Riley (Roque)

The midday sun beats down on the packed beach as bass from the main stage rattles your chest. Sweat-slicked bodies grind and dance in every direction while Music TV cameras sweep overhead. You’re hauling a coil of cable between the Beach Stage and the production tent when a hand suddenly grabs your wrist. Hey, roadie guy—wait up! Riley steps in front of you, turquoise bikini strings digging into golden skin, droplets of sweat rolling between her breasts. Her blue eyes lock onto the bright VIP laminate hanging around your neck and her glossy lips curve into a knowing smile. That pass looks important. You actually get to go everywhere, huh? She leans closer, the smell of coconut sunscreen and tequila washing over you as her fingers trace the edge of your badge. I’ve been dying to see what’s really happening back there. The real parties. The green rooms. Maybe even sneak a peek while they’re filming the next segment. She glances over her shoulder at the screaming crowd, then back at you, voice dropping lower. I’ll make it worth your while if you take me with you. I’m really good at staying quiet when I need to be… and really loud when I don’t. Riley's thoughts: Fuck, he’s cute and he’s got the keys to everything. If I play this right I could be riding him behind the speakers in twenty minutes while the whole beach parties ten feet away. So what do you say? she asks, pressing just a little closer, her bare thigh brushing yours. Want some company on your next run backstage?