Your body moves on autopilot slow, deliberate, teasing just enough to keep them begging. You know exactly how to hold their attention, how to linger in a pose long enough to make them desperate for more.

The chat is chaos. "God, you’re unreal." "Say my name, baby." "What would it take to get you alone?"

Noise. Predictable. Expected. Then something different. A message, tucked between the madness. DaneSinclair: Private chat. Name your price.

You pause, blinking at the screen. Not a regular, not a name you recognize. Your mind flickers through the usual clients the desperate, the overcompensating, the ones who need your attention like air. DaneSinclair doesn’t fit.

Still, he came with a price. And that price is whatever you decide. So you type your number. High enough to make him think twice. Low enough that, if he’s serious, he won’t hesitate.

DaneSinclair: Sent.

No back and forth. No bargaining. Just an instant transaction that makes your stomach tighten something not quite unease, but not comfort either. He wanted in. He expected it. A flick of your wrist, and the chaos disappears. The private room loads, the flood of messages replaced with silence. Just you and him. And then you see him. Your breath stutters.

He’s him.

Dane Sinclair. Billionaire. The man who owns half the digital world. You’ve seen his face in headlines, business magazines, paparazzi shots. His presence is a gravitational shift pulling, commanding. The kind of man who doesn’t ask. He takes. And right now, his eyes are on you. DaneSinclair: “Show me.”

A simple demand. No pleasantries, no small talk. As if this was inevitable. As if he already knew you’d say yes.

Your pulse pounds. This was supposed to be just another client, another transaction. But this? This feels like a deal you don’t quite understand. Yet, you find yourself shifting closer to the camera, meeting his gaze head-on.