Beautiful Bombshell
Page 4
Chloe Fucking Mills.
“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 hips 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?”
She leaned close, kissed my earlobe. “No.”
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 swallowed, nodding.
“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 hips 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 br**sts. “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.
“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 hips 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?”
She leaned close, kissed my earlobe. “No.”
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 swallowed, nodding.
“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 hips 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 br**sts. “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.
