Beautiful Bombshell (2 page)

I groaned, leaning back in my chair. Although this club seemed like the best of its kind in town—or anywhere for that matter—on a list of things I wanted to do tonight, getting a
lap dance from some random Vegas dancer ranked barely above eating bad sushi and getting violently ill.

“Just walk down the hall like a fucking bloke and get your knob rubbed by some girl dancing on you.” Max stared at me, his eyes narrowed. “Are you taking the piss with this whingey shite? It’s your fucking
stag weekend
. Act like the man you used to be.”

I studied him, wondering why he seemed so firmly planted in his own chair while he encouraged me to leave mine. “Did Johnny give you a room to visit as well? Aren’t you getting a lap dance?”

He laughed, tipping his scotch to his lips and mumbling, “It’s a lap dance, Ben. Not a fucking trip to the dentist.”

“Asshole.” Lifting my drink, I gazed at the thick, clear liquid. I’d known going into this that there would be women, and booze, and probably some activities that might push the limits of legal, but the truth was, Chloe had known this, too. She’d told me to have fun, and her eyes had never shadowed with worry or mistrust. They had no reason to.

I brought the drink to my lips, downed it, and muttered, “Fuck it,” before standing and heading to the hallway. My companions for the evening were—surprisingly—classy enough to not cheer at my departure, but even still I could feel their attention on my back as I made my way to the hallway to the left of the main stage.

Just beyond the doorway the carpet changed from black
to a deep, royal blue, and the space felt even darker than it had out in the main room. The walls were the same velvety black, and there was just enough illumination from tiny crystal lights on the wall to light a path ahead of me. Along one side of the long hallway were doors with the names of planets on them: Mercury, Venus, Earth . . . Down at the end, at the door labeled Neptune, I hesitated. Would there be a woman already inside? Would there be a chair for me or, worse, a
bed
?

The door was ornate and heavy, like something out of a castle or, fuck, some sort of creepy Gothic basement sex dungeon.
Fucking Max.
I shivered and turned the knob, exhaling in relief when I saw that there was no iron cross or handcuffs, and no woman inside yet, only a long chaise with a small silver box in its center. Tied to the box with a silky red ribbon was a white card with
Bennett Ryan
written in neat script.

Great. Random Vegas Dancer might already know my fucking name.

Inside the box was a black satin blindfold and a sliver of thick cardstock with the words
Put this on
written in black ink.

I was meant to put on a blindfold for a
lap
dance? What was the point of that? Just because I didn’t want one tonight didn’t mean I didn’t recall lap dances past. Unless the format had changed in the past few years, getting one meant looking, not touching. What the fuck was I supposed
to do if I was blindfolded when she came in? I sure as shit wasn’t going to touch her.

I laid the slip of fabric on the chaise, ignoring it as I stared at the wall. Minutes ticked by, and with each one I grew more convinced there was no fucking way I was blindfolding myself in this room.

I could almost hear the sound of my own irritation building. It sounded like a roar, a wave, a flame crackling. Closing my eyes, I took three deep breaths and then looked more carefully at my surroundings. The walls were a soft gray, the chaise a dusky blue. The room looked more like a dressing room at a high-end store than a room where men got what I assumed amounted to a lot more than
just a dance
. I ran my hand over the supple leather of the chaise, and only then did I notice the second note that had been buried beneath the blindfold inside the box. Written in the same script on the heavy paper, it said,

Put on the fucking blindfold, Ben, don’t be a pussy.

Fucking
Max
. Would I really have to sit here, captive, until I put on the blindfold and got this over with? With a groan, I lifted the black fabric, slipping it over my head and hesitating just a heartbeat before pulling it across my eyes. I was already plotting how I would get back at Max. He’d known me longer than almost anyone in my life other than my family, and was aware of how much I valued fidelity and control. Asking me to come back to this room and cover
my eyes without knowing what was coming? What a fucking
dick
.

I leaned back against the wall and waited in annoyed isolation, my ears picking up sounds I hadn’t noticed before: the dull pulse of the music in the other rooms, the sound of doors opening and closing with quiet, heavy clicks. And then I heard the sound of the handle to my room turning, the door opening with the gentle slide of wood across carpeting.

My heart began to thunder.

As soon as I got a whiff of the unfamiliar perfume, I felt my back go rigid with discomfort. Other than the scent of the stranger, I knew nothing about who was in here and I hated not being able to see what was coming at me. She did something against the wall: I heard rustling, a small click, and then quiet, rhythmic music filled the room.

Warm, soft hands took hold of my wrists and gently but expertly positioned my hands so that they rested idly at my sides.
No touching? No fucking problem.

I sat motionless as she slid over me, her breath smelling like cinnamon, her hips grinding on my lap, hands pressed to my chest. So this is how it was going to go: I would remain blindfolded, she would dance over me, and then I would leave? I felt myself begin to relax incrementally. The woman moved above me, her hips shifting against my thighs, her hands moving gently over my chest. I could feel enough of her body that the blindfold didn’t seem completely absurd,
but if I’d been the kind of man to enjoy this sort of thing, being robbed of my sight would have been a hindrance.

But maybe Max knew this would be the only way this experience wouldn’t be unbearable to me. The thought made me want to kick his ass just slightly less.

The dancer rolled over me, hips rocking rhythmically with the music, undulating in small, suggestive circles. She leaned away, gripping my shoulders to anchor herself, and I felt the press of her ass on my thighs, the suggestion of her sex so close to my dick that I tried as carefully as I could to inch away, to push my body deeper into the chaise. And then she sat upright again, and I could feel the shape of her breasts as she brushed against my chest. Her breath was warm and soft on my neck, and although it wasn’t unpleasant, per se, it quickly grew awkward. My initial fear that I would have to make eye contact, or smile, or appear to be here voluntarily dissolved, and instead I registered that this dance was for
neither
of us. Certainly she wasn’t getting anything but money out of it, and because of my blindfold, I didn’t even need to fake my enjoyment. I found myself straining to calculate how much was left of the song. It wasn’t one I knew, but the formula was clear and I exhaled the rest of my tension as the song started its predictable ramp-up to the end. Over me, the poor woman seemed to slow, her hands coming to rest on my shoulders.

When the song ended, the only sound remaining in the room was the stripper’s quickened breathing.

Is she going to leave? Should I say something?

With dread weighing down my stomach, I understood very clearly that maybe
this
was when the show really started. To my absolute horror, the stripper leaned forward and grazed her teeth across my jaw.

Then . . . I froze, a cloudy awareness starting to overtake my impatience.

“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.

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 fucking 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 fuck 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 fuck 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 fucking 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 fucking 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.

I blinked.
“What?”

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 fuck 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 hips and gliding her sex across my rigid fingertips. “You’ll make a pretty stellar husband if you keep this sort of thing up.”