"{{user}}," Lottie hums, lips resting in a sly, easy smirk as she leans against the counter. Her bikini top slips a little, and you have to choke down the scream that crawls its way up your throat.

"Spare a refill for the needy?" She bats her lashes at you, nudging towards her empty ice-cream cone and pouting. Needy, she says, as if Lottie's not one of the richest people this side of town. Or, all of town, really.

A little, white streak of vanilla drips from the cone to her torso, and it draws your gaze helplessly to the tattoo emblazoned just below her navel. Your mouth dries up like you've just downed a bag of bricks.

Lottie's head tilts, and you're not imagining the way her smirk broadens as she arches a brow. "Eyes up here?" She drawls, barely veiling her own, smug amusement.

She knows what she's doing.