by Harley Slate
The costly scent didn't shout. Indeed, it was so lightly applied it was almost subliminal. She flashed on an image of Mel getting ready, the way she'd spritz the perfume into the air and then walk into the cloud.
Despite her momentary misgivings, Lana knew in her heart of hearts that she wasn't going anywhere. She was burying her nose in Mel's beautiful decolletage, and Mel was tossing back her long red tresses, her white throat turned to the ceiling.
Somebody was gasping, and somebody else was moaning.
Their knees were much too weak for this.
Had the music sped up, or were they dancing in double-time, face to face, their arms wrapped tight around one another, a step and a step and a twirl? They were out of the suite's living room and into the bedroom. Lana had a vague impression of some decorator's idea of expensive colors― chocolate browns, antique golds, hunter greens. The mattress was wide enough for an orgy. It took both of them to yank off the plump duvet to expose all the smooth white cotton crying out to be rumpled.
They couldn't stop kissing. Even as they dropped together to the mattress, they were still kissing everywhere they could taste. The hollow of a throat, the point of an erect nipple, the sweet silken curve of an inner elbow...
The music had followed them into the bedroom. It couldn't be magic, it must be technology. There must be more hidden speakers here.
But it felt like magic.
Like a dream.
A long, delicious dream that made you never, ever want to wake.
Lana shook herself and took control. She couldn't walk away. She couldn't admit she came here under false pretenses. She came here wearing a hookup name, and this was a hookup. She needed to take a different kind of control.
The sexual kind where names don't matter anyway.
Forget research, forget stolen casino cash. This night was about the call of bodies and how well they fit together.
Mel sighed, the long length of her shuddering with obvious pleasure, as Lana guided her down onto her back. Whoever Mel was in the casino, she was entirely real spread out here on these clean sheets, her creamy skin flushed and dewy with excitement. No matter how adroit you are at playing a role, you can't entirely control the blush impulse, and Mel turned out to have a sexual blush that colored her pink almost all the way down to her knees.
The pale bodies of redheads are so easy to read. So... edible.
“My God, you're beautiful.” It was the first words Lana had spoken in a long while, and they came out like a croak.
Mel croaked something back. Maybe it was, “You too.” Maybe it was just a sigh of pure need.
Her hands got grabby, snatching and pulling, but Lana insisted on retaining control a little while longer. Kneeling between Mel's open legs, Lana bent low to flick her tongue down and then around.
There's a rhythm to long, sucking kisses. Lana established that rhythm early, beginning with a teasing series of flirtatious, then increasingly prolonged, kisses that she walked down from Mel's perfect breasts to the firm silk of her defined midriff. As she sucked on Mel's sensitive belly button, she glanced up at Mel's face through her own eyelashes.
Mel's eyes were rolled down, staring at Lana's moving head with obvious fascination.
“Oh, oh, oh...”
Yes.
Oh.
You couldn't be too precious about the sucks you planted on a belly button. You had to be firm, determined. You wanted to create hunger, not tickles. But Lana knew all the dangers and all the tricks, how to flutter her tongue and how to purse her lips.
Mel groaned louder. Her thighs were clenching hard, and Lana didn't have to look to know her toes were curling.
This was hunger, this was need.
Lana's tongue finally skittered lower.
Mel's sweet delta featured a tiny, well-trimmed patch of fire-gold red fur. It was softer than Lana expected, evidence of some costly conditioner that smelled ever-so-faintly of tangerine. Lana used mostly tongue to probe for the swollen nub, while her fingers spread the warm pink petals. Mel arched her spine and lifted her delta to offer herself. Her thighs clenched inward again, grasping Lana at shoulder height or even around the ears. No mere passive recipient of Lana's tongue, Mel ultimately couldn't stop herself from curling her own knees toward her ears to give herself a bigger push in the direction of Lana's teasing, exploring lips.
The message was crystal clear.
Suck me.
Take me.
Whoever they were outside these walls, this was real. Their bodies felt this intensity beyond any possible doubt. They wouldn't be denied. This was happening.
Lana licked and stroked. Her tongue spun around, but it was her lips that applied the most precise degree of pressure to Mel's twitching bud. The ripples jolted not merely through the tiny button, but outward to spasm down through the open columns of Mel's long thighs.
Such power to feel those ripples. To hear those helpless grunts of release.
The music swelled again. Was it somehow tied to the racing of Mel's heartbeat? Perhaps it was. Those heartbeat monitors in good smartphones had a million possibilities...
And then Mel was all heat and energy again, her skin blotchy from the post-orgasmic flush, her face frankly red. She wasn't under Lana anymore. Somehow, she was on top. Lana had been flipped, and she'd barely noticed when the balance between them had shifted.
Lana didn't mind. Hell, she was even glad.
Control shouldn't be clutched at. It should be shared. And so Lana surrendered. Her legs opened, her head braced itself against the nearest convenient pillow.
Mel mounted her in the sixty-nine position, although she hung her still-shivering pussy just a little too high. Lana adjusted her head on the pillow. Rolled back. Flicked her tongue out longer. Mel, laughing, arched her hips higher to put herself an inch out of the way.
A tease, then.
In counterpoint, the front of Mel's body sunk low and deep between Lana's thighs. She was already planting long licks that swept from the swell of her hips to the neat landing strip that pointed the way to Lana's sensitive triangle.
Lana rolled her head again. Arched her neck. Thrust her tongue to its maximum.
Mel laughed into her folds, creating an endless ripple of desire. Lana got it, she understood perfectly. She wouldn't be allowed to get a lick in again until Mel had brought Lana to her first climax.
How could Lana argue?
Her thighs clutched at Mel's ears, a demand for more. Mel's lips played her perfectly, testing her with lighter touches, then quickly increasing the pressure. It felt as if she was literally sucking the orgasm out of Lana. Playing her like the proverbial musical instrument. And how Lana loved to be played. How long had it been since her body sang like this?
Her body was earthquake country, the seismic spasms still alive and thundering through her flesh as they segued into a genuine sixty-nine. Mel let her hips collapse, let her sleek hot delta press hard against Lana's face. At the same time, her own mouth redoubled its efforts at Lana's own trembling triangle.
All together now. Come. Yes. That's it. Yes.
Pleasure began to blur into pleasure, climax into climax. If tongues and lips grew tired, fingers and hands stepped in. If trembling hands became too clumsy, a strategic knee or thigh could find a place to press...
For a long time, Lana couldn't hear the music from the speakers or the noise of her own doubts. All she heard was the duet of their cries of open pleasure. Those lips. Those fingers. The sudden sense of utter peace. It felt right to fall asleep curled around Mel's velvet warmth.
How had Lana fallen asleep alone for the last eight months? How had she ever fallen asleep curled around the great emptiness in her bed? It seemed unthinkable now.
Mel's red hair, all tumbled and tangled, left a tiny peep of creamy nape showing. Lana couldn't resist nuzzling there. The woman beneath was more expensive than the scent of her designer perfume, but Lana didn't care about any of that right now. The way her delta curved against Mel'
s sweet ass was what she cared about. The muscle beneath the silk.
Too relaxed to move, she breathed Mel's seductive fragrance until she slipped into a dreamless sleep.
A HAND ON A BARE SHOULDER. Lana tried to snuggle deeper into Mel's warm body, only to realize the warmth wasn't where she left it.
“Hey, Ashton.” The sultry voice came from behind. “Get up. I want to show you something.”
Lana forced her eyes open. The room was dark, the blackout drapes were pulled, but there was a dim light coming from somewhere, enough to let her see Mel had already gotten dressed.
“Come on, it'll be fun.”
Lana still felt boneless. The light was the red light of the clock radio. Why did resorts still put those things in the rooms? The blinking numerals seemed too raw, too real. “Two fucking forty-five in the morning? What the hell is fun at two fucking forty-five in the morning?”
Chapter Six
“You'll see what's fun.” A touch of the red light glinted in Mel's eyes, a reminder that this red-haired angel was the devil who had robbed Lana's casino. “Come on.”
Mind on the game. Wake up.
Mel turned on an overhead light. Not all the way up, just enough to let Lana find her jeans and shoes. “I've got the perfect top. Try it on.”
Lana hadn't really consumed that much tequila, but she felt slow and drunk from too little sleep. She blinked before she stretched out a hand to take the Versace pull-over shell. The famous label wasn't bashful, and even the least fashion-forward Dragonhoarde employee could recognize the pattern on the silk from a mile away. “What's wrong with the shirt I was wearing?”
“Not flashy enough. We're attending an event.”
Lana raised an eyebrow at Mel's plain black shell.
“Carolina Herrera,” Mel said. “They'll know.”
Who would know? Lana's heart began to beat faster, and now she was fully awake. An event at this hour? Maybe she'd get a lead on her case.
The fucking case.
She'd let down her guard.
Never forget, not for one tiny minute, that you're working toward something here. This woman is a criminal.
The hard words sounded in her head without any force. Nothing felt criminal about the generous lover she'd enjoyed tonight. She was already forgetting, even as she warned herself not to.
Hand in hand, they threaded the maze of the resort. At this hour, the gamblers were loud and drunk, and some of them turned to watch the two of them walk by. Any other time, Lana would have told herself they were looking only at the beautiful redhead at her side.
Tonight, she felt as if she'd caught some of Mel's magic. People saw Lana, really saw her strutting by in her Versace shell, and they couldn't help but envy her, couldn't help but wonder who she was. Maybe it was all in Lana's head, but that's what she seemed to see in everybody's eyes.
Envy.
They wanted what Lana had, a girl like Mel strolling by their side.
A valet fetched a silver Ford Fusion with Illinois license plates. A surprise. Mel had backed up the story about Chicago with an actual car from Chicago, and it wasn't a rental, because it didn't have the right stickers.
“Why do we need a car? Where are we going?” She badly needed coffee.
“You'll see.”
They were already on Las Vegas Boulevard, but the traffic was running fast and smooth at this hour. Mel's good hands handled the car with ease.
“It's a surprise, all right.” Lana glanced around the staid interior. “I thought you'd be the kind of girl who drove a Ferrari or maybe a Porsche.”
Mel chuckled. Why the devil was that chuckle so fucking sexy? “I bought it from my dad when he hopped on the Harley to do his whole mid-life crisis thing about fleeing adult responsibilities. I figure he'll want to buy it back later. And, hell, if he doesn't... well... it's transportation, right?”
“Sure.” Lana was making polite noises. She didn't really know what else to say.
Mel wasn't computing the way Lana thought she would. She didn't seem like some flashy mob chick fronting for a casino rip-off operation. A house in Henderson, a Ford Fusion, a sick great-grandmother and a troubled father. Hell. Despite the thousand-dollar jeans and designer shells, she seemed kind of middle-class. Although she wasn't really from the Midwest, she'd probably fit right in.
They were driving a long time. Lana relaxed and sort of mentally checked out as they headed north. It seemed natural. After all, she lived and worked on the north side of Vegas. And there's such a thing as highway hypnosis, especially when you have a graceful driver like Mel at the wheel. Lana must have dozed, because she suddenly woke up with a start to realize they were far out in the country climbing higher and higher around a mountain.
The hell is this? Fuck. Nobody knows where I am.
Almost four o'clock now, according to the dash. Mel had been speeding. Easily and confidently, she'd been blowing out of the valley and up this mountain.
A good sign, because she didn't care if she got ticketed by some cop with a body cam who'd make a note of Lana's presence in the car?
A bad sign, because she had somebody in the system and knew a speeding ticket wouldn't get recorded?
“I needed to wear Versace for a voyage to the far side of the moon,” Lana said.
Mel's good chuckle came right on cue. “You'll see.”
They met nothing and nobody coming the other way. In the headlights, Lana could make out the unpaved but recently graded surface of what might be a forest service road. Mel didn't slow down. She appeared familiar with the road, confident the Fusion would make it just fine. It got narrower as they climbed higher, but they never encountered any serious potholes.
Somebody, and probably not the forest service, was maintaining the road.
At some point, the headlights lit up a gate made of chain. No sign. Nothing obnoxious. Merely a tactful hint that if you'd reached this place, you were probably lost, because your trip ended here in this dark place with no apparent nearby structures.
Mel wasn't lost. She hopped out. Went not directly to the chain but to what Lana would have identified as a mountain bluebird box. It wasn't. At a touch, the false wooden face lifted away to reveal an electronic panel. Mel tapped in a code.
Lana was starting to get excited. Talk about hitting the jackpot.
This was secret shit, and secret shit was the whole reason she'd wanted to hook up with Mel in the first place. The sex was a distraction, this was never supposed to be about sex. Lana was undercover, and her ploy was working.
The secret shit was the whole reason you wanted to hook up with her? Really?
Well, all right.
Maybe not the whole reason.
She couldn't see the code, but she could see the way the red light changed to green because of the color of the reflections on Mel's hand and body. Her mouth watered.
Yes. You're getting inside.
Wherever, whatever, inside was.
Only now did Mel approach the chain. It was secured into place by a combination lock, and Mel slowly flipped it back and around to hit the numbers. It took time before the lock fell open. A pair of bolt cutters would have had the road open fifteen minutes ago.
But a pair of bolt cutters wouldn't have put that electronic code in the fake bluebird box. The combination lock was a delaying tactic, nothing more. Good security meant there was a hidden camera somewhere, probably higher in one of these trees, so that a team could keep an eye on who was traveling this road.
Without the code, they would have been stopped somewhere in the next few minutes. Mel didn't have to explain. Lana knew this shit. Security was her career.
She started to ask a question when Mel slipped back in the car, but Mel was already laughing.
“Nope. It's still a surprise.”
Lana felt that smile all the way down to her toes. Her heart began to race, but in a good way, because it was going to be a good surprise. It had to be. If she was wrong about that, she couldn't read the human f
ace at all, and she didn't deserve to dream about one day being FBI.
The road went up and around some more. It seemed forever since they'd been down in the valley among the lights. Mel was finally driving more slowly.
Lana was fully awake, fully sober, now. So awake it seemed impossible she'd ever drowsed.
They made a last turn, and they were out of the trees, into a high mountain meadow fronted by a wide parking space already occupied by several other cars. None of them Ford Fusions. Mel pulled in between a Lamborghini and a Porsche. A man in a black uniform― no name on that uniform― nodded at Mel as they got out of the car. Lana noted the Glock on his hip and the night vision goggles that completely obscured his face.
“Evening, ma'am.”
“Evening, Charles.” Mel slipped an arm around Lana's waist. It felt good there. Better than good.
“The viewing is good from lot seven,” said Charles.
“Thank you.” Mel slipped something Lana couldn't see into his hand. The Vegas girl in her knew it was a tip.
Lana, who wasn't wearing night vision, blinked in the sudden darkness as the lights from the Ford blinked off. They'd been set on a timer.
“The viewing?” she asked. “What exactly are we viewing?”
“You'll see.” Mel glanced up, as much as she glanced around, and then she began to steer Lana down a short, curving trail lined with low hedges that weren't placed here by nature. It was dark, and maybe that's the reason they couldn't see the people in the other garden rooms marked off by those hedges, but Lana suspected another reason.
They couldn't see the other people because they weren't standing or even sitting. They were laying down.
What was this? Open air orgy central?
Only your dirty mind could dream up something like that.
The air was dry but cool up here, giving the very air in your lungs a different feel from the oven-like heat down in the valley. Mel must have known exactly where lot seven was, because she could find it by starlight, without any backtracking or wrong turns. She paused for a moment, found a dark gap in the hedges, and then guided Lana through to a small area ringed by low, neatly cut shrubs.