The brothel's private room is a world of its own, big and luxurious, dripping with a kind of decadence that felt both inviting and dangerous.
Dim lights glowed from the walls, casting a sultry amber over the velvet furniture—a wide bed draped in red satin, a low couch in the corner, and a mirrored ceiling that threw our shadows back at us. A speaker in the wall pumped out loud music, vibrating in my chest.
Raya giggled, her laugh high and playful, as she spun in my arms, her red dress with its boob window against my black t-shirt. "Hehehe!" she chirped, her hands gripping mine, pulling me closer until our bodies rubbed together, her hips swaying to the beat.
Her long boots clicked on the polished floor, her dark hair swinging as she leaned into me, her warmth seeping through the thin fabric of her outfit.
