An enormous gilt-framed mirror hung on the wall next to the elevator and as they waited, Brenna couldn’t help checking them both out and thinking that tonight, more than ever before, she looked like she belonged with him, like she was someone fabulous heading out for a night of glamorous fun—and the best part was, at the moment, it was all true.
Damon took her to Bouchon, a French restaurant at the Venetian, where they were seated on a beautiful tiled patio near the pool. After dinner, they shared a chocolate mousse in an atmosphere of soft music, clinking glasses, and elegant stone columns and archways. And Brenna tried very hard not to feel the romance of it all, but it was difficult to ignore.
On one hand, she knew Damon was a man of the world, and a lover of women, so that, for him, taking someone to a terribly romantic restaurant was surely no more than a respectful measure of affection, a good meal with someone whose company he enjoyed.
But when she looked into his eyes…did she see more?
Or was she just imagining that?
At times, she could have sworn Damon was falling for her, too. But then…a guy like Damon was just so naturally personable, so skilled at making someone feel special, that she knew it probably meant nothing.
And that’s okay, she reminded herself. This is only an affair, and that’s exactly what you wanted it to be. No-strings-attached sex.
From dinner, it was out for an evening on the Strip. Tonight, Damon explained, they were going to see performers who all happened to work in the mega-resorts that lined Las Vegas Boulevard.
And it hit her—oh, that’s why he told me to dress up. This promised to be more of a real “night on the town” than any they’d shared thus far, and it made her don’t-get-too-attached-to-the-bed surprise all the more a mystery.
Their first stop: one of the few traditional Vegas shows still remaining, complete with topless showgirls sporting tons of feathers and sequins. It was a variety mix of entertainment, and Damon pointed out the singer they’d come to see, recommended by a bartender he’d spoken to earlier in the week. But Damon quickly declared that the guy had “more of a Broadway sound,” with which Brenna agreed, and after that, she simply sat back and enjoyed the gaudy spectacle of it all, marveling at the number of bared breasts on the stage.
Afterward, as they were filing out with other theater-goers, Damon said, “Sorry if that was kind of cheesy, but the guy I talked to made that vocalist sound spectacular, so I thought it was worth checking out.”
Brenna let her eyes go wide. “Are you kidding? I loved it! It’s so totally classic Vegas. I had a great time.” And she had. Given that most of the “showgirl shows” were dead and gone now, it pleased her to have seen a little slice of the old Sin City.
Damon just smiled, then wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her to him for a kiss. “Do you know how cute you are?”
She lowered her chin and cast a playful grin. “I thought I was hot.”
“You’re cute and hot,” he assured her. “And if you haven’t noticed, every guy we’ve passed tonight has had his eyes all over you.”
Actually, she had noticed. And she’d been caught between feeling sexy and exciting and carefree…and wondering if they sized her up as a slut, wearing a dress so revealing. Surely, if all those men could see the things she’d done the past few days, they’d believe the latter, but only she knew that she could only have indulged in such behavior with Damon—nobody else.
And as he led her by the hand back out through the casino and onto the street, the hot night air filling her senses, she knew, undeniably, that she was falling in love with him.
But also, of course, that the whole situation remained impossible, no matter how she viewed it.
And that meant she had to get as much of him as she could now, tonight, and in the nights to come. She had to soak him up, absorb him, his body, his mind, those beautiful, beautiful eyes—all of him.
So as they climbed into a cab and Damon instructed the driver to take them to Caesars Palace, she lifted her hand to his face and kissed him, bold, passionate, and unapologetic, without a care if the driver watched in his rearview mirror. Now that it was accompanied with love, her lust for him took on a fresh new urgency that she feared knew no bounds or limits.
“Nice,” he said when the kiss ended.
In reply, she boldly lowered her hand to his thigh, then inward, onto his cock, which grew stiff for her within mere seconds.
His gaze was half amused, half aroused. “You must be looking forward to your surprise.”
“Very much,” she admitted.
At Caesars Palace, they made their way through the casino to a stylish theme bar called Cleopatra’s Barge, crossing a small wooden bridge to step into the floating, boat-shaped club. Darkness had fallen, and it was prime dance time—lights swirled across the floor where twenty- and thirty-somethings moved to a band playing Top 40 hits.
“This is who we’re here to see,” Damon told her as they squeezed through the crowd to reach the bar. “They’re called Razor’s Edge.”
The band was fronted by a pretty blonde, the only female in the group. Over glasses of wine, they watched and listened, and Brenna stayed aware of all the male attention she garnered—and if she wasn’t mistaken, even a few females cast admiring glances. She was starting to think she should wear such daring clothes more often and reminded herself to thank Kelly for making her buy the dress.
Actually, it reminded her again that she had a lot to thank Kelly for—not just shopping help and a hair appointment but the whole concept of seducing Damon. Maybe it would have happened anyway, but somehow she felt as if Kelly’s various forms of prodding had helped bring all this into being.
After half an hour, Brenna set her empty glass on the bar and leaned up to tell Damon over the sound of the music, “I don’t know—they seem like a good bar band, but there’s nothing fresh about them. I know we haven’t heard their original music, but something about them feels very…nineties to me. Am I off the mark?”
Damon drained his own glass and shook his head. “Right on the mark, in fact. I’ve been standing here waiting for them to wow me, but it’s not happening. Good ear, babe.”
After leaving Cleopatra’s Barge hand in hand, they took a cab up the Strip to another of the large mega-hotels—Brenna didn’t even know which. Given all their whirlwind stops on this and previous nights, she forgot to pay attention.
Wandering through yet another casino where slot machines whirred and jingled and roulette wheels spun, Damon led her to a dark, quiet club where her eyes were drawn instantly to the young man on the stage, who sat on a stool, singing and playing a simple wood guitar. With slightly shaggy hair and a smooth, olive complexion, he couldn’t have been more than seventeen, but his voice and instrument proclaimed otherwise, sounding as if they belonged to an old soul. The sound was pop alternative—catchy but hip, clever but stroked with meaning—and after only a few seconds, Damon and Brenna gave each other a look that silently said: This guy’s good.
“I’m blown away,” Damon said.
In response, Brenna fell into her new habit of making comparisons with an eye toward marketing. “He’s like…a young John Mayer, but with major teen idol appeal. Every high school girl is going to swoon for him.”
“The CD cover will be a close-up of his face,” Damon mused, eyes on the stage, clearly thinking ahead. “With only his name above it. Austin Cole.”
“Back in the days of albums,” Brenna said, “we could have put a poster of him inside.”
Damon wasn’t dissuaded. “We can still work with that idea. That’s what websites are for. We could offer a free poster to the first thousand people to send in their CD receipt, something like that.”
“How old is he?” Brenna asked.
“Not old enough to get in here—just old enough to perform here,” he explained. “He sent me a CD a few months ago, and I knew he was good, but I didn’t know he was this good, or I would have dropped everything and gotten my ass ove
r here faster.”
From there, they found a table, ordered a bottle of wine, and simply sat back and enjoyed Austin Cole’s soulful, heartfelt music. Until he took a break. After which Brenna got to see, once again, the fun side of this job—watching the boy’s face light up when Damon introduced himself and told him how impressed he was.
They set up a meeting with Austin and his mother for the next day, but Damon made it a lunch meeting instead of breakfast, “because,” he explained to Brenna with a wink as they left the club, “we’re gonna be out late tonight.”
She grinned. “This involves my surprise, of course.”
He gave a succinct nod.
“And just when do I get this surprise?”
“Our next stop.”
Despite herself, Brenna’s pussy trembled with anticipation. Of course, having so many lustful eyes on her as the night had progressed had kept her in a fairly aroused state all evening, as had the provocative topless show, and merely just being with Damon. So it wasn’t only the promise of what was to come that had her excited. It was everything—everything Damon and Sin City had to offer.
And she was more than ready for whatever the night held.
Three
The next cab sped them up busy Las Vegas Boulevard, where all around them Brenna saw limos and trolleys and more of those moving billboards offering up lingerie-clad women for sale. Out the windows, she noticed the neon signs marking the MGM Grand, the Paris, the Monte Carlo, and others zipping past and making her feel—along with the wine she’d drank—totally consumed by the dizzying lights and fast pace of the Strip. The next thing she knew, the cab turned off the boulevard onto a shrubbery-lined drive that led to another brightly lit mega resort and casino, but again, she’d failed to catch the name.
As Damon led her through the sprawling front doors into yet another grand lobby, she felt still more eyes upon her, felt her man’s hand in hers, felt her heart beating with the excitement of wondering what was to come and how she would please him tonight.
After they stepped into an elevator, Damon waited until most of the other people inside had exited onto their floors, then punched the very top button, marked simply with an R.
“What does that stand for?” she asked. “Roof?”
Damon’s mouth curved into a mischievous smile. “No. It’s a club. Called Rendezvous.”
So they were going to another club, this one high atop a hotel on the Las Vegas Strip. “That’s my surprise?” she asked unguardedly. “Another club?” She didn’t mean to sound disappointed, but she’d already been to plenty of clubs with Damon, so she’d been expecting something…more unique.
As the last two people with them on the elevator stepped off, the doors closing behind them, Damon cast a dark, seductive look. “Don’t worry, babe. You haven’t been to a club like this before.”
“What do you mean?”
At that moment, the elevator doors opened and the aura of glamorous nightlife assaulted her senses. Before them stretched a dimly lit room, swirling with red and purple lights that flashed across scantily clad bodies on a dance floor. The scents of alcohol and expensive perfume wafted past. Every face she saw was…beautiful, no other way to say it. This was clearly where the beautiful people came to party.
But before reaching the club’s interior, they had to be admitted by a doorman, and she’d just noticed the line of people waiting to get in when Damon led her past them, right up to the guy manning a red velvet rope. “Mr. Andros,” he said easily, then unhooked the rope, motioning them through. Damon discreetly passed the man some folded bills as he entered.
Inside, she saw the beautiful people closer up. The women were confident and gorgeous, most wearing cocktail dresses that rivaled her own for sexiness, and the men were like Damon—clearly hip, stylish, comfortable in their surroundings.
The lighted dance floor was dotted with platforms and even a few barred cages. On the platforms, more beautiful people danced—mostly girls who seemed unafraid to rub their bodies up against one another as they moved. The cages, however, held what she thought of as “go-go girls,” all dressed in black sequined bustiers and miniscule black skirts—below the skirts stretched garters that led to black fishnet stockings and high platform “stripper heels.” All she could think was—yikes. Damon was right—she’d never been to a club like this before.
Just then, a thin blonde breezed past her and she turned to look, saying to Damon, “Am I crazy, or was that Paris Hilton?”
“You aren’t crazy.”
“Wow.”
The sexual aura in the air was downright palpable. People on the dance floor moved in liquid undulations, clearly more interested in sex than dancing. Shirtless bartenders served up drinks at the bar as waitresses rushed past carrying trays of glasses and bottles, wearing the same bustier and stockings as the cage dancers. Everywhere she looked, Brenna saw people kissing, and those who weren’t kissing someone looked like they wanted to be.
“Damon,” yet another dazzling blonde said then, coming up to curl killer red nails around his arm. She wore a slinky white dress with a V-shaped bodice cut all the way to her navel, the swell of her breasts protruding prominently. “What are you doing in town, baby?”
“Hi, Cherise,” he said with an easy smile. “Just here looking for fresh talent, as usual.”
“I can be fresh, and I definitely possess certain talents.” She was downright predatory, and Brenna tried to keep her blood from boiling with jealousy—but at the same time, she found herself clutching onto Damon’s other arm more possessively than she’d intended.
“This is my date, Brenna—new A&R rep for Blue Night,” he said, pulling his Cherise-held arm free to motion toward Brenna.
“Lucky girl,” Cherise said coyly, by way of greeting.
“Yes, I am,” Brenna replied, noting that it seemed to be the universal consensus: any woman with Damon Andros, even for a night, was to be envied.
“Good to see you, honey,” he said to Cherise in parting, and Brenna couldn’t have been happier to leave Miss White Dress behind as he pulled her away through the shadowy room.
Still, she couldn’t help noticing more sexy girls feasting their eyes on her man—but when she also noted guys giving her the same look, it helped even things out in her mind. Was it all the eyes on her, the sexuality floating in the air here, that had her breasts aching and her cunt swelling? Or was it just because she’d been wanting Damon all night?
Despite the sex just dripping from this place, she was on the verge of asking him how exactly Rendezvous was her surprise—when they emerged into a whole new area of the establishment. The dance floor remained visible behind them, but the atmosphere had just changed—dipping even deeper into a slower-paced, more sultry sensuality.
The large room around her was filled with…beds. Well, not actual beds, but big, plush, jewel-toned ottomans and divans that did a good imitation. Patrons lay across them in sophisticated cocktail wear, drinking, talking, some kissing. Like at Fetish, she spied two girls making out, but unlike at Fetish, here no one seemed particularly interested—other than the guy lying with them on the emerald divan, caressing one of the girls’ legs.
The music, too, was different—though the dance floor was still in sight, the fast, pounding beat could no longer be heard and instead slower, steamier songs echoed from hidden speakers. The lighting was soft, inviting, sensuous.
And around the perimeter of the room—oh my! At first, she hadn’t noticed, seeing only dark, sapphire-colored curtains circling the area, but now she realized some of the curtains were drawn back, each open drape revealing a large U-shaped compartment containing a bed custom-made to fit against the curved walls. They were like half-round booths in a restaurant, but instead of booths, she saw more plush places to lie down.
Those that were visible allowed her to spy the people lounging there. In some, she saw couples, while other beds held three or four or even five people. Like on the beds in the room’s large open area, peo
ple on the boothlike beds drank, laughed, and some made out.
The mere presence of so many ornate beds, with so many people reclining on them, turned her warmer inside, made her pussy a little wetter. Did people actually have sex here? Is that why some of the curtains were closed?
While she was still trying to adjust to the seductive atmosphere, an attractive slightly older woman in another dress as revealing as her own—this one a pretty coral color—approached, placing a hand on the arm of Brenna’s lover. “Damon.”
“Cynthia, hi.” He covered her hand lightly as he leaned to kiss her cheek.
This woman seemed more friendly than flirtatious, so Brenna didn’t burn with jealousy like before, but she was beginning to think Damon knew everyone on the planet.
“I saw your name on the reservation list,” Cynthia said, “so I put aside my favorite bed for you.”
Oh, she worked here.
And she’d…put aside a special bed for him. Brenna’s stomach curled with strange anticipation, still caught in shock and wonderment over this whole place.
Cynthia led them past several closed curtains and a couple of open ones, then pulled a blue velvet drape aside to reveal…the most seductive bed Brenna had ever seen. Thick red velvet covered the U-shaped bed, while plush pillows of black and purple, in all shapes and sizes, lined the rounded edge. The U-shaped wall was upholstered in still more red velvet and, higher up, covered with plush red wallpaper. The private compartment came complete with ledges for placing drinks, and gilt-framed mirrors hung at various angles, clearly designed to fit the curved walls.
“This is great, Cynthia,” Damon said as casually as if she were a waitress bringing him a meal.
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