His blond hair brushed his collar without being scruffy, and he had the rugged but fresh look of a man who enjoyed the outdoors. He turned toward me. I quickly looked away, self-conscious that I’d been sizing him up and wondering whether he’d noticed.
He approached. “Can I buy you a drink?”
My temperature rising, I turned to face him. He smiled and his eyes flashed like a twelve-year-old boy’s on the first day of summer vacation. But the cut of his jaw, not to mention his body, counteracted any hints of boyishness. This was a man.
“That would be lovely,” I answered, detecting a slight quiver in my voice. It was possible that this wasn’t
the
man, but with my husband watching, I decided that the worst that could happen was this guy would be out the price of a martini, a price he looked like he could easily afford.
“I’m Luke,” he said as he signaled the bartender.
“Jamie.” For a second I wished I’d used a different name, a more feminine or exotic name. A fantasy name. But it was too late.
“Very nice to meet you, Jamie. What’s your pleasure?”
From his lips, the word ‘pleasure’ seemed wrapped in innuendo, but that might have been more my ears’ fault than his lips’.
“I’ve been drinking martinis,” I said. “Hendricks gin, with three olives.”
“But that’s not your
pleasure
?” He slid his hand along the edge of the bar toward me, his fingers thick and long, his nails neatly manicured. A heavy, dark metal ring with a chain-like texture circled his index finger like a manacle, and a tattoo peeked out from under the cuff of his shirt.
“Maybe not,” I answered, feeling slightly breathless. “Tonight I feel like trying something new, something different.”
“May I choose?” he asked.
I nodded. He tapped the bar in a cascade from his pinky to his thumb, and I couldn’t help but imagine his touch on my body. Those long fingers inside me.
If I’d been warm before, I was now on fire, nearly giddy from the combination of anticipation and danger. Was I really going to have sex with this man? And would there be others? I wish I’d asked Thom more questions when I’d had the chance.
“I’m thinking you’d enjoy something classic,” he said, “but with a hot twist.”
“I’m up for anything,” I said. “Surprise me.”
“I’m
very
excited to hear that.”
A shiver traced through me as Luke ordered two Diablos.
“What’s a Diablo?” I asked
“A specialty here. It’s like a Manhattan”—he leaned closer, his breath warming the side of my face—“but really, really hot.”
“Hot. That sounds promising.”
He grinned. “Do you come to Vegas often?”
“Nope. I’m a Vegas virgin.” I felt my cheeks heat, and I swear his pupils dilated. His bright blue eyes were piercing, and his gaze so intense I felt self-conscious, yet unable to look away.
“So far, is Las Vegas living up to your fantasies?”
I stopped breathing for a second, but our drinks arrived, saving my need to respond. When we reached for our glasses our hands brushed, and the fleeting contact reverberated through me as if every nerve in my body had been simultaneously switched on high.
We raised our glasses and his expression filled with desire. No one but my husband had ever looked at me in that way—at least not with me looking back. His body was close to my barstool, so close that if I so much as shifted, my hip would brush against his crotch. It was tempting.
Instead I took a sip of the Diablo, deep amber with three maraschino cherries. It tasted sweet, but with a chili kick that burned as the icy liquid slid down my throat. I rubbed the tip of my finger over my tingling lips.
“What do you think?” he asked. “How does that rate on the pleasure scale?” His eyes flashed with amusement and I marveled at how his expression embodied both humor and heat. The only other man I knew who could do that was my husband, but while Thom was handsome and manly, Luke also exuded power, strength, like he could crush anyone who crossed him. He reminded me a little of that actor who played a motorcycle gang leader on TV.
“What brings
you
to Vegas?” I asked. “Or do you live here?” If he worked for this fantasy company, he was local.
“I’m in town on business,” he said. “Meetings, negotiations.”
He was play-acting. “How did it go?” I asked. “Did you crush the competition?”
“Squished them like bugs.” He sipped his cocktail. “I always get what I want.”
“And what is it that you want?” I could barely believe my bold words.
His body rubbed against mine, lightly but obviously, and his fingers grazed the side of my neck. I arched, undulating at his touch like I’d been uncoiled, and he leaned down to whisper, “What I
want
is to give you pleasure. More pleasure than you’ve ever imagined.”
I sipped my drink, icy and fiery at once.
“I want to run my hands and lips and tongue all over your naked body,” he continued, his voice low and deep in my ear. “I want to learn every inch of you, and discover all the tiny places where my touch makes you moan. I want to worship your body. I want to eat you and drink you and fuck you.”
Suddenly out of oxygen, I sucked in a ragged breath as his fingers traced down my spine, igniting fires I thought only my husband was capable of lighting.
“Would
that
meet your pleasure?” he asked.
I nodded, unable to speak.
“Then please, let me escort you somewhere more private.”
CHAPTER THREE
M
y knees trembled and, like an old-fashioned gentleman, he extended his arm for me to hold. The gesture set me at ease. My husband might have paid this man to have sex with me, but nothing about him or his demeanor read sleazy. And in spite of the words he’d just practically growled, I felt safe, like everything about this was at my discretion, my invitation.
He dropped my arm as he reached for the elevator call button, and when the doors opened he placed his hand on the small of my back, gently guiding me inside. We were alone in the elevator and, sensing his gaze on me, I slowly turned to meet it.
He pressed his lips close to my ear. “You are so fucking sexy.”
An older couple boarded the elevator, she in a flowered dress that hit her mid-calf and he in a rumpled brown suit. They looked beyond conservative, but Luke didn’t move away. Just the opposite. His hand slid between my back and the paneled elevator wall, and glorious sensations radiated from his touch.
“From the second I saw you,” he whispered, “all I could think of was how you’d look when you climaxed. And how badly I wanted to make that happen, again and again and again.”
His hand roamed over my lower back and butt as the couple stared, clearly appalled at his words and his public display of affection. But Luke’s attention never wavered. He kept his eyes on my body and his fingers tracing my back. Dipping his hand lower, he found the slit at the back of my dress, and slid up between my legs from behind.
I gasped when his fingers landed at the base of my ass, and our eyes met. My knees nearly gave out from the look he gave me as his finger probed forward, stroking between my legs, hidden, I hoped, from the other elevator occupants. Objectively, I knew this man didn’t
really
want me. I knew he was an actor hired to play a part, to do a job, but he was very convincing.
I decided to ignore reality. This was meant to be fantasy, and although I certainly couldn’t claim that I was at ease, my nerves only added to how sexy this felt, how exciting—only added to the raging fire between my legs.
The other couple left the elevator five floors before ours, and on the way out the woman and her polyester print dress shot me a look of scorn. The second the doors closed, Luke clasped both my wrists and lifted them above my head. Holding them there with one hand, he moved the other down to grasp between my legs from behind. My back arched as he kissed me. The taste of the whiskey and cherries and chilies mingling as his lips captured mine, as his tongue dipped and teased, mimicking the motions his fingers were making against my panties.
I couldn’t imagine being more turned on. The mere idea that a single one of his hands could trap both my wrists while he teased my sex with the other, the idea that he was so big and strong that he could possess me so completely with just his hands, his lips—it was beyond exciting.
The bell dinged when we reached our floor, and wrapping an arm tightly around my waist, he nearly carried me out of the elevator and into the hall. Good thing. Without his support, I wasn’t sure I’d have been able to walk down the bright red- and blue-patterned carpet. At least not for the first few steps.
Using a keycard, he opened one side of a set of double doors and I entered the most beautiful hotel room I’d ever seen.
In front of floor-to-ceiling windows, which revealed a neon-filled view of the strip, were an open gas fire pit, a white faux fur rug, and a collection of sofas and chairs that looked like they were straight out of
Architectural Digest
. To the side was a set of doors to what I assumed was the bedroom, but there were no lights on inside.
The main room itself was lit only by the Vegas strip, the fire, and a few dozen candles. The effect was intoxicating. Who had lit all these candles and when?
Who cared? I remembered my vow to go with the flow. In fantasies these things simply happened. In fantasies everything was perfect without effort or thought. I wanted tonight to be like that, too.
“Would you like another drink?” Luke asked, his fingers trailing up and down my bare arm. “Or maybe you’d prefer to wait until
after
. What’s your pleasure?”
The promise of the words ‘after’ and ‘pleasure’ fueled my desire, almost as if his words had caressed me. I closed my eyes, trying to decide what it was that I wanted, trying to play out this night like the fantasies of my masturbatory dreams. But the need to make decisions kept snapping me back to reality.
“You did so well choosing our drinks downstairs,” I said. “I don’t want to make
any
decisions right now.” I hoped he understood that I meant more than the drinks.
“As you wish,” he said, low and deep, and it was all I could do not to tremble—more from anticipation than fear.
I’d only ever been with my husband, and although I hadn’t been Thom’s first, he’d been mine. At the beginning he’d been so eager, always so far ahead of me. And by the time we’d found our rhythm, it became, well, a rhythm. While I’d never, ever complain, our lovemaking had grown mostly predictable. Thom knew what I wanted, when I wanted it, and he always delivered.
If asked, I expected he’d say the same.
Our sex life was satisfying, happy, everything I needed, but it never gave me this feeling of delicious anticipation—anticipation tinged with danger. In my marriage, there was none of this teasing, none of this glorious buildup and mystery.
Luke strode over to a marble-topped bar at the side of the room, poured an amber liquid over ice, then added two cherries. He directed his gaze toward me as he held the stems and swirled the bright red fruit in the glass.
“Join me,” he said, and I walked over, feeling sexier in my heels and satin dress than I’d felt my entire life. His hands on my hips, he guided me onto one of padded barstools, then handed me my drink.
“Aren’t you having one?” I asked.
“You’re intoxicating enough.” He trailed his fingers across my collarbone, then down to the top of my dress. He traced lightly over the neckline until I was arching, pressing forward, wanting so much more. But after that teasing caress he took a few steps back, keeping his eyes trained on mine.
Slowly, carefully, he removed his tie, loosened the knot and pulled one end through, sliding the silver cloth around his collar. His eyes heated as if the mere friction of the fabric was an erotic caress.
Taking a gulp of the drink, I discovered it was the exact same cocktail we’d had downstairs. Sweet and hot, it burned my throat, tingled my lips, and the heat and wetness settled down between my legs. It had already been prepared when we arrived, and again I marveled at the setup, urging myself to stop overthinking this.
I glanced at his crisp gray slacks. What had been a promising bulge was now an obvious erection. Noticing where I was looking, he stroked himself through the fabric.
Fully engulfed in the fantasy, I took the sight in, licking my lips, not even trying to hide my raging desire. While some far-off part of my psyche knew this wasn’t real, another part of me had started to believe in the magic, the pure fantasy of the moment and the promise of those yet to come.
He shrugged off his silvery-gray suit jacket and flung it onto the back of one of the sofas, then he slowly unbuttoned his shirt. As he stripped, his hips swayed to sultry music that I hadn’t even noticed up to that moment, and its volume built as if his body were a remote.
The experience consumed my senses: the taste of the drink, the ice, the heat; the sound of the music; the scent of the burning candles; and the sight of his now-bared and well-muscled chest.
His body looked like he belonged on the cover of a fitness magazine—sculpted, hard and smooth—and he ran his hands over his body, enjoying his own touch before he turned away from me and set one foot on a chair to untie his shoe.
His butt pressed out against the tailored slacks, making them appear painted on, and the candlelight reflected off the hard mounds, like his body was covered in metal. He shifted to remove the other shoe and sock, and then turned back toward me, his hand on his belt buckle, his erection pressing hard against the fabric.
After taking another sip of the drink, I removed a cherry and wantonly tipped my head back, dangling the fruit above my lips and taking a few licks before sucking it into my mouth and pulling it off the stem. His gaze was so full of hunger I felt that at any moment he might rip me open and eat me.
Pulling off his belt in one fluid motion, he made it snap. I gasped at the sound, and he smiled as he dropped the leather to the ground, then he undid the button at his waist.
Wetness pooled between my legs as he slowly unzipped his fly and pushed his slacks to the floor. Underneath he wore briefs, which fit like skin and barely constrained his monstrous erection. Even through the cotton I could tell he was bigger than my husband, both in length and girth, and I felt my insides contract in anticipation plus a hint of fear. Could I take him all in?