What Happens In Vegas.... Lauren Dane

hundreds. Carinna had stayed to watch the last few hands. I took that as a good sign. Grabbing the chip rack, I stood from my seat and moved behind hers.

      Past the stench of cigar smoke, her scent hit me, a vanilla musk undercoated with something sweet and sexual that had my already stiff-as-stone cock ready to burst from behind the zipper of my jeans. “I’m taking off. Want to join me for a drink in the bar?”

      “And spend time in my favorite place on my day off?” She pushed back her chair and stood. At five foot nine, she was a handful of inches shorter than me and right now her lips were so close it took almost more willpower than I had to resist their lure.

      I lifted my gaze to her eyes to find their typically gray shade turned to smoke—a sure sign she was hot for me. Blowing out a breath, she pushed a tangle of wayward brown curls over her shoulder. She hated how thick and uncontrollable her hair was. I loved it, and my fingers itched with the need to get wrapped up in it. All it would take was a yes…

      Finally, she said, “What the hell. I could use a drink after having my ladies dusted.”

      Resisting the urge to punch my fist into the air, I made my way out of the poker room, cashed in my chips and followed Carinna as she headed toward the tequila bar.

      Damn, the woman had an erotic sway to her hips. Each bounce of her curvy ass beneath her tight black jeans had my cock jumping against my zipper, ready to push between her supple butt cheeks and explode.

      Unlike Carinna, I hadn’t indulged in sex since we’d been together. If I was going to be the orgasm guru she remembered, I had to get my mind on something other than fucking her in the ass. “I was surprised to see you in the card room.”

      Without breaking stride, she lifted a slim, naturally golden-tan shoulder. “I’ve played poker on Wednesday nights since I was twelve. I wasn’t going to stop just because we were too wrapped up in life to find time to play together.”

      “You’ve been coming here since I left…” I droned off with an inward groan. She’d boxed up the past four months of virtually no talk into a neat little “no time to play” package and I’d been about to unwrap that package to reveal a mess of shit.

      Carinna stopped walking to turn back. Her astute look said she knew what I’d been going to say. The way her hip jutted out said she wasn’t as fine with my leaving and not calling for three days as she’d led me to believe. “I’ve been playing with the girls. Tonight I wanted fresh competition.”

      “And instead you got me,” I teased, hoping to lighten the conversation.

      Her gaze lost the shrewd edge. The heat I’d witnessed in her eyes at the poker table returned as she swiveled back and started walking. She might not be as fine with my departure as she’d let on, but she was glad I’d been in that card room tonight. Damned glad she was going to get me time and again before the night was through.

      I resumed walking as a fresh wave of sexual adrenaline cruised through my bloodstream. Ten steps before she would have opened the frosted glass doors of the tequila bar to release the steamy beat of Latin music, I quickened my pace and walked past both her and the bar’s entrance. Almost instantly, her fingers curled around my upper arm, sending shards of heat dancing up to my shoulder. She tugged and, ignoring the curious looks of the passersby, I let her pull me around.

      Her lips pushed into a sexy little mew. “I thought we agreed to a drink?”

      Carinna never pouted. That she was doing so now, coupled with her potential ongoing anger over my actions four months ago, gave me hope it was more than sex she wanted from me. Of course, sex was the starting point. That being the case, I gave her a smug smile and went for it. “We can have a drink. Or you can get started on paying off that side bet the way I know your juicy-wet pussy is aching for you to do.”

      A hot puff of air shot from between her lips. Her eyes narrowed. For a second, I thought I’d read her wrong, that she didn’t want me. Then she grabbed my other arm and pushed me hard up against the wall, her breasts rubbing my chest while her thigh moved between my legs to press none too gently against the swollen bulge of my cock.

      “I have four words for you, you arrogant bastard.” A feline smile of elation took over her mouth. “Your bed or mine?”

      Chapter Two

       Carinna

       Your bed or mine?

      I couldn’t believe I’d asked Jack that question. My pussy was dripping so badly with the need to feel him inside me I’d never be able to make it to my apartment. The rental house he shared with his brother, when one or both of them wasn’t on the clock and sleeping at the firehouse, was even farther away.

      “Something the matter with the family bathroom down the hall?”

      Hearing the desperation in his voice, I laughed. “I don’t trust the locks, and I’d never forgive you if some kid walked in and caught us.” I darted a glance around. We were already getting enough looks—both disapproving and lustful (only in Vegas would a stranger hope for a sex show in the hallway)—standing the way we were. Getting it on anywhere nearby was out of the question. That didn’t rule out upstairs.

      Sweet relief jetted through me, coming to rest as liquid warmth between my tingling thighs. As much as I wanted to kiss him, I remembered how thoroughly and incredibly he wrecked me with that masterful tongue and I knew it would only tempt me to take more here and now. “Give me two minutes.”

      Having connections with the front desk crew had its advantages. I was back in one-and-a-half minutes with two key cards for a suite on the seventeenth floor. Even with my employee discount, the suite was pricey, but tonight was about indulging, while getting back my friendship with Jack. I’d gladly dip into my “Dream B and B” piggy bank for that.

      “Race you to the elevators,” I teased.

      For the twenty seconds it took us to get to them, we were the bosom buddies of our youth, totally oblivious to raging hormones and the pleasure to be found in horizontal mambos. Then we reached the elevators and one of the cars pinged open. An older couple dressed to the nines in head-to-toe black stepped out, leaving the car empty. Jack yanked me inside, jabbing the “close door” button, followed by the “17” button.

      He was on me the instant the doors slid shut. His mouth slammed over mine, his tongue pushing past my lips, devouring me with hungry little suckles I felt all the way to my throbbing core. His hands went to my waist, popping the button on my jeans and jerking the zipper down. I feverishly met each lap of his tongue, whimpering into the moist cavern of his mouth as the cool air of the overhead AC hit my hot, wet folds.

      One big, rough finger parted my pubic curls to pet my slit from clit to perineum.

      One stroke.

      Two strokes.

      My pulse spiked as warmth coiled low in my belly and chased its way up my torso. My pussy flooded with cream.

      Three strokes.

      Four strokes.

      His tongue left mine to start a wicked dart and thrust game, and my toes curled expectantly in my heeled sandals. His finger pushed past my slit, lightly entering my sheath. The change in action pulled me from the hedonistic haze I’d sunken under the moment his lips touched mine, forcing me to acknowledge we were in a Liege elevator. And I was naked from midway up my thigh to nearly my belly button.

      Wondering when Jack had inched my jeans and panties down, I lifted my lips from the sinner’s heaven of his mouth and managed in a throaty voice, “Jack! I work here.”

      “Want me to stop?”

      His finger sank into my creamy pussy, finding and fondling just the right spot—a spot whose existence Hank had been oblivious to—and I screeched out my bliss. “Fuck, no!”

      His mouth returned