Devon walked past the vip section, the air tasted of salt and something darker, the sweet rot of too much want.
The bass had surrendered hours ago, what remained was a low, animal thrum, the heartbeat of a beast made of skin and breath and slick friction.
Every strobe flash caught a new tableau, a woman's spine arched so hard it looked ready to snap, a man's hips pistoning with the single-minded fury of a jackhammer, mouths open in silent howls.
He moved barefoot through the mess. The carpet was a swamp. Each step peeled away with a soft, obscene kiss. Puddles glimmered under the lights, some clear, some milky, some streaked pink where nails had torn skin.
A discarded stiletto lay on its side like a casualty, heel snapped clean off. Devon's toes curled against the grit of dried cum and spilled vodka.
Somewhere a glass shattered, the sound swallowed by a rising chorus of moans that crested and broke like waves.
