“I wish you could do it right here, right now,” she told him softly. Her eyes stuck on another lavish spot at the pool—one of several beds situated along the water’s perimeter, flanked by columns, covered by a vine-strung canopy of wrought iron. Though all were vacant, since they had to be rented, the beds struck her as a downright hedonistic and rather erotic decoration. “I wish you could lay me across that bed and lick me until I come.”
The shudder that passed through him was more satisfying than any reaction she could have imagined. “Do you have any idea how hard you’re making me?”
Her gaze stayed glued to his. “Let me feel it.”
He didn’t hesitate, gripping her ass and pulling her to him until his cock stretched long and hard up the front of her bikini bottoms. Even after the lust of last night, after the release of reaching that closet and being taken by him, hard, she didn’t think she’d ever felt anything more deeply arousing.
“Your girlfriends would all be jealous,” she told him in a saucy tone, “if they could see what’s happening underwater right now.”
He didn’t balk at her calling them his girlfriends. “I think they’re already jealous,” he said instead, his voice teasing even as he began to grind gently against her, creating just a bit of blessed friction.
“You’re right,” she practically purred, still rubbing her breasts against him. “They want what I’m getting right now, but they can’t have it.”
He gave his head a sexy, playful tilt. “You don’t like to share?”
She offered a smirking grin. “No way.”
“Ah, I forgot.” He tipped his head back. “You like it in private, too. Prim and proper little Brenna.”
She let out a laugh, then a soft moan as his hardness rubbed against her in just the right way. “You still think I’m prim and proper?” Was he serious?
“Just around the edges,” he conceded. Then he scanned the pool area. “But for your information, this isn’t very private.”
She swallowed, a little nervous—because he was right. It might feel like they were alone in a way, but in reality they were surrounded by lots of people, some of whom surely watched their little water ballet, especially the women who wanted Damon so bad. Even if they couldn’t see them moving together under the water, surely they knew what was happening.
“Then maybe I’m becoming less prim and proper every time I’m with you,” she boasted.
Pressing harder against her pussy beneath the pool’s surface, the rigid column of his cock pushed perfectly at her clit—and at the same moment, one masculine hand snaked down behind her, quickly, gently, stroking between her legs. “Unh…” she heard herself moan.
“If it were up to me,” he said, low, “and if I wouldn’t get arrested…I would carry you over to that bed right now and fuck you ’til you screamed, private or not.”
Her breath came shallow, her whole body going weak. “Believe it or not,” she uttered, voice ragged, “if it were up to me and I wouldn’t get arrested…I might just let you.”
A lecherous smile unfurled on Damon’s face. “Who knows?” he whispered near her ear. “Maybe before this trip is over you’ll convince me you’re not prim and proper at all.”
Three
That night, Damon took Brenna to three small clubs, all of them on the southern outskirts of town. Two featured guys who played guitar and sang, and the third a duo—a guy on piano and his wife, who belted out pop songs. None of the acts had sent anything to Damon, but all had been recommended to him. “I meet people, I ask them to keep an eye out and let me know when they hear something they like,” he’d explained on the cab ride to the first place. His leads for new music, he’d told her, came through everyone from club owners to bartenders and bouncers.
Although she didn’t say it, she had to admit her surprise at what a socially intense job this was. She’d known Damon moved among jetsetters, but now she was finding out she was supposed to get friendly with club owners and bartenders, too? She liked meeting people, but she’d never been overly outgoing, so she feared this part of the job might be a challenge. Her stomach churned a little at the thought, yet like a lot of things over the past couple of days, she just pushed it aside for now.
As it turned out, none of the performers they went to see that evening particularly caught their attention or had a sound they felt worthy of pursuing. And in truth, she wasn’t really into listening to music tonight. Oh, she still would have recognized something fabulous if she’d heard it, but she spent most of the evening just wanting to get back to the hotel with Damon.
After fooling around in the pool earlier, they’d been just about to head up to Damon’s room to slake their lust—when his cell phone had rung and he’d ended up talking for a long while with Blue Night artist Jane Wyndham, an up-and-coming folk singer. And the afternoon had gotten away from them.
And now, just like at the pool, he continued to make her promises. Really alluring ones. Where he was going to touch her. Exactly how. He promised it was going to be slow, and thorough. “Last night was hot,” he said as they found a table at the last club, “but it was like a meal eaten way too fast—just makes you want more. And today at the pool, that was a tease, an appetizer. Made me damn hungry, babe.”
And then he slid easily into work mode, telling her what each of the acts they’d seen tonight had lacked.
At first, she found the way he was able to flow from sex to work and back again amusing—she could tell he loved both with equal passion. But as the night passed, she discovered it actually turned her on. It made clear to her that his whole life was a meshing of music and sex and sin. He didn’t hold anything back, keep anything under wraps—he put his every thought and desire out there on the table, and she found his candor utterly arousing.
Although something in that made her wonder…If he could discuss music and sex almost simultaneously, could it have somehow created confusion and contributed to having women accuse him of sexual bribery?
“Can I ask you a question?” she said as they stepped into another cab, heading back to the Venetian.
“Sure, babe.” He paused to give the cabbie their destination, then turned to her. “What’s up?”
She hoped he wouldn’t hate her for asking, but suddenly she burned to know. “What happened with Claire Starr?”
Damon failed to look surprised by the question, but his answer sounded a little intense. “Meaning did I fuck her? Yeah. And did she want it? Yeah. And did it have anything to do with giving her a deal? Nope.”
“Are you mad at me for asking?”
He shook his head. “After all, I guess it’s obvious that something did go on with her.” Claire’s accusations had been featured on Entertainment Tonight and Access Hollywood, not to mention the article in People magazine.
“I believed you when you told me it was all lies,” Brenna felt eager to assure him, “but I guess I was just curious…if her story was strictly about getting money out of Blue Night—or something more. Like if it’s possible she just somehow…misunderstood what happened between you.”
He sighed. “There might have been a misunderstanding, but it had nothing to do with her record deal. We spent a week together in Seattle—I discovered her on a scouting trip like this one, and we hooked up. We had fun, but I considered it over after that—only she went a little Fatal Attraction on me. No boiled bunnies, but she didn’t like taking no for an answer. I think that, combined with the label dropping her, turned her even more feral than usual. She’s not a nice person, Brenna. I should have seen that sooner.”
Brenna nodded in the dark confines of the cab. His voice had calmed now, and she spoke softly. “Thank you. For telling me.”
He squeezed her thigh, bared by her denim miniskirt, then spoke more playfully. “Let that be a lesson to you, young Brenna. Don’t screw the acts. It can come back to bite you in the ass.”
“I don’t plan on it. But then again…I didn’t exactly plan on sleeping with you, either.” Even if
Kelly had been sure it was destiny. “So I guess you never know where things are going to lead.”
His look bordered somewhere between teasing and arrogant. “The difference between me and all the other guys you might sleep with in this business is…I’m the nice one.”
She tilted her head. “So every other man in the music industry is pure evil and out to get me?”
His gaze dropped to her breasts, concealed in a clingy halter top. “Pure evil? Likely. Out to get you, babe? Definitely.”
Four
As they strolled into the Venetian’s lavish lobby with Damon’s hand closed warmly around Brenna’s, one of the porters—in his gondolier uniform—politely said, “Good evening, Mr. Andros,” then nodded to Brenna, as well.
As they traversed the tile floor beneath a huge and divinely frescoed ceiling, people stared—whether because they knew who he was or because he was just so beautiful, she didn’t know.
Either way, she couldn’t help wondering what people saw when they spotted her on the arm of a devastatingly attractive man. Even if they didn’t know his reputation, he still emanated sex. Did they realize she was about to get laid? And did they disdain her in some way? Were they jealous?
The beauteous part of her musings, though, was that she honestly didn’t care very much. This was Vegas, after all. And being with Damon felt almost as if she’d been suddenly promoted from mild-mannered office worker to jet-set celebrity girlfriend. She felt different on the inside, too. Freer. More confident. Like she was living, really living, maybe for the first time in her life.
When they entered Damon’s oversize suite, he released her hand to approach the fax machine situated on the wide ledge between the dining area and living room. “Damn,” he said softly.
“What?”
“Nothing big. Just tried to fax the Blush contract to Jenkins earlier but couldn’t get it to go through. I’d like to have it on his desk by tomorrow morning, though, so I’d better try again.”
“Let me,” she offered. “I have a way with fax machines.”
“If you insist,” he replied, his look telling her he didn’t mind ditching the mundane task. Then he moved to the stereo to tune in some soft rock.
“Once an administrative assistant, always an administrative assistant,” she said cavalierly over her shoulder as Damon disappeared into the bedroom. Which was when it hit her. “I wonder if he’s interviewing people for my position yet.” She’d been so caught up in her new world that she hadn’t even thought about what would become of her old one.
“Yeah, he is,” Damon’s voice echoed through the doorway. “He mentioned in an e-mail that he had three lined up for tomorrow.”
“Oh. Good.” Although she wasn’t sure why the news made her feel a little proprietary about her old job. Someone would have to do all the work she usually did, after all.
It was as the pages were sifting through the fax machine, one by one, that she heard the sound of running water in addition to the music that wafted through the air—currently Norah Jones’ seductive “Turn Me On.”
“What are you doing in there?” she called.
“Running a bath.”
Oh. The small of her back ached with possibility. What kind of bath? For one or for two?
“Join me when you’re done with the fax.”
Okay, that kind of bath. Her body resumed feeling warm and ready, and she willed the contract to move faster through the fax machine. The moment the fax was completed, she walked briskly through the large bedroom and into the bathroom—yet she hadn’t been remotely prepared for what she would see.
Mirrors covered the gargantuan tiled space, stretching across the lengthy double vanity and spanning the walls around the large enclosed tub. Where Damon sat amid a bounty of white, frothy bubbles, holding a glass of white wine, casting a come-hither expression, and looking delectable enough to eat. She sucked in her breath at the sight.
“Take your clothes off.” His voice came deep, quietly commanding.
She let the breath back out but felt far from relaxed.
Because she’d never actually stood and undressed for a man before. And this was a lot different from their frantic coupling in the closet, or even fooling around in the pool. She’d thought those acts were wild, decadent—because of where they’d taken place. But somehow, this, standing before him in a well-lit room and beginning to shed her clothes while he watched her every move—this felt decadent. Extreme. Intimate.
Reaching behind her neck, she slowly untied her slinky black halter top and found that letting it drop to her waist wasn’t so hard—because she wore a black strapless bra underneath. “Pretty,” he said, his expression fully sexual, devoid of all amusement. “Now more.”
Brenna pushed the halter over her denim mini and felt it drop around her red strappy heels. Then she reached behind her back and smoothly unhooked the lacy bra, letting it fall, as well.
Damon’s eyes locked on her breasts, making her already taut nipples tingle under his perusal. He’d seen them before, of course, in the closet, and after, as they’d slept together naked last night, but again, this felt more intense—to strip for him, to bare herself. It felt like baring her soul.
“Fucking beautiful,” he said.
And as a slow heat began to pervade her, as nervousness gave way to pure lust, Brenna found herself grazing her palms up over her bare stomach and onto the two mounds of flesh. She’d never touched herself this way in front of a man before, but instinct had driven her. To do what felt good. To do what she’d known he would like.
She first cupped the undersides of her breasts, letting their weight settle in her hands. Then she let her palms close fully over them, sensually squeezing as she met Damon’s gaze, as she saw the fire there and felt the result in her already-damp-for-him panties.
“That’s so nice, babe,” he said, his voice a low growl.
She licked her upper lip, feeling the full power now, and the full longing that was taking her over. Still gently molding her breasts, she tweaked her nipples between thumbs and forefingers, feeling how hard they were and as if they elongated even more at her touch.
“Keep going,” he instructed.
And his wish was her command, she discovered—to her surprise, she actually liked him instructing her, telling her what to do. She liked the idea of being his play thing, his sex toy—the woman he wanted to fuck.
Lifting one foot to the tile step leading to the tub, she bent to undo the small buckle on her shoe.
“Not yet,” Damon said.
She looked up at him.
“Take those off last.”
A fresh whoosh of dirty pleasure rushed up her thighs and into her nether region. He wanted to see her naked but for the shoes. She was his sex toy. And she liked it more than she could easily understand.
Putting her foot back on the floor, Brenna undid the button on her skirt, which rested beneath her navel. Then she lowered the zipper and eased the denim over her hips until it hit the tile, leaving her in a black thong complete with embroidery and lace. She stepped free of the skirt and stood before him, drinking in his gaze, predatory and all male.
She had been careful not to drink much tonight—a total of two wine spritzers spread over the whole evening—but she felt drunk anyway, intoxicated by what she could only describe as animal desire. It grew from within, a raging force that defied logic or emotion.
She skimmed her palms up her thighs, then let them glide over her hips and back onto her ass, arching it into her hands as she thrust her breasts forward. Any remnants of nervousness were gone now—she was into this, into him.
Drawing her hands back around, she raked one middle finger teasingly over the front of her panties, then let it dip down inside. Her fingertip brushed briefly over her damp, swollen clit before she extracted it.
“Jesus God,” Damon uttered, eyes glassy with want.
She bit her lip, feeling wholly seductive, like someone she’d never been before, someone entirely new. “
Who’s prim and proper now?” she asked. She hadn’t realized their discussion at the pool had made her feel she had something to prove to him, but maybe she did.
Damon gave his head a slow shake. “Not you, honey. Not anymore.”
She let a naughty smile unfurl across her face.
And he offered a nasty little grin of his own in reply. “You’re a dirty girl, aren’t you?”
Was she? Or was this partly an act? “When I want to be,” she said. But the real answer, she decided, was: When I’m with you.
“Is your pussy wet?”
She nodded.
“Did it get your finger wet?”
She nodded again—then took a few steps forward, her heels clicking across the tile, and leaned down to slip her fingertip into his mouth.
They both moaned as his lips closed around it, and she felt his tongue, then the slight, suckling pull—felt him really tasting her. The sensation spiraled straight to the spot that was getting more drenched with each passing second.
When finally he released her finger, he said, “Now take off your panties. Show me that pretty little cunt.”
No longer shy about the raw unveiling of her body in the bright glow of the bathroom’s lights, Brenna faced away from him, eased her thumbs into the elastic at her hips, and smoothly peeled the thong down until it dropped to her ankles. Stepping free of it, she turned back around, naked.
Just as from the start of this little striptease, Damon wasn’t shy about planting his gaze right where his interest lay—and at the moment, he studied her crotch. His eyes seemed to physically burn into her flesh, and just like every time she’d seen him since arriving in Las Vegas, he had a way of making her pussy feel like the greatest part of her, the part that dominated every action, every thought. And as much as she liked letting him look at her, she also wanted him inside her.
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