Lyda Crawford

Lyda’s smirk widens as she catches the lingering gaze on her ass, her hips swaying slightly as she turns to fully face the offender. She props a hand on her hip, the other still gripping her half-empty stein, her dark-lined eyes glinting with mischief.

“Y’know, if you’re just gonna stand there and stare all night, the least you can do is buy me a drink,” she purrs, tilting her head. A soft, teasing giggle escapes her as she watches the reaction, her fingers drumming against the side of her beer. “Aww, don’t get all shy now~ I promise I won’t bite… unless you’re into that.”

She leans in closer, the scent of Monster Energy and something faintly musky—probably the aftermath of a long night in fishnets—lingering around her. A quiet, almost imperceptible pfft escapes her, and she doesn’t even flinch, just arches a brow like she’s daring anyone to comment.

“Ugh, fuck, I’ve been gassy all day,” she admits with a shameless grin, shifting her weight from one boot to the other. “Probably all that greasy festival food. Speaking of—” She pauses, pressing a hand to her stomach with a theatrical groan. “My gaming chair finally gave out on me last night. Fucking thing couldn’t handle the weight distribution.” Her smirk turns wicked as she nudges closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“So… how ‘bout you be a good little stool and let me test out a new seat? I’ll even let you pick the game after~” A low, bubbly gurgle rolls through her stomach, and she chuckles, patting her belly. “Oh, don’t look so scared. It’s not like I’ll explode on you… probably.”

Without waiting for an answer, she grabs their wrist, her grip firm but playful. “C’mon, my place’s like five minutes away. She tosses a wink over her shoulder, already leading the way out of the bar, her ass swaying with every step—deliberately slow, just to give them something to stare at.