One night only, p.13
One Night Only,
p.13
Then, I carry her to the bed and feast on her pussy like it’s my last meal. I lick and suck and tease with my teeth, but she’s already so slick, so turned on from giving me pleasure that it doesn’t take long for me to bring her to climax.
In fact, it happens so quickly that I do it again in the shower, this time with my cock inside her, her hands pressed up against the glass. And once more before we get dressed, just for good measure, because that’s the kind of gentleman I am.
We head out to dinner, and even though we spend almost every minute of each day together, our conversation doesn’t stop. She fascinates me as she shares her latest plans for the promotion of the casino. She moves me when she talks about volunteering for a Big Sister-type organization that supports children who’ve lost their parents. And she excites me when those blue eyes turn aflame with passion over plans for our future travel, for other weekends away to other corners of the world.
After dinner, the town car pulls up to a door on a street that’s simply unremarkable. Ivy looks at me, a question in her eyes as we stand on the pavement in front of it.
“What have you got planned?” She tilts her head to the side, curious.
I smile and knock on the door. “Nothing but pleasure,” I reply.
The security guard checks my name on the list, then we’re led inside the building by a woman in a black lace corset.
“Welcome to Risk,” she says, the bob of her black hair shining blue in the overhead lights, and the name of the club isn’t lost on me. Risk. Something I once had so wrong.
Because I know now I’ll never lose Ivy. There’s no risk of me losing the precious jewel beside me because she loves me as much as I love her. And nothing could ruin that.
The woman leads us to a small room then leaves, closing the door behind her. Soft golden lighting illuminates the space. A large black screen dominates one wall. Condensation beads over the ice bucket in the corner, the neck of the French champagne bottle glinting in the lamp’s glow.
But it’s the oversized bed Ivy heads for. She runs one finger along the clean black sheets then turns back to me, a smile curving those luscious red lips.
“Don’t we already have a hotel room?” she asks playfully.
“Yes,” I reply and move to the switch on the wall nearby. “But our hotel room doesn’t have this.”
I adjust the switch, and the screen softens until it turns into a window, transparent, illuminating another room like ours.
Almost like ours.
This room has another man and another woman inside it.
Ivy steps closer to the glass and presses one hand against it.
“It’s one-way,” I tell her. “We can see them, but they can’t see us.”
The man in the room grabs the other woman’s waist and plants a hungry, possessive kiss on her lips.
“And we can watch.” Pure sensory delight colors Ivy’s tone.
“We can indeed.” I pour her a glass of champagne as the man undresses the woman until she stands there in nothing but a G-string, her body facing us.
I stand behind Ivy, kiss along her neck. My hands slide up her thighs, bringing the hem of her dress along with me until I trace along the swell of her ass, over the soft panel of her lace panties.
She’s fucking soaked already.
“You like this?” I ask as I dance my fingertips gently over her clit.
She shudders. “So much,” she replies in a breathy voice and takes a long sip of her champagne, her eyes glued to the scene before us.
In the other room, the man has stripped naked too. He spreads open the woman on the bed and goes down on her. She clutches the sheets with one hand, her back arching off the mattress as if he’s sent her to another plane of pleasure from one simple lick.
“I bet she feels decadent. Being watched. Being feasted upon by that man,” Ivy says, and I slip a finger inside her panties. She shudders then turns to face me. “Go down on me,” she commands. “I want you to bring me pleasure while he brings it to her.”
And what the lady wants, the lady will always get.
She steps over to the bed and sits on the edge of it, her gaze still on the couple who like to be seen. I kneel between her legs, lift up her dress and rip off her panties, then taste her glorious pussy that’s as divine and sweet as the champagne she sips.
She’s so slippery and wet. My cock pulses, begging for release, but I need to be patient. I lick between her folds, lap inside her with my tongue, and she groans, a long and sensuous sound that drives me wild.
I move faster, make love to her with my mouth. When I gaze up her body, those beautiful blue eyes flit from the couple in the other room to me, and they’re glazed, as if she’s drunk on lust. As if she’s so consumed by desire that she can’t control herself anymore.
I graze my teeth over her clit, thrust two fingers inside her. She clutches my hair. The glass of champagne is dropped, a casualty of her pleasure. She cries out, and I swirl my tongue, pump my fingers, play her body like the instrument of pleasure it is until her orgasm peaks and her whole body shakes with a new kind of intensity.
I pull back and look up at this ruined woman, and she’s looking down at me with hedonistic delight in her eyes.
“I love you,” I say and I stand, pressing my lips to hers in a kiss that tastes of pure forbidden delight.
“I love you,” she repeats against my mouth, her hand sliding over my jeans, and I throb with lust. I ache with it.
“Look,” she whispers in my ear and turns me to face the window.
The couple have moved closer to the wall, to us. She’s on all fours, and he’s behind her on his knees. The long shaft of his cock slides in and out of her pussy. One of his hands pulls at her hair, and her face is an exquisite portrait of ecstasy.
“You make me feel like that.” Ivy points to the woman as she writhes, her lips open in an unheard cry. “Wild with desire.”
And I can’t take it anymore. I have to have her. I need to be inside her. “Take off your dress and get on your knees,” I command, and when I sink into her hot, tight pussy moments later, bliss rockets through my body.
And I love that I have this. This woman I love, who’s filthy and dirty but smart and kind and beautiful all at the same time. I love that we can have dinners where we talk about everything and nothing, followed by explorations of the depth of our lust.
I’m in love with Ivy Carmichael. And I thank my lucky stars that she is well and truly mine.
Epilogue
Sage
* * *
I frown as I study the building across the street.
It shot up in record time, redeveloped quickly by an expert team. Word is that no expense was spared—that The Invitation is a casino that will truly take the town of Vegas by storm.
Of course, rumors of one of the owners have reached me too. Talk about the man who’s so driven by his desire to succeed, whose success in hotels all over America and Europe too, have made him one of the wealthiest entrepreneurs in the land.
But money doesn’t interest me.
Money doesn’t make a man a man.
Nor do games.
I take one last look at The Invitation, then walk back inside the doors of my casino. I pass a woman in a mask on the arm of a man in a tux. She’s hidden in plain sight, her features obscured but her mouth wide in a smile, and it brings a smile to my lips too. I love that The Extravagant brings this to people—happiness. A chance to dress up, step out, and shine.
Yes, one new business cannot impact mine—not in a city full of casinos and hotels and people, people everywhere who are willing to spend money for quality, for pleasure and for indulgence.
Perhaps I’ll meet that new owner soon, I muse as the elevator hurtles me up to my suite. Perhaps we’ll find a way to work together to drive business down this end of the Strip.
Perhaps we won’t.
It doesn’t matter either way, because The Extravagant is finally taking off. Thanks to hours, weeks, and months of hard work from my sister and me, the books are aligning. I tap my purse as if to reaffirm the fact. Everything is falling into place.
But as I hang up my blazer, as I set my purse on the floor by my lounge, I feel it—that longing. A yearning for something more—to be someone else.
Someone who’s more than just facts and figures and analysis of the latest competition.
Someone who’s also . . . deep.
Decadent.
A person to be desired.
A woman after dark.
This feeling isn’t something new. It’s lingered inside me for weeks now, perhaps even months. It’s haunted me so long that perhaps it’s time for me to act on it.
But what would that look like? Could I just walk out into the casino, find a willing man in the high rollers’ room and seduce him into my bed?
No.
The idea holds no appeal.
All it would take is one set of loose lips to send scandal my way. I shudder. Gossip is the last thing I need.
But maybe there’s another way.
My mind fleets back to the woman I saw earlier—the woman in the mask.
Could I do that? Transform into a more sensual version of myself simply by slipping a scrap of lace and feathers over my eyes?
Would that be enough to hide my identity?
Would it be enough to make me feel . . . free?
I pour myself a glass of red and bring out my laptop. Maybe it would. Maybe it wouldn’t.
Alcohol emboldens me, and I slide the barrette out of my hair, letting the structured bun fall into waves of hair over my shoulders. I pull up a website for a store that sells all kinds of gorgeous masks, sensual, feminine designs that obscure the wearers identity but hint at the kind of woman who hides beneath. A woman who likes to play. Who likes to try. Who likes to want.
It doesn’t take long until my shopping cart is full.
If I don’t at least try, I guess I’ll never know.
* * *
THE END
* * *
Sage’s story will be told in ONE EXQUISITE TOUCH, a racy, daring enemies-to-lovers romance, available everywhere.
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Lauren Blakely, One Night Only
