“Hello, Mr. Ryan.” Her breath was hot in my ear and I startled at the sound, my entire body going stiff. What in the actual fuck? My hands curled into fists at my sides. “I really, really want to kiss that sexy, angry mouth of yours.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
“I just danced my ass off, and you aren’t even a little hard right now?” She leaned in, licking up my neck as she lowered her h*ps and wiggled over my cock. “There we go . . .” She giggled into my neck. “Now you are.”
My mind exploded with reactions: relief and anger, shock and embarrassment. Here Chloe was, in Vegas, not skiing in the f**king Catskills, and she’d come in here to find me blindfolded and waiting for a dancer to do exactly what she’d done: dance on my thighs, grind herself into my cock. But for once I’d managed to do with Chloe what I’d been able to do in every one of my business relationships: hide the reaction you have until you’ve transformed it into the reaction you want.
I counted down from ten before asking, “Was this some sort of test?”
I wasn’t going to explain why I was in this room; I’d done nothing wrong. Still, I felt the strange war inside me: growing arousal that she’d done this for me and anger that she’d set me up. “You’re in trouble, Mills.”
She pressed a fingertip to my lips, and then trapped it between our mouths with a brief kiss. “I’m just happy to be right. Max owes me fifty dollars. I told him you would hate getting a lap dance from a stranger. Your hard limit is infidelity.”
“I used all of my moves, but nothing. Not even a twitch down there. I’m really hoping you had no idea it was me or else—I’ll be honest—I’m a little insulted.”
Shaking my head, I murmured, “No. The perfume is . . . off. You hate cinnamon gum. And I can’t see you or feel you.”
“You can now,” she said, lifting my hands to rest on her bare thighs. I ran my palms up to her h*ps and felt the sharp press of small stones on her underwear. What the f**k is she wearing? I was dying to take off the blindfold, but as she hadn’t done it yet, I suspected this was another thing I was meant to wait for.
I ran my hands over her thighs, down to her calves, and suddenly wanted nothing more than to get laid in this room in the middle of a questionably legal Vegas club. My relief that it was Chloe in here with me, and not some stranger sitting on my lap, overwhelmed me, and a burst of adrenaline shot into my bloodstream. “You should feel free to f**k me in this room, Miss Mills.”
She leaned forward, sucked on my jaw. “Hmm . . . maybe. Want a second chance to enjoy a dance first?”
I nodded and exhaled as she slipped the blindfold off me, exposing her . . . outfit. She wore a tiny bra that tied with thin satin straps at her shoulders and appeared to be made entirely of gemstones held together with the barest scrap of silk. Her panties were similarly flimsy, and even more fascinating. The thin satin ties at the sides hinted to me that I probably shouldn’t destroy them.
Running a fingertip across her torso, she whispered, “You like my new lingerie?”
I stared at the tiny jewels decorating her skin, winking brilliant green and clear as diamonds. She looked like a f**king work of art. “They’ll do,” I mumbled, leaning forward to kiss between her breasts. “In a pinch.”
“Do you want to touch me?”
I nodded again, looking up at her face and feeling my eyes grow dark at the way she watched me with both hunger and uncertainty.
She smiled, licked her lips. “This wasn’t a test, sending you down here. But,” she said, eyes falling to my mouth, “the fact is that you did come down to this room expecting a stranger to dance for you. You put on a blindfold, and any other woman could have come in here and touched what’s mine.” She cocked her head, studied me. “I think maybe I deserve a little treat.”
Hell yes. “I can agree with that.”
“And, the rules being what they are”—she nodded to a small sign on the wall basically suggesting that men who violated dancers would be unceremoniously carried out and dropped over the Hoover Dam—“you still aren’t allowed to touch me freely.”
I wasn’t sure what she meant by “freely” and I was still mostly trapped beneath her, so I simply let my hands fall back to her thighs, waiting for instruction. My body was tightly coiled and ready for whatever she wanted to do.
She stood, walked over to the wall unit, and started the song over again.
I really was a lucky f**king bastard. I had the hottest girlfriend in the entire world. Licking my lips, I stared at her firm, perfect ass until she turned back around and, with the trademark confident sway of her hips, returned to where I sat.
Chloe climbed over me, straddling my thighs. “Take off my panties.”
I pulled at the delicate tie at each hip, and slowly dragged them away from her body, tossing them to the side somewhere.
“Now. Put the back of your hand on your thigh and hold up however many fingers you want me to fuck,” she whispered.
She laughed, sucking on her lip before enunciating very slowly, “Put the back of your hand on your thigh, and hold up however many fingers you want me to fuck.”
Was she serious with this shit? Without taking my eyes off of hers, I slid my hand to my leg, turned it palm up, and offered up my middle finger. “Here you go.”
She looked down and giggled. “That’s a good one, but maybe at least one more. I do need a closer approximation of your cock.”
“You’re really only going to f**k my fingers? My dick is pretty much ready to go, and you can’t pretend that isn’t the preferable option for everyone involved.”
“You were going to get a lap dance from a Vegas showgirl,” she countered, brow raised. “Your dick wasn’t even interested five minutes ago.”
With a sigh, I closed my eyes, extending three fingers.
“So generous,” she whispered, lifting her h*ps and gliding her sex across my rigid fingertips. “You’ll make a pretty stellar husband if you keep this sort of thing up.”
“Chlo . . .” I groaned, opening my eyes to watch her as she slowly lowered herself over my fingers. She was already wet, and I stared down at her, na**d but for her skimpy bra, her smooth thighs spread over the dark fabric of my pants.
She wrapped her hands around my neck and began to move over me, lifting her body and circling her h*ps as she came down, rubbing her cl*tagainst the heel of my hand. Again, and again, and again. I thrust up beneath her, needing friction. I could taste her scent in the air, could hear every one of her tight little sounds. Between her breasts, sweat caused her skin to glisten. No way would I admit right now how much I loved watching her use my body to find her own pleasure.
“You’re a f**king tease,” I growled, relishing the dip and swell from the weight of her arms braced on my shoulders. The sight of her was doing savage things to my body, and I was pretty sure I could get off if she just lowered herself a bit more, rubbed her thigh against my clothed cock. “I’m going to walk out of here still hard and smelling like pussy.”
And yet, at the sound of my voice, I’d noticed the tight press of her ni**les inside her little bra. She knew how hard I was, and she cared greatly.
Chloe gasped as I curled my fingers and moved my other hand to slide over her backside and guide her hips. I pressed my thumb across her clit, feeling myself come undone just watching her. Around my fingers, her body rippled, tensing in anticipation. Even in a strange room with God-knows-what going on around us, I could make her come in minutes. She was such a f**king tangle of contradictions: generous and teasing, earnest and coy. “You f**king wreck me, Chlo.”
“Can you tell I’m close?” Our eyes never broke contact, and I slid my hand up her side, tracing the frame of her ribs with my fingertips.
“Does that still make you wild? Knowing how fast you can do this to me?”
I nodded, and my hand slid higher, to her shoulder, her neck. My fingers flexed against her jugular, itching to feel the race of her pulse when she came. “I love knowing no one else could make you this wet.”
Her brown sugar eyes darkened, grew heavy with desire. “I need you to want me every second,” she whispered, breathless. “You’re the only one I’d ever let own me like this.”
The word—own—triggered a spark in my chest, a wild-ness I couldn’t hold back anymore. Her lips were so close to mine and the taste of cinnamon on her breath, the foreign perfume . . . the reality of how far she’d gone to fool me poured fuel on the flame and I lurched forward, disintegrating; my kiss was sharp and punishing, starving for the feel and taste of her.
She pulled back only far enough to gasp, “Do you want to hear me?”
“I want the entire club to hear you.”
Her hands sank into the hair at the nape of my neck and her h*ps faltered, trapping my fingers deep inside her as she rocked wildly over my palm.
“Oh God . . .” Pulling her bottom lip into her mouth, she arched away and I bent to her neck, sucking, biting, owning her f**king heartbeat.
I felt the hammering of her pulse against my lips, felt each one of her exhales as she gasped, tensing above me and around me as she came. With a hoarse cry, she said my name and her voice sent a vibration across my tongue, pressed to her throat.
Chloe stilled, her body leaning into mine, sated and boneless, and lifted both hands to my neck. Her thumbs pressed gently into my pulse points and she leaned forward, sucking my lower lip into her mouth before biting it quickly, savagely. I let out a surprised grunt, and wasn’t sure what it said about me that for a second I thought that bite might make me come in my pants.
Lifting herself gingerly off my hand, she rose and stood on shaky legs. I leaned forward to kiss the damp skin between her breasts, and pulled her hand over the crown of my c**k through my pants. “You’re so f**king beautiful when you come, Chlo. Feel how hard you get me.”
My eyes rolled closed and I begged, “I want you on your knees now. Put your mouth on me.”
But to my absolute f**king horror, she moved her hand and walked over to retrieve her panties from the corner.
She tied the tiny straps of satin at each hip, and pulled a robe from a hook on the wall, slipping it over her shoulders and smiling a little at me. “You good?”
She came back to me, lifting my left hand to her mouth, sliding my bare ring finger between her teeth and deeper, wrapping it in the delicate softness of her tongue. And then she released it with a wink, whispering, “I’m serious.”
My arms shook with tension, my c**k pulsing from the echo of her mouth, her too-short, gentle suction. “Then no, I am not good, Chloe. Not even a little bit.”
“I am,” she said, smiling sweetly. “I feel fantastic. I hope you enjoy the rest of your bachelor party.”
I leaned back into the wall, watching her cinch the robe around her waist. My skin felt hot, itchy, feverish and the entire time she dressed she watched me, relishing my frustrated need for her.
I struggled to hide it, deciding to pretend I was fine. Yelling would only make her more pleased with herself. Cool detachment always worked best when Chloe was being a teasing bitch. But when my brow smoothed, she laughed a little, not even a little surprised.
“What are you doing after this?” I asked. For some reason it hadn’t even occurred to me what she would do when she left. Was she flying straight home?
With a shrug, she murmured, “Don’t know. Dinner. Maybe a show.”
“Wait. Are you here with someone?”
She looked at me, pursing her lips and shrugging.
“The fuck, Chloe? Are you at least going to tell me where you’re staying?”
She looked me up and down, letting her eyes linger a little longer on the fly of my pants than the rest of me before she smiled. “At a hotel.” She straightened, arching her brow before purring, “Oh, and happy Valentine’s Day, Mr. Ryan.”
And with that, she stepped out of the room and into the hallway.
Bennett Ryan looked like he was on the verge of losing his lunch and razzing all over the table.
“I’m going to pass. Lap dances aren’t really my thing.”
His brother Henry leaned forward, horrified. “How is an unfamiliar and extremely hot woman dancing on your lap not your thing? Are you warm-blooded?”
Bennett mumbled some excuse, and I couldn’t really blame him because, fuck, I wasn’t about to have some strange bird climb on my cock. But he had no idea what was waiting on him in the back. I had to get him out of that bloody chair and into the private room so we could get this night started off right.
“Bollocks,” I told him, waving to where Johnny stood, waiting near the private hallway. “This is your bachelor party, and a lappy is a requisite.”
Johnny raised his chin in acknowledgment and finished his conversation with security before making his way through the room, taking his sweet bloody time. Every second that ticked by saw my own impatience build. The longer it took Johnny to get here, the longer it would take Ben to man up and head back, and the longer my girl waited for me.