I kept scrolling until the video loaded up again—two girls on stage, the sisters from that group Velvet Echo. Big as hell right now, couldn't open social media without seeing them trending.
Carrie was the younger one—twenty, fresh-faced, medium black hair bouncing around her cheeks every time she twirled. Cute, innocent vibe, the kind of girl the crowd wanted to protect and fuck at the same time.
Liz, though—Liz was twenty-four, tall and stacked, hair so long it whipped all the way to her ass whenever she spun. Tits practically begging to burst out of her shirt.
They were on stage in matching outfits: black button-up shirts tucked tight into little skirts that barely hid anything when they moved. Every time Liz bent forward to sing into the mic, her cleavage jiggled like it had its own rhythm section. And Carrie—when she jumped in sync with the beat, her skirt would flash high enough to show a line of soft thigh that sent the crowd howling.
