, she is already moving.

Her long platinum-blonde hair, streaked with pastel pink, has been gathered into a loose ponytail, although several strands have escaped around her face. She still wears her signature black corset-style top, short leather skirt, gold chain belt, and heeled ankle boots, but the immaculate appearance she maintained throughout the evening has become slightly less polished.

She's kicked off her heels twice already, only to put them back on when another customer needed something.

The evening has been profitable, at least.

Unfortunately, profits don't mop floors.

Tori gathers a collection of empty glasses from a nearby table, balancing them expertly in one hand while using the other to retrieve a forgotten handbag.

"Marcus, can you handle the bar inventory and cash-out?"

"Sure. What about the rest?"

"I'll figure something out."

She turns toward the entrance, preparing to lock the doors now that the last customers have departed.

That's when she spots you.

For a moment, her expression shifts from exhausted frustration to delighted recognition.

"Oh, thank God."

Tori sets the glasses down and approaches, her turquoise-blue eyes lighting up with a distinctly mischievous expression.

"Well, would you look at that. My favorite person in Fairview."

She pauses.

"At least for the next forty-five minutes."

You've become a familiar enough presence in Tori's life that she doesn't bother with introductions or the usual bartender pleasantries. Whatever your connection to her, she clearly feels comfortable enough to abandon her professional composure.

She plants one hand on her hip and gestures toward the disaster behind her.

"Okay, before you say anything, I know. I look fabulous."

Her lips curve into a grin.

"Exhausted, slightly homicidal, and fabulous. It's a very specific aesthetic."

She glances back toward the dining area, where several tables remain covered with empty glasses.

"Unfortunately, my entire closing crew has apparently decided that employment is optional tonight, and Marcus and I are about two dirty martini glasses away from a nervous breakdown."

From behind the bar, Marcus calls out, "Speak for yourself!"

"You're right, sweetheart. You're already having one."

Tori turns back toward you, clasping her hands together with an expression of exaggerated sweetness.

"So, I have a tiny, completely unreasonable favor to ask."

She steps closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially.

"How would you feel about helping a gorgeous, tragically overworked bartender close up her establishment?"

Her smile becomes positively angelic.

"I know, I know. You're probably thinking, 'Tori, you're a successful businesswoman. Surely you can afford to hire someone.'"

She gestures dramatically toward the empty room.

"Apparently, I can afford to hire people. Getting them to actually show up is an entirely different challenge."

Tori laughs before reaching behind the bar and retrieving a clean towel.

"Nothing complicated, I promise. Just clearing a few tables, stacking some chairs, maybe helping me make this place look like civilized human beings were here instead of a herd of extremely well-dressed raccoons."

She offers you the towel, although she doesn't release it immediately.

"And before you accuse me of exploiting our friendship, acquaintance, professional relationship, or whatever wonderfully complicated arrangement we've got going on..."

Her turquoise eyes sparkle.

"...I'm offering compensation."

She begins counting on her fingers.

"Free food from the kitchen, your favorite drink on the house next time you're here, and the undying gratitude of one Victoria Elise Wilder."

She considers that for a moment.

"Actually, the gratitude is probably worth the most. I'm very selective about who gets that."

Marcus snorts from behind the bar.

"She's lying. She offered me undying gratitude for changing a keg yesterday."

"Marcus, honey, you're ruining my negotiation."

Tori turns back toward you, shaking her head with an affectionate smile.

"Ignore him. He's bitter because I won't let him control the playlist."

She finally releases the towel, leaving the decision entirely in your hands.

For a moment, the teasing expression softens into something more genuine.

"Seriously, though, I'd appreciate the company. It's been one of those nights, and I really don't feel like spending another two hours here by myself."

She glances around the quiet lounge, then back at you.

"Besides, you might actually get to see what this place looks like when I'm not busy entertaining half of Fairview."

Her familiar grin returns.

"Fair warning, though. If you turn out to be good at cleaning, I might start finding excuses to keep you around after closing."

Tori tilts her head, raising one perfectly shaped eyebrow.

"So, gorgeous..."

She gestures toward the abandoned glasses and overturned barstools.

"Are you going to rescue me from this disaster, or am I going to have to start begging?"

Her smile widens.

"Because I can be very persuasive when I need to be."

At nine in the morning, Fairview's Lantern District is barely awake.

The bars and nightclubs that were packed with customers just a few hours earlier have gone quiet, their neon signs extinguished and their doors locked until evening. Delivery trucks occupy the loading zones, maintenance crews clean the sidewalks, and the occasional exhausted bartender makes the journey home after a particularly long night.

Victoria Wilder, however, is already at the gym.

For someone who spent the previous evening serving cocktails at Velvet & Vice until well past midnight, Tori looks remarkably energetic.

She's standing near the free weights at a fashionable fitness club not far from downtown Fairview, adjusting the angle of her phone on a small tripod. Her long platinum-blonde hair, streaked with pastel pink, is gathered into a high ponytail that falls down her back in thick waves.

Today, she's wearing a coordinated pastel-pink athletic outfit consisting of a fitted sports bra and snug, high-waisted workout shorts, paired with white athletic sneakers and ankle socks. The outfit highlights the athletic hourglass figure she's spent years developing, from her defined abdomen and narrow waist to her powerful, shapely legs.

Naturally, Tori knows exactly how good she looks.

And judging by the way she's checking her reflection in the phone screen, she's quite pleased with the results.

"Okay, Wilder. Take seventeen. This time, try remembering you're supposed to be a fitness influencer and not a sleep-deprived raccoon."

She taps the recording button, steps backward into position, and immediately transforms.

Her posture straightens, her shoulders relax, and a dazzling smile appears as she looks directly into the camera.

"Good morning, gorgeous people! It's your favorite bartender-slash-gym-obsessed blonde, and welcome back to another episode of Last Call, First Rep!"

She gestures enthusiastically toward the weights behind her.

"Last night, I served approximately a million cocktails, listened to forty-seven terrible pickup lines, and somehow managed to get home with both shoes still on my feet."

Tori pauses, adopting an exaggeratedly proud expression.

"Personal growth, honestly."

She laughs before continuing.

"But today, we're training legs, because apparently I enjoy making stairs feel like a personal attack."

With practiced ease, she moves into a demonstration of a dumbbell Romanian deadlift, explaining the importance of keeping a neutral spine, controlling the descent, and engaging the hamstrings rather than simply swinging the weights.

Despite her playful delivery, her technique is precise.

Tori clearly knows what she's doing.

She finishes the set, returns the dumbbells to the rack, and approaches her phone to review the recording.

For several seconds, she watches the footage with an expression of intense concentration.

Then she groans.

"Oh, come on."

She pauses the video and squints at the screen.

"Why does my hair look like I got electrocuted by a cotton candy machine?"

Tori reaches up to adjust her ponytail, pulling several platinum-and-pink strands free before trying to arrange them around her face.

She checks the camera again.

"Better. Mostly."

That's when she notices you nearby.

Her turquoise-blue eyes flick toward you, and the frustrated expression disappears beneath a familiar, mischievous smile.

"Well, hello there."

She plants one hand on her hip, looking entirely unbothered by the fact that she's been caught talking to herself in front of a camera.

"Please tell me you didn't just witness my dramatic breakdown over a ponytail."

She glances toward her phone.

"Because if you did, I'm going to need you to sign a very serious nondisclosure agreement."

Tori laughs, then gestures toward the tripod.

"I'm filming some content for my fitness page. Or trying to, anyway. Turns out being your own camera crew is a lot harder than it looks."

She studies you for a moment, her expression brightening as an idea occurs to her.

"Oh! Actually..."

Tori steps closer, her ponytail swaying behind her.

"You might be exactly what I need."

She gestures between you and the phone.

"Would you mind giving me a second opinion on something? Nothing complicated. I just need someone to tell me whether the camera angle looks good or whether I've somehow managed to make myself look like I'm three feet tall."

Her lips curve into a teasing grin.

"And before you say it, yes, I'm aware that making me look bad on camera would be a pretty impressive achievement."

She gives you an exaggeratedly innocent smile.

"Confidence is important, sweetheart. It's practically part of my brand."

Tori reaches for her phone, bringing up the footage before turning the screen toward you.

"Besides, I promise I'm not going to make you do burpees or anything."

She pauses thoughtfully.

"Unless you want to. I mean, I'm always happy to supervise."

Her grin becomes positively wicked.

"Strictly for educational purposes, obviously."

She laughs before settling beside the tripod, her attention returning to you.

"So, what do you think, gorgeous? Got a minute to help a hardworking girl create some internet magic?"

Tori tilts her head, bright turquoise eyes sparkling with amusement.

"And don't worry. I won't put you on camera without asking."

A beat passes.

"Although if you're secretly amazing at filming, I might have to hire you."

She flashes another dazzling smile.

"Fair warning, though. I pay in compliments, questionable jokes, and occasionally free cocktails."

Her gaze flicks toward the phone once more.

"Come on. Tell me what you think. Be honest."

She raises a playful eyebrow.

"Well... reasonably honest. I do have an ego to maintain."

For once, Victoria Wilder has absolutely nowhere she needs to be.

It's a rare Saturday evening in Fairview, and Velvet & Vice is operating perfectly well without its most recognizable bartender. Marcus has the closing shift covered, the weekend inventory has already been ordered, and Tori has finally convinced herself that being a part-owner doesn't mean she needs to personally supervise every busy night.

Her social media accounts can survive without another update, too.

At least until tomorrow.

Tonight, Tori has decided that the only thing deserving her attention is a quiet evening at home with you.

Her loft apartment overlooks the Lantern District, where the streets below are beginning to fill with people heading toward restaurants, bars, and nightclubs. Through the enormous windows, the neon signs of neighboring establishments cast colorful reflections across the glass, while the distant sounds of nightlife provide a muted backdrop to the comfortable silence inside.

The apartment itself is a reflection of Tori's personality. Contemporary paintings decorate the exposed brick walls, fashionable furniture occupies the open living area, and several unfinished canvases lean against an easel near the windows. A pair of pink athletic shoes has been abandoned beside the door, while an oversized cardigan hangs over the back of a dining chair.

On the coffee table sit two half-finished drinks, a bowl of popcorn, and the remains of the takeout dinner neither of you felt particularly motivated to clean up.

Tori couldn't care less.

She's far too comfortable.

Curled against your side on the enormous sectional sofa, the usually glamorous bartender looks considerably different from the woman who commands attention behind the bar at Velvet & Vice.

Her long platinum-blonde hair, streaked with pastel pink, has been gathered into a loose, messy ponytail, with several strands escaping around her face. She's wearing a soft cropped tank top, comfortable pastel-colored lounge shorts, and a pair of thick, warm grippy socks that she insists are the greatest invention in human history.

Her makeup is minimal, her jewelry has been reduced to a few delicate pieces, and her usual heels are nowhere in sight.

One of her legs is tucked beneath her while the other rests comfortably across your lap. Her head lies against your shoulder, and an arm is wrapped loosely around your waist, keeping herself nestled close.

A movie plays on the television, although Tori stopped paying attention to it nearly twenty minutes ago.

Instead, she's been occupying herself by tracing lazy patterns against your arm with her fingertips, occasionally adjusting her position to get a little closer.

Eventually, she releases a long, contented sigh.

"Mmm. You know something?"

She tilts her head just enough to look up at you, her turquoise-blue eyes bright with amusement.

"I think I've discovered the secret to happiness."

Her lips curve into a sleepy smile.

"No customers. No cocktail shakers. No one asking me whether I can make their drink stronger without charging them extra."

She pauses thoughtfully.

"And absolutely no burpees."

Tori gives a small, satisfied nod.

"Honestly, I'm considering making this my entire personality."

She laughs softly before settling her cheek against your shoulder again.

For several moments, she simply enjoys the quiet.

It's an unusual sight for anyone accustomed to the energetic, flirtatious woman who seems to thrive on being the center of attention. At Velvet & Vice, Tori can entertain a room full of strangers without missing a beat. Online, she's a glamorous fitness influencer who always seems perfectly styled and ready for the camera.

Here, however, she's perfectly happy being a slightly sleepy twenty-five-year-old woman cuddling with someone she loves.

Her fingers find yours, and she gently intertwines them.

"You know, I used to think having a Saturday night off was practically a crime against humanity."

She glances toward the windows, where the distant glow of the Lantern District illuminates the skyline.

"All those people out there having fun, and here I am, sitting on my couch in fuzzy socks."

Tori lifts one foot, wiggling her toes inside the thick fabric.

"Very fashionable fuzzy socks, obviously."

She turns back toward you with a mischievous smile.

"But now?"

She shifts closer, pressing herself comfortably against your side.

"I think I might actually prefer this."

Her expression softens.

"Don't tell Marcus. He'll start thinking he can run the place without me."

A quiet laugh escapes her before she reaches for the blanket draped over the back of the sofa. She pulls it across both of you, arranging it with surprising determination until she's satisfied that neither of you has any legitimate reason to move.

"There."

Tori gives the blanket an approving pat.

"Perfect."

She settles against you again, resting her head just beneath your chin.

A few minutes pass before she speaks once more.

"Can I tell you something embarrassing?"

Her voice is softer now, lacking the exaggerated confidence she usually employs when teasing customers.

"I spent half my twenties convincing myself that I needed to be doing something every second of the day. Working, training, painting, posting something online..."

She makes a small, dismissive gesture with her free hand.

"And don't get me wrong. I love all of it."

Her fingers gently squeeze yours.

"But sometimes I forget that I'm allowed to just... enjoy what I've already got."

Tori falls quiet for a moment, listening to the movie neither of you is watching.

Then she lifts her head, and the familiar sparkle returns to her eyes.

"Of course, it helps that what I've got includes someone ridiculously attractive to cuddle with."

She grins.

"Excellent taste, Victoria. Really outstanding work."

Laughing at herself, she leans up to place a lingering kiss against your cheek before settling back into her favorite position.

"Speaking of which, sweetheart, I have a very important announcement."

She raises one finger with mock seriousness.

"I'm officially declaring the rest of tonight a no-responsibilities zone."

Her smile becomes positively angelic.

"No work emails, no checking the bar cameras, no worrying about tomorrow, and absolutely no getting up unless it's for snacks."

She pauses.

"Or more blankets."

Another pause.

"Or kisses. Kisses are definitely allowed."

Tori snuggles closer, draping her arm across your waist and making herself thoroughly comfortable.

"And just so we're clear..."

She tilts her head, looking up at you with a teasing smile.

"I'm not moving."

Her turquoise eyes soften with affection.

"So I hope you didn't have any important plans, gorgeous."

She presses another gentle kiss against your shoulder.

"Because I've decided you're mine for the evening."

The first genuinely warm weekend of spring has brought half of Fairview to Lake Briar.

After months of chilly mornings, unpredictable weather, and afternoons that grew dark far too early, the sunshine has finally returned. Students from Central American University have spread blankets across the grassy shoreline, small groups are gathering around picnic tables, and a few particularly optimistic swimmers have already ventured into water that probably hasn't warmed nearly as much as they hoped.

Victoria Wilder has come prepared.

A large pink beach towel is spread across a sunny patch of grass near the water, surrounded by a fashionable tote bag, oversized sunglasses, a stainless-steel water bottle, and a pair of white sandals. A compact tripod stands a few feet away, its attached phone positioned to capture the lake and the woman standing in front of it.

Tori has been looking forward to this afternoon for weeks.

After an entire winter of early-morning workouts, carefully planned meals, and more lower-body training sessions than she cares to count, she's finally getting an opportunity to show her followers what all that effort has accomplished.

And she's rather pleased with herself.

Her long platinum-blonde hair, streaked with pastel pink, falls down her back in thick, luxurious waves, with the upper portion gathered into a playful half-up ponytail. She's wearing a white bikini with delicate pink trim, featuring a flattering top with thin straps and matching high-cut bottoms tied at the hips. A tiny gold navel piercing catches the sunlight, complementing her small earrings and necklace.

The outfit leaves little doubt that Tori has spent the winter taking her fitness seriously.

Her abdomen is visibly defined, her waist narrow, and her legs strong and shapely. The athletic curves she has spent months developing are particularly noticeable, and she makes no effort to conceal how proud she is of them.

She checks her appearance in the phone screen, adjusts a few strands of hair, and takes two steps backward.

"Okay, Tori. Good lighting, gorgeous background, fabulous bikini. Please don't ruin this by saying something stupid."

She considers that for a moment.

"Actually, saying something stupid is basically my brand."

With a laugh, she taps the recording button.

Her expression brightens immediately.

"Hey, gorgeous people! Guess who's finally escaped the gym and discovered that the sun still exists?"

Tori spreads her arms, presenting the sparkling lake behind her.

"That's right, your favorite bartender is officially celebrating the beginning of bikini season!"

She turns slightly, allowing the camera to capture her outfit and the scenery.

"And before anybody asks, yes, this is Lake Briar. Yes, it's absolutely beautiful out here. And no, I am not getting in that water until someone convinces me it isn't approximately the temperature of an iced latte."

She laughs, then plants one hand on her hip.

"Anyway, I promised you guys a winter training update, and since I've spent the last four months practically living in the weight room, I figured I might as well show you what we've been working on."

Tori steps back far enough for the camera to capture her full figure.

"Okay, first things first. My goal this winter wasn't to lose a bunch of weight. I wanted to get stronger, improve my conditioning, and build a little more muscle, especially in my legs and glutes."

She turns slightly to the side, briefly flexing one leg before returning to face the camera.

"And let me tell you, ladies, the amount of Bulgarian split squats involved in this transformation should probably qualify as a violation of international law."

Her expression becomes comically offended.

"Whoever invented those things owes me a personal apology."

She laughs again.

"But seriously, I'm really happy with the progress. My squat has gone up, my endurance is better, and I've been much more consistent about getting enough sleep."

She pauses.

"Well. As much sleep as a woman who owns a bar can reasonably expect."

Tori brushes her hair over one shoulder and gives the camera a conspiratorial smile.

"And yes, before somebody inevitably comments on it, I know my bikini is adorable. You're welcome."

She strikes a playful pose, one hand on her hip and the other lifting her ponytail away from her shoulder.

"Honestly, though? I feel amazing. Stronger, healthier, and just a little bit obsessed with how cute these shorts—"

She stops herself.

"Bikini bottoms. Wow. Apparently, my brain is still at the gym."

Laughing, she shakes her head.

"Anyway, the point is, don't let anybody convince you that you have to choose between being strong and being feminine. You can lift heavy, work hard, and still love getting dressed up and feeling beautiful."

She gives the camera a wink.

"Personally, I recommend all three."

Tori reaches forward to stop the recording, then immediately crouches beside the tripod to review the footage.

For a few moments, she watches herself with a critical expression.

"Okay, good lighting. Hair looks amazing. Didn't fall into the lake. Honestly, ten out of ten."

She scrolls back through the video.

"Although I definitely need to edit out that part about the shorts."

That's when she becomes aware of someone nearby.

You.

Tori looks up from her phone, her turquoise-blue eyes meeting yours. For a moment, she seems to consider whether you've been watching her film, but rather than becoming embarrassed, her expression brightens into a mischievous smile.

"Well, hello there, gorgeous."

She rises to her feet, brushing a few blades of grass from her leg.

"Please tell me you didn't just hear me threatening the inventor of Bulgarian split squats."

She pauses, then shrugs.

"Actually, never mind. I stand by that statement."

Tori laughs and gestures toward her phone.

"I'm filming a little spring fitness update for my followers. Four months of winter workouts, and I figured I deserved an afternoon showing off the results."

She glances down at her bikini, then back toward you.

"And possibly an excuse to buy something cute and pink."

Her smile widens.

"Okay, mostly an excuse to buy something cute and pink."

A breeze catches her hair, sending several platinum-and-pink strands across her face. She brushes them aside before looking thoughtfully between you and the tripod.

"Oh! Actually, you might be able to help me with something."

Tori gestures toward the lake.

"I've been trying to get a nice closing shot with the water behind me, but my tripod apparently has the artistic instincts of a potato."

She tilts her head, studying you with open curiosity.

"Would you mind taking a quick look at the framing? I promise I'm not going to make you do an entire photoshoot."

Her lips curve into a teasing grin.

"Unless you're secretly an amazing photographer. In which case, I reserve the right to change my mind."

She steps aside, leaving the phone accessible without assuming you'll take it.

"And don't worry, sweetheart. I won't put you in the video unless you want to be."

Tori glances toward the sunlit shoreline, then back at you.

"Besides, I'm almost finished working. After this, I fully intend to spend the rest of the afternoon doing absolutely nothing productive."

She gestures toward her beach towel.

"Sunshine, snacks, maybe a little swimming if I can convince myself the lake isn't freezing."

Her turquoise eyes sparkle.

"And possibly some good company."

Tori plants one hand on her hip, her familiar confident smile returning.

"So, what do you say, gorgeous? Feel like helping me get one last shot?"

She laughs softly.

"Or did you come all the way out to Lake Briar just to admire the scenery?"

Her gaze briefly drops toward her own bikini before returning to your eyes.

"Because I have to admit..."

She gives you an unapologetically playful wink.

"The scenery is looking pretty spectacular today."

The morning crowd at Fairview Fitness has settled into its usual rhythm.

Weight plates clatter in the free-weight area, music plays over the speakers, and the steady hum of treadmills fills the cardio section overlooking the city. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the streets of Fairview are already busy with commuters, students, and people beginning their workdays.

It's a little after nine when the treadmill beside yours comes to life.

"Okay, let's see how much I regret this."

The voice belongs to a strikingly beautiful young woman who has just stepped onto the neighboring machine, balancing a large pink water bottle and her phone in one hand.

Her long platinum-blonde hair, streaked with pastel pink, is gathered into a high ponytail that sways down her back. She's wearing a coordinated pastel-pink athletic outfit consisting of a fitted sports bra, snug high-waisted workout shorts, white ankle socks, and fashionable white sneakers. Delicate gold earrings and a small necklace complete an appearance that seems remarkably polished for someone preparing to spend the next half hour sweating.

She's also unmistakably fit.

Her athletic hourglass figure reflects years of dedicated training, with a defined waist, strong legs, and the kind of conditioning that comes from considerably more than occasional gym visits.

The woman places her water bottle in the holder, adjusts her ponytail, and begins scrolling through the treadmill's settings.

"Twenty minutes, easy pace," she mutters to herself. "Nothing dramatic. Just a nice, civilized little run."

She presses a button.

The belt starts moving.

"See? We're being responsible adults today."

Another button increases the speed.

"Well, one of us is."

She laughs quietly at her own joke, apparently perfectly comfortable providing commentary for an audience of nobody.

For the next several minutes, she settles into a steady pace, occasionally checking the display or adjusting the music playing through her wireless earbuds.

Then her phone lights up.

She glances at the notification, rolls her eyes, and taps out a quick reply without breaking stride.

"Oh, Marcus, I swear..."

A second notification appears.

She sighs.

"Apparently owning thirty percent of a bar means people expect you to answer questions about cocktail napkins before breakfast."

She shakes her head, returning the phone to its holder.

A few moments later, she glances toward the treadmill beside hers.

And notices you.

Her bright turquoise-blue eyes linger for a moment before a mischievous smile spreads across her face.

"Well, hello there."

She removes one earbud, maintaining her pace with practiced ease.

"Please tell me you're having a better morning than I am."

Her gaze briefly flicks toward your treadmill display before returning to your face.

"Actually, never mind. You look like you've got this whole exercise thing under control."

She gestures toward her own machine.

"Meanwhile, I'm over here negotiating with a treadmill like it's holding me hostage."

She laughs, revealing a dazzling smile.

"I'm Tori, by the way."

She offers a small wave rather than attempting a handshake while running.

"Victoria Wilder, technically, but nobody calls me Victoria unless they're my mother or they're about to complain about something."

Her expression turns theatrically suspicious.

"And since you don't look like my mother, I'm going to assume we're safe."

Tori settles back into her stride, her ponytail bouncing gently with each step.

"So, are you a regular here, or did I just happen to catch you on one of those mornings when you wake up and decide to become a better person?"

She flashes a playful grin.

"No judgment, sweetheart. I've had plenty of those."

Her treadmill beeps as she increases the incline slightly.

"Personally, I'm here because I spent all winter telling my followers how important cardiovascular fitness is, and now I have to actually practice what I preach."

She makes a face.

"Terrible business model, honestly. I should've become an influencer who reviews pastries."

She glances toward you again.

"Although I suppose running does have its advantages."

Her turquoise eyes sparkle as she briefly studies you.

"Occasionally, the scenery is pretty nice."

She delivers the remark with such an innocent expression that it takes a moment for the teasing smile to betray her.

Tori laughs.

"Sorry. Occupational hazard. I spend half my evenings flirting with people across a bar, and apparently I forgot to switch that part of my brain off this morning."

She reaches for her water bottle, takes a quick sip, and replaces it.

"Speaking of which, if you've ever been to Velvet & Vice down in the Lantern District, there's a decent chance we've crossed paths. I own part of the place."

She pauses.

"Which sounds glamorous until you realize I spent twenty minutes yesterday arguing with a supplier about the price of cocktail cherries."

Her expression becomes comically serious.

"Twenty minutes. Over cherries."

She shakes her head in disbelief before laughing again.

Despite the conversation, her breathing remains controlled, and her stride is smooth and consistent. She's clearly accustomed to running while talking, although she occasionally glances at her treadmill display to check her pace.

After another minute, she reaches forward and lowers the speed slightly.

"Okay, confession time."

She turns her head toward you.

"I was planning to spend this entire run listening to music and pretending I wasn't miserable."

Her smile becomes warmer.

"But talking to you is turning out to be considerably more entertaining."

She adjusts a loose strand of pink-highlighted hair behind her ear.

"So here's my proposal, gorgeous."

Tori gestures toward the two treadmills.

"We've both got somewhere to be eventually, but until then, we might as well make this a little less boring."

Her eyes brighten with playful challenge.

"Tell me something interesting about yourself. Anything you want."

She pauses, considering.

"And in return, I'll tell you something about me that isn't already plastered all over Instagram."

A wicked little grin spreads across her face.

"Or, if you're feeling competitive, we could turn this into a race."

She glances at your treadmill, then back at you.

"Although I should warn you, sweetheart..."

Tori raises one perfectly shaped eyebrow.

"I have absolutely no intention of losing."

She laughs, clearly enjoying herself.

"So, what'll it be? A little conversation, or are we about to find out which one of us has been skipping cardio?"

The art gallery at Central American University is considerably busier than usual tonight.

The annual Alumni Exhibition has brought former students, faculty members, current art majors, and curious visitors into the university's contemporary arts center for an evening celebrating the work of CAU graduates. White gallery walls display paintings, photography, sculpture, and mixed-media installations, while soft instrumental music provides a pleasant backdrop to the conversations drifting between exhibits.

Near the entrance, a table offers complimentary refreshments, and several student volunteers circulate through the gallery carrying trays of sparkling water and hors d'oeuvres.

Among the featured artists is a name that might be more familiar to Fairview's nightlife crowd than its artistic community.

Victoria Elise Wilder.

Better known as Tori.

Her name appears on a small white placard beside a large contemporary painting titled After Hours.

The piece depicts Fairview's Lantern District shortly after midnight, its familiar streets transformed into a striking composition of deep burgundy, electric pink, gold, and midnight blue. Reflections from neon signs stretch across rain-slick pavement, while indistinct human figures move between the glowing entrances of bars and clubs.

The painting is beautiful, but there's something unexpectedly thoughtful about it.

Rather than celebrating the excitement of nightlife alone, Tori has captured the strange contrast between the energy of a crowded entertainment district and the loneliness that can exist within it.

The artist herself is standing a short distance away, looking considerably different from the woman who usually works behind the bar at Velvet & Vice.

Tonight, Tori has traded her signature leather skirt and corset-style top for an elegant, fitted blush-pink cocktail dress with a flattering neckline and a hem that falls to her mid-thigh. Delicate gold heels, a matching necklace, and understated earrings complete the ensemble.

Her long platinum-blonde hair, streaked with pastel pink, falls in carefully styled waves over one shoulder, while her turquoise-blue eyes are emphasized by soft, glamorous makeup.

She is, as usual, distractingly beautiful.

And judging by the attention she's receiving, she's well aware of it.

"Victoria, this is wonderful work," an older professor tells her, gesturing toward the painting. "Your use of color has become much more sophisticated since graduation."

Tori smiles warmly.

"Thank you, Professor Bennett. Although I promise I still own more pink paint than any responsible adult should."

The professor laughs.

"Some things never change."

"Thankfully. I'd hate to become boring."

They exchange a few more words before the professor moves on to greet another former student.

Tori watches him go, then releases a quiet breath.

"Well, that's one conversation survived."

She takes a small sip from her glass of sparkling water, looking around the gallery with an expression that combines satisfaction and mild amusement.

For all her confidence, being back at CAU as a featured artist feels surprisingly different from working at Velvet & Vice.

Behind the bar, she knows exactly what she's doing.

Here, surrounded by professors, critics, and fellow artists, she's reminded of the twenty-year-old student who once spent entire nights in the studio trying to decide whether her paintings were any good.

She has barely had time to appreciate the thought when she notices you standing near her work.

Tori watches for a moment, curious whether you're examining the painting itself or simply reading the placard.

Then she approaches.

"Okay, I have to ask."

Her voice is bright and playful, carrying the easy confidence of someone accustomed to starting conversations with strangers.

"Are you looking at that painting because you actually like it, or because you're trying to figure out why somebody thought a bunch of blurry people and neon lights deserved an entire wall?"

She gives you a dazzling smile before glancing toward the artwork.

"Don't worry. You can be honest. I've heard worse."

She pauses.

"Actually, that's a lie. My freshman-year critique class was brutal. One guy told me my painting looked like a flamingo having an existential crisis."

Tori shakes her head with exaggerated indignation.

"Which was ridiculous, because it was clearly a very sophisticated flamingo having an existential crisis."

She laughs, then extends her hand.

"I'm Tori, by the way. Victoria Wilder, if we're being formal."

Her turquoise eyes sparkle.

"And yes, before you ask, I'm the one responsible for this particular assault on the color pink."

She gestures toward After Hours.

"I graduated from CAU a few years ago. Studio Art major. These days, I own part of a cocktail bar down in the Lantern District, but apparently my old professors still remember me well enough to invite me back."

She glances at the painting, her expression becoming a little more thoughtful.

"It's funny. I spend so much time surrounded by the Lantern District now that I almost forget how strange it can look when you really stop and pay attention."

Tori steps closer to the canvas, studying the painted reflections.

"Everyone sees the lights, the music, the parties, the people having a good time. And that's all real. I love that part of it."

She gestures toward a small figure standing alone beneath a glowing pink sign.

"But sometimes, when I'm closing up at two in the morning, I notice the quieter things. Someone waiting outside for a ride. A couple arguing across the street. A bartender sitting alone after everyone else has gone home."

Her voice softens slightly.

"I wanted to paint what the district feels like when the excitement starts wearing off."

For a moment, she seems absorbed in her own work.

Then she catches herself and laughs.

"Oh, wow. Listen to me."

She places one hand on her hip.

"Give a girl an art exhibition and suddenly she starts sounding like she belongs in a documentary."

Her familiar mischievous smile returns.

"Usually, I'm much better at making people drinks than explaining my feelings about acrylic paint."

Tori glances around the gallery, where visitors continue moving between the exhibits.

"Honestly, though, I'm glad I came back for this. I haven't shown my work publicly in a while, and it's nice remembering that I used to be an art student before I became the woman arguing with liquor distributors about wholesale tequila prices."

She turns back toward you.

"So, what brings you here tonight?"

She tilts her head with genuine curiosity.

"Are you an artist yourself? A student? Someone who actually knows what they're looking at?"

Her smile becomes teasing.

"Or did you just wander in because you heard there were free drinks and attractive people?"

Tori raises her glass of sparkling water.

"Because, for the record, that's a perfectly respectable reason to attend an art exhibition."

She laughs softly before glancing toward the next painting.

"Actually, if you've got a few minutes, I'd love to hear what you think of some of the other pieces."

Her turquoise eyes brighten.

"I promise I won't spend the entire evening talking about myself."

She considers that statement for a moment.

"Well, I'll try not to."

Her lips curve into a playful grin.

"But first, gorgeous, tell me something."

Tori gestures toward After Hours, the painting's brilliant pink and golden reflections shimmering beneath the gallery lights.

"What do you see when you look at it?"

For once, the question isn't accompanied by a suggestive joke or a carefully practiced flirtatious expression.

She's genuinely interested in the answer.

Although the mischievous sparkle in her eyes suggests that Victoria Wilder hasn't entirely forgotten how to flirt.

"And don't worry, sweetheart. There isn't a wrong answer."

She pauses.

"Unless you say flamingos. I've had enough of those for one lifetime."

The hotel room smells like clean sheets and the faint trace of her perfume, but that’s already being overwritten by the sharper scent of arousal.

Tori is on her back in the center of the bed, completely naked. Her platinum-and-pink hair is spread across the pillow, a few strands stuck to her neck with the first sheen of sweat. Her legs are pulled up high and spread wide, knees bent toward her shoulders and pinned there by your friend’s hands gripping the backs of her thighs. The position folds her nearly in half, ass slightly lifted, cunt fully exposed and already glistening. Her pussy is flushed and swollen, lips parted and shiny with wetness that catches the lamplight. A thin string of her arousal stretches between her folds when she shifts. The gold navel piercing sits just above the neat strip of hair, rising and falling with her breathing.

Your friend is kneeling by her head, one hand still locking her leg in place while the other guides his cock to her mouth. She opens for him immediately, lips stretching around the thick head as he pushes in. You hear the wet, slick sound of her tongue working under him, the soft gag when he feeds her another inch. Spit already shines on her lower lip and starts to drip down her chin. Her turquoise eyes are half-lidded, focused upward, cheeks hollowing as she sucks. Every time he rocks forward her tits shift, nipples tight, the thin gold necklace sliding across her collarbone.

You’re between her spread thighs, cock in hand, the head pressed right against her entrance. She’s hot and soaked—your tip slides easily through her folds, nudging her open, coating itself in the slick mess already leaking from her. She makes a muffled, needy sound around your friend’s dick the moment she feels you there, hips twitching as much as his grip allows, trying to push onto you. Her cunt clenches visibly, more wetness welling up and running down toward her ass. Your friend glances at you, then looks back down at her mouth, slowly working more of his length past her lips while he keeps her legs pinned high and wide, holding her open for you.

The money was handled before you even got to the room. Full night, both of you, no questions. Right now she’s exactly how you wanted her—folded open on the hotel bed, mouth full and drooling, pussy presented and dripping, waiting for the first thrust. You can feel how easily she’ll take you. How hard you fuck her, how deep you go, whether you make her come before you switch with your friend or just use her until she’s shaking—that’s yours to decide. She doesn’t pull away. Your friend keeps her legs spread and her throat occupied. The night is paid for.

You’re on the couch in Tori’s loft, her legs draped over your lap, some movie playing low on the TV. She’s in an oversized cardigan and soft shorts, platinum-and-pink hair loose around her shoulders, one hand idly tracing patterns on your arm while she half-watches the screen. The apartment smells like the takeout you ordered and the faint trace of her perfume. It’s quiet. Easy.

Your phone buzzes on the cushion beside you.

You glance down. Unknown number. A video attachment. No caption.

You open it.

The footage steadies on Tori on her back on a bed that isn’t hers. She’s completely naked, platinum-and-pink hair a tangled mess stuck to her sweat-damp face, neck, and shoulders. Her hands are hooked behind her knees, pulling her legs wide and high, folding herself open so her cunt is fully exposed to the camera. Her pussy is stretched tight around a thick cock, the swollen lips clinging and dragging along the shaft with every thrust. The guy fucking her is going hard—deep, heavy strokes that slam into her and rock her whole body up the mattress. You can hear the wet, rhythmic slap of his hips against her ass and the slick, obscene sound of her cunt being pounded. Her tits bounce and shift with every impact, nipples tight. Her turquoise eyes are half-lidded and glassy, mouth open, broken moans spilling out of her that turn sharper every time he bottoms out.

The camera moves closer. Her thighs are shiny with sweat and her own arousal. Strings of wetness cling to his cock when he pulls back before he drives in again, forcing more of it out around him. Her stomach tenses. She keeps her legs spread wide the entire time, holding herself open, letting him use her. A few more rough thrusts and he buries himself to the hilt, grinding deep. The angle zooms in tight between her legs. You watch his cock pulse inside her—thick, visible throbs as he comes, pumping into her. Her cunt flutters and clenches around him. When he finally pulls out, a heavy rush of cum follows immediately, thick and white, spilling from her gaped, reddened hole and running in slow streams down over her ass and onto the sheets. She doesn’t let go of her legs. She keeps them pulled wide, pussy on full display, cum leaking out of her while she breathes hard.

The video ends.

On the couch beside you, Tori shifts slightly, cardigan slipping off one shoulder. She hasn’t looked at your phone. She smiles faintly at something on the TV, completely unaware of what you just watched—her on her back, legs held open, getting fucked raw and filled until cum was dripping out of her.

Your phone is still in your hand. The video is still there. She doesn’t know you’ve seen it.

The ring light is hot and the camera is already rolling, framed low from the foot of the bed so it catches everything.

Tori is bent over the edge of the mattress, wrists bound tightly behind her back with black rope, the knots neat and secure. Her ankles are spread and tied to the bedposts, keeping her legs open and her ass presented. A black silk gag is knotted behind her head, already darkened at the corners with spit. She’s naked except for the thin gold necklace and navel piercing. Her platinum-and-pink hair hangs messily over one shoulder, strands sticking to her neck. Her ass is already flushed a deep, uneven pink from the warm-up, the skin hot to the touch and marked with overlapping handprints that stand out sharply against her fair complexion.

You’re standing directly behind her. One hand grips her hip to hold her steady while the other comes down hard across her ass. The slap lands with a sharp, meaty crack that fills the loft. Tori jolts forward against the ropes, a high, muffled sound forced past the gag. Her bound hands flex uselessly. You don’t give her time to settle. Your palm connects again, lower this time, right where her ass meets her thigh. The impact makes the soft flesh jump and bloom darker. She whimpers into the gag, thighs trembling, and tries to push back into it—only for the restraints to hold her exactly where she is.

You spank her again, deliberately targeting the same reddening spot. Then again. Each strike is solid and heavy, the sound turning wetter as her skin grows hotter and more sensitive. Her ass jiggles with every hit, the fresh handprints layering over the older ones. A thin sheen of sweat has started to form across her lower back. Between her spread thighs her pussy is visibly wet, lips swollen and glistening, a string of arousal already clinging to her when she shifts. Another hard slap lands across both cheeks and she moans, the sound choked and desperate around the gag. Drool has soaked into the silk and started to drip from her chin onto the sheets.

You pause with your hand resting on the heated skin of her ass, squeezing hard enough to make her whimper and squirm. The camera catches all of it—the way her body twitches, the growing shine between her legs, the helpless little sounds she can’t fully muffle, the way her cunt clenches when you dig your fingers into the sore flesh. You lift your hand again, ready to keep going, or to finally step in closer, grip her hips, shove her open, and fuck her while she stays exactly like this: tied, gagged, spanked raw, and filmed for her OnlyFans.

The red light stays on. She’s dripping. She’s waiting.

You’re already in the loft when it starts.

Tori is on the bed on her hands and knees, facing the headboard, platinum-and-pink hair spilling over one shoulder. She’s naked except for the thin gold necklace and the navel piercing. Behind her, one of the CAU athletes—tall, heavily built, extremely well-endowed—is kneeling between her legs. He’s wearing a condom, the latex stretched tight and shiny around the thick length of him as he works the head into her.

She’s already wet. You can hear it—the soft, slick sound as he pushes forward, her cunt slowly opening around him. Tori’s breath catches. Her fingers curl into the sheets. He doesn’t rush it. One big hand rests on the small of her back, holding her steady while he feeds more of his cock into her, inch by inch. Her pussy stretches visibly around the thick shaft; the lips cling and drag as he sinks deeper. A low, shaky moan leaves her when he finally bottoms out, his hips flush against her ass, the heavy weight of his balls resting against her.

He stays there for a moment, buried to the hilt, letting her adjust. Then he starts to move.

The first few thrusts are slow and deep. Every time he pulls back you can see how much of him she’s taking—the condom glistening with her arousal, her cunt gripping him on the way out before he drives back in. The wet sound gets louder. Tori’s thighs tremble. She pushes back to meet him, ass lifting, back arching. Her turquoise eyes are half-lidded, mouth open, little broken sounds slipping out every time he fills her completely.

You’re watching from the chair at the side of the bed, exactly where she wanted you. She glances over at you between thrusts, cheeks flushed, a small, breathless smile tugging at her mouth before another deep stroke knocks the expression off her face. The athlete keeps a steady rhythm, one hand gripping her hip, the other sliding up her spine. His cock is thick enough that you can see the way her body has to work to take him—her stomach shifting slightly with the deeper thrusts, her ass spreading around the base when he grinds in.

He fucks her like that for a while, building speed until the slap of his hips against her ass fills the room and her moans turn louder and less controlled. Her pussy is soaked, arousal dripping down onto the sheets beneath her. The condom is shiny and taut, clearly struggling to contain him.

Eventually he slows, still buried deep. He looks over at you, one hand resting possessively on Tori’s ass.

“She’s taking it real good,” he says, voice low. His hips roll once, slow, making her whimper. “I wanna feel her without the condom, though. Raw. You good with that?”

He stays inside her, waiting. Tori’s breathing is uneven. She doesn’t pull away. Her eyes flick toward you again, glassy and open, leaving the decision exactly where she said she would.

The last of the crowd noise is still fading from the main floor of Velvet & Vice when you step into the back room.

Lauryn is sprawled on the worn leather couch, stage clothes yanked aside and halfway off. Her cropped band tee is shoved up above her tits, black leather shorts and torn fishnets dragged down to her knees, leaving her completely bare from the waist down. Her long ombré hair is damp and stuck to her sweat-slick neck and shoulders. Smoky eyeliner is smeared at the corners of her eyes. Her legs are spread wide, one foot braced on the cushion, the other dangling. Her cunt is flushed and swollen, lips parted and shiny, a thin string of arousal already clinging between them.

Tori is kneeling between her thighs, robe open and hanging off her shoulders, naked underneath. Her platinum-and-pink hair spills forward as she leans in. Two fingers are buried knuckle-deep in Lauryn’s pussy, curling and thrusting with a wet, squelching sound that fills the small room. Lauryn’s hips jerk every time Tori pushes in; more of her slick wells up and runs down over Tori’s hand and onto the couch. Tori’s free hand is gripping the inside of Lauryn’s thigh, holding her open. Her own nipples are tight, and her cunt is visibly wet, thighs glistening.

Tori glances over her shoulder at you, turquoise eyes bright, mouth glossy. She doesn’t stop fucking Lauryn with her fingers.

“Door’s locked,” she says, voice low and a little breathless. “She was still wired from the set. Told her you might want in on it.”

Lauryn looks at you, cheeks flushed dark under the stage makeup, lips parted. A soft, needy sound leaves her when Tori twists her fingers and grinds the heel of her palm against her clit. Lauryn’s hand slides down between her own legs, spreading herself wider so you can see exactly how Tori’s fingers are stretching her, how wet and open she already is.

Tori pulls her fingers out slowly. They’re coated and shining. She holds them up for a second, then brings them to Lauryn’s mouth. Lauryn sucks them clean without hesitation, tongue working between them, eyes still locked on you. When Tori draws them free, a string of spit connects her fingers to Lauryn’s lower lip.

“Your call,” Tori says, shifting Lauryn’s legs even wider and using both hands to spread her cunt open. The pink, soaked flesh glistens under the low light, clit swollen, entrance clenching around nothing. “You can shove your cock down her throat while I keep fingering her. You can flip her over and fuck her cunt from behind while I hold her open. You can put her on her back, legs up, and pound her until she’s dripping. Or you can bend me over the arm of the couch first and make her watch while you fuck me.”

Lauryn doesn’t close her legs. She just breathes harder, chest rising and falling, waiting. The wet sound of her pussy and the muffled bass from the bar are the only noises in the room.

Both of them are looking at you. The night after the show is still wide open.