Sin City Seduction

by Margot Radcliffe

  Following Jesse, Hugh led Parker through the club, which was comprised of small rooms and nooks furnished with couches and easy chairs. The decor was Vegas-style Roman, weathered columns reached from the floor to the ceiling and created an intimate space. Dim lighting threw shadows on the paintings of nude women and men on the walls enjoying life’s baser pleasures. Gold-leaf ceilings and bloodred furniture gave the place a lurid feel, like just being there was the first step in finding Eve’s apple and getting to sin for all eternity.

  Jesse led them to a small corner room, cordoned off in case people like him showed up, with two red velvet couches and a single gold lamp with a deep red shade that cast the whole space in a muted, sensual glow. A gold coffee table sat in between the couches and he held open the red velvet drape for Parker to enter.

  He sat next to her on one of the couches and fought the urge to take her hand again, wanting to feel her skin, to learn it, feel it warm up in his until they were sharing heat.

  “I’ve never even heard of this place,” she said, taking in the decadent room.

  “It was the only bar we could go and actually hear each other,” he explained. They were far enough away and enclosed so that the music from the bar was a dull rumble in the background instead of a roar. But that wasn’t the only reason he’d chosen this particular place. He only did what he wanted now and he didn’t want to take selfies or answer questions about his glory days—he wanted to flirt with a girl.

  “It looks expensive,” she observed, playing with the gold tassel on the lamp.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know what expensive is anymore,” he told her honestly. He was also done pretending he was some “aw shucks good ol’ boy” so people liked him. He was a multimillionaire, closing in on nine digits, and he wasn’t going to apologize for it.

  Her eyebrow raised and that corner curved up in her signature smirk again. “Look at you,” she purred. “Mister big football man.”

  “That’s right,” he said, inching just the slightest bit closer to her as the waitress arrived to take their drink order. He rattled off his favorite red wine, feeling Parker’s eyes on him.

  “Maybe I didn’t want wine,” she said when the waitress had left them alone again.

  “You should have spoken up then. It’s not like you’ve had a problem with that so far.”

  She laughed, shaking her head at the truth of his statement. “Were you sad to retire from football?”

  Getting comfortable, he stretched his arm across the back of the couch until he could almost touch her long blond hair with his fingers. “Yeah, the first couple of months were fucking devastating. It was the thing I’d done my entire life. I literally didn’t know anything else outside football, but I had a business degree from UT so I thought I might as well use it.”

  “What did you injure?” Her eyes involuntarily scanned his body for what might be out of place.

  Damn, he did not want to talk about this shit. Not right now. It was not at all sexy, but Parker was the long game. He already recognized that even if long in this case meant however long she was in town.

  “It was late in the fourth quarter against the Steelers, a really physical defense, and I got tackled head-on. I had a compound fracture in my leg, which isn’t too big a deal when you’re a regular person, but the NFL was over for me. The recovery alone was nearly a year, then the conditioning to get back into shape would have been another. I would have been over thirty by the time I could even think about returning to the game, and no one ever has after that kind of injury.”

  “So you like running the restaurants?” she asked, changing the subject, which he was really thankful for.

  “Hell yeah, I love eating and building something of my own. And I’m in charge, just how I like it.”

  She rolled her eyes at his pomp, but then gave the hand resting on the back of the couch a quick squeeze. “I’m sorry about the injury,” she said, her voice steady and earnest. “Do you live with pain?”

  He shook his head, but it wasn’t the entire truth. No one left the NFL without some measure of pain management. It was the nature of the job.

  The waitress brought them their wine and two glasses, and Hugh poured them halfway full.

  “Pinot noir is my favorite,” she told him before taking a small sip, those fuck-me lips closing over the delicate rim of the wineglass. His cock twitched with the X-rated visual of what they’d look like closed around him, her guarded eyes looking at him with want and need and completely lost to lust.

  “After the accident, I toyed with buying a vineyard and bottling my own wine, but decided I was more of a smoked meats kind of guy.”

  “Definitely seems more on-brand,” she agreed, a corner of her mouth lifting.

  “You like making fun of me?” he asked, calling her out on the smug smile.

  She shrugged. “Was I?”

  Their eyes met, heat darting between them until finally he took a drink of his wine.

  “What? A football player can’t be into something highbrow like wine?”

  “I didn’t say a word,” she claimed, even though she’d said enough without any words at all. “I think you’re very sophisticated. Your car probably costs more than my house, so I wouldn’t presume to make those kinds of judgments. Plus, this was a deep-cut wine choice. I’m impressed.”

  “Do you cover wine in your lifestyle magazine?” he asked, hoping to find out something of substance about her.

  “Sometimes, but I’m actually a trained sommelier,” she revealed, and he raised an eyebrow in surprise.

  “What? A girl who eats unlawful amounts of barbecue can’t be into something highbrow like wine?” she asked, throwing his own words back in his face.

  Damn, he liked her. Liked getting as good as he gave. His ex had wanted him to tiptoe around her feelings like they were Tiffany glass, whereas Parker could dish it out and take it with a smile. It was sexy as hell and his cock throbbed again, coming to life by slow but unstoppable degrees.

  “Which leg?” she asked when he didn’t have a response right away. He’d been too busy fantasizing about fucking her on the gold coffee table beside them. Hell, probably the Persian rug would be good enough for the filth he had in mind.

  He stretched out his left leg, the one on the outside of the couch, far enough to nudge her foot with his own. It was an innocent touch, just his wingtip nudging her black canvas sneaker, but he felt it in his dick and the back of his head which was clouding over from lust.

  “Sorry,” he got out, kneading his leg the slightest bit. “It’s a little stiff.”

  She looked suspicious at first, and rightly so, because it was a major line of bullshit. It’d been the other leg in the first place, and in the second place that leg didn’t hurt at all.

  “Do you need a hot compress or something?” she said, raising an eyebrow.

  “Might be nice if you could massage it for a minute, just to warm it up.”

  She laughed, the sound high and incredulous. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “You’re not going to just let me sit here in pain, are you?”

  “Don’t you have something you could take?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t like pills.”

  He jerked at his leg without even an ounce of shame. He wanted her and knew she wanted him, too, from the lingering looks, the jumping pulse at her throat when he touched her, the way she worried that lip. They were two strangers who liked each other; it wouldn’t be a big deal if they saw it through. It was the very tagline of Vegas, for fuck’s sake. He would be doing her a disservice not to offer her that kind of opportunity on her visit.

  “Maybe I should go,” she suddenly said, standing up. “Seems like you need to tend to that leg anyway.”

  He shot up then, too. “Please don’t. I was just kidding about the massage.”

  “What are w
e really doing here, Hugh?” she asked. “It’s not like we came out together to form a lasting friendship. I’m only here for a month.”

  “I just want to get to know you.” And a month was a long damn time.

  “Or you want to fuck me,” she said baldly, the words shooting straight to his groin.

  He didn’t bother to deny it. “Of course I do. Look at you, and you’ve been riding my ass all night. We’ve been fucking each other with words since the moment I sat down at your table. But I get it, it’s too soon and you want to go, but can I please have your number? Because I’m serious about wanting to know you.”

  Her mouth opened, ready to stick him with whatever accusation might render the truth of his statement null and void. But instead, she just murmured, “Fuck it,” and pulled all two hundred and fifty pounds of him to her.

  His lips met hers in surprise, but it didn’t take him long to shift to straightforward lust. Once he got his bearings he took control from her, crowding her into the dark corner of the room where they blended in with the black around them. Hidden from all the dirty shit he wanted to do to her.

  She pulled her mouth from his and glared at him. “And if you pay me for this, I swear to God I will claw your eyes out. I don’t need to be taken care of.”

  The words were clear and a corner of his mouth lifted. No, he didn’t suppose she was. “Noted.”

  So he yanked up her T-shirt, running his hands across the smooth skin of her sides and back, diving into the kiss again, coaxing her mouth open wider this time. Her little whimpers of pleasure drove him beyond madness, and he slipped one hand from under her shirt to tunnel back up into that silky halo of hair, adjusting her head so he could go even deeper, their tongues feasting on each other, excavating their secrets with desperate curiosity.

  Sticking his knee between hers as an invitation, she didn’t leave him hanging, riding hesitantly at first, but then moving her hips in earnest. It was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen, ever been a part of. “You’re sexy as hell, Parker,” he breathed hotly against her lips, swallowing another one of her greedy moans. “Ride me, sweetheart. I want to see you come.”

  So saying, he flicked open the placket of her jeans as his other hand drifted from her back to her breast, testing the heavy weight in his big hands. He wouldn’t have cared if she had small breasts or large breasts—frankly he was more of a big-picture person—but fuck if that flesh didn’t overflow in his meaty hands, making his cock throb a bass beat under the metal zipper of his pants. His hips started moving in time to hers as she rubbed over his leg, her hands grasping the lapels of his coat, tugging him against her but in turns pushing him away as she arched into him.

  Sliding his hand in her pants, he found her slick and hot. He’d give a lot to be able to see her, to lick and suck until she was screaming louder than the music on the dance floor, but this was what they were doing right now. And then later he’d ask her to come home with him, so they could do this right and he could make her breakfast in the morning and then whatever the hell else she wanted. Hell, maybe even an actual date at some point.

  She threw her head back, pale neck arched in pleasure as he ran his thumb over that sweet, lust-soaked nub. Changing the tempo and the pressure, he learned what she liked, what sent her closer to the edge, could feel the muscles in her abdomen tense against his arm. “Come on, baby,” he whispered in her ear, his thumb pressing on the verge of pain just to torture her. “You know you want to come. No one can hear you, no can see you, but you know they’re all there, just down the hall, don’t you?”

  She whimpered against him, bucking hard against his leg, and he let his hand move farther down, pumping two fingers inside her, agonizing over his own arousal as her moans got lower, more guttural, as if the sensation was coming from deep inside her.

  “Fucking touch me,” he commanded, unbuckling his belt and dealing with the zipper. He couldn’t handle it anymore. He wanted to slide his cock into that dripping pussy and fuck her in front of every single person in this bar, wanted them to see him give her pleasure. The music was quieter in their private corner room, but it pounded through his veins like the downbeat to his own racing pulse.

  Her cool hand weaved inside his boxer briefs, pulling his thick cock out, the tip already leaking. Their eyes met as she lifted her hand and licked her palm before running her thumb down the underside, teasing, testing, gauging his reactions. He pumped harder inside her, using three fingers now, stretching and exploring, loving her gasp and her involuntary squeeze on his cock in answer. She regained herself, straightening her back and taking his mouth again as her hand flew over him. He grunted against her mouth as they got each other off with the entire world down the hall. It was indecent, erotic, lewd, and it was only a hand job. He’d had his first in middle school, and yet nothing he’d done since compared to the heat in his stomach, the pooling of energy in his back, electric tentacles grabbing his insides up in a rough, greedy fist of passion so tight he could barely breathe.

  Frantically, he pulled her shirt up under her bra because he was going on her stomach—that was the only option at this point.

  They were in a rhythm now. He was back on her clit rubbing in time to her quick, staccato strokes, designed to drive him insane with the featherlight abrasion of her hand. “Harder,” he instructed, his thumb on her clit following suit.

  “You’re bossy,” she breathed, taking his order, her hand clasping around the base of him and dragging up slowly and firmly. He couldn’t get enough of that measured climb.

  “Don’t know why you’d think otherwise,” he growled as her hand ran over the tip of him, lubing her up again to better handle him, to deliver even more mind-bending pleasure.

  “I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” she gasped, giving one last good tug before her head fell back and she cried out her orgasm. He swallowed the sound with a kiss, knowing that while they were unlikely to be discovered, the possibility existed.

  Coming down, her eyes glazed in the dim light, she squeezed him again, pumping like mad until all his muscled contracted at once and he let go, spurting onto her stomach in thick bursts as his knees grew limp and worthless.

  He met her eyes, working for his next breaths, and was stunned by what had just happened. The hottest moment of his life with a woman he barely knew in a club he knew too well begat a feeling of serenity he hadn’t felt in years. Maybe the senselessness of it was what he needed, a fling with someone who normally wouldn’t give him the time of day. Parker wasn’t a football groupie or someone who just wanted his lifestyle; she was someone who’d nearly fucked him in a public place just because she liked him. He really hadn’t known how powerful that would be.

  He reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out the two-hundred-dollar silk pocket square, and cleaned her stomach off, going against his caveman instincts to rub it into her skin so he was part of her. He’d save that for another time, because after discovering this kind of chemistry, there was no doubt that there’d be another time.

  Gently pulling her shirt back down and dealing with her jeans, he dropped a light kiss on her forehead, brushing his thumb across the apple of her cheek. “That was fucking crazy,” he told her, helping her down from his leg, making sure she had her balance before taking her hand.

  She just nodded, still dazed by what had happened.

  Looking up at him, her mouth opened and then closed again. Before finally she said, “I need to go to the restroom. Sorry.”

  And then she was rushing up the hallway.

  CHAPTER THREE

  PARKER CHANGED HOTELS the second she got back to Halcyon so that Hugh wouldn’t find her, which she regretted. Not for giving Hugh Matteson a hand job in a bar, because that had been pretty epic. And running out on him at Structure was equally crappy of her, but in light of her article it would have been a major mistake to sleep with him and she definitely would not have been able to resist doing t
hat if she’d stayed. The night had been world-shaking and they hadn’t even had sex, so yeah, she’d needed to get the hell out of there.

  Because she wasn’t not going to write a truthful review of his restaurant. Hugh was a nice guy and she’d already lied to him. It sucked, but it would have been way worse if they’d actually had sex. Especially because her boss had published the review on their website as a teaser for the ten-page Las Vegas spread that would be in next month’s physical issue. Because his name was attached, the story was already quoted all over social media, which meant the chances of her getting another opportunity to sow her wild oats with the Greek god of restaurant investors were pretty dismal.

  She had a very real fear that Hugh was out there, even now, looking for her. When she’d called Halcyon to see if she’d left her toothbrush in the room, they’d sent over a message from him. An envelope with his phone number. Nothing else. So yeah, she knew enough about him to know that he wouldn’t have taken being walked out on very well. She’d be livid if he’d done it to her, so she could only imagine how someone with that much pride would feel.

  She flipped through program she was holding, vowing to stop thinking about Hugh. Which was difficult because she was getting ready to judge a barbecue competition for the Las Vegas Food & Wine Festival. For over a year she’d been scheduled to be a judge and it was generally one of her favorite things to do. She loved encouraging amateur chefs and often found a lot of amazing talent who ended up going on to really successful careers in the industry. Now it was just a reminder that she wanted to have sex with a local barbecue restaurateur.

  Another plus to judging, she’d get to be inside an air-conditioned tent soon, because the heat was killing her. She’d spent the morning walking around the festival, chatting with vendors and chefs, trying not to feel miserable in the intense desert heat.

  Her phone rang just as she was about to make her way to said air-conditioning. When she saw it was her dad she held back a sigh, but knew she had to take it. Leaning against a bushy green golden rain tree, she answered.