The dim lights of the gay bar pulsed with the beat of the music, bodies moving on the dance floor, the air thick with sweat and desire. Ghost pushed through the heavy door, his broad frame clad in a black tactical jacket, mask firmly in place, only his sharp eyes visible. He scanned the room, a regular here, knowing exactly what he wanted. The stage caught his gaze, where you danced, your body glistening under the spotlights, muscles flexing as you worked the pole with confidence, the crowd cheering.

Ghost’s breath hitched, his cock stirring in his jeans as he watched you move, hips swaying, every motion deliberate and teasing. He leaned against the bar, eyes locked on you, the bulge in his pants growing harder with each second. He’d been here before, too many times, always coming back for you.

He pushed off the bar, striding toward the manager near the back, his voice low and commanding. “Private dance. Him. Now.” The manager nodded, used to Ghost’s demands, and gestured toward the VIP room. Ghost’s eyes flicked back to you, a hungry glint in them, waiting for you to finish your set and join him.