He stares at me while the guys make no effort to hide their grins. “Fine. Let’s go mingle with the natives,” he finally says. “But my bet stands.”
“No more bets,” I repeat.
“Why, your ass still hurting from the way you got fucked after the last poker game?” Markus says, picking up the torch.
“Save it for the game. I’m bowing out from this hookup bet. More for the rest of you.”
Victor pulls open the front door and I step inside first. For a place like Lake Tahoe, this greasy spoon has a small-town country western feel. There are a few clusters of men having breakfast, some older men sipping coffee over a morning paper as they munch on muffins or pastries, and one table with a family of four.
“Morning, fellas,” says the waitress a few tables from the front door. Her back is turned as she pours coffee into a customer’s mug, and I can’t help but notice the perfect roundness of her ass. “I’ll be right with you.”
“Table for seven, please,” I say, ignoring Chauncey behind me, who has already started shit-talking that I don’t have it in me to score pussy in a place like this.
I get the wind knocked out of me when the waitress turns to face us. She’s fucking gorgeous. Bright hazel eyes, a sweet-looking girl-next-door face, perky breasts just large enough to fill my hands, and a tiny waist under her waitress uniform. Her name, at least according to the tag on the uniform, is Missy. Our eyes lock, and our gaze holds for longer than it should. Seeming less than impressed, she waves us over. I follow her inside.
“I’ll put these two tables together,” she says, looking away. “Go ahead and hang up your coats while I get it set up. Be back in a minute.”
She heads over to a middle-aged waitress and quietly speaks to her as we throw our outerwear over the already crowded coatracks near the door. Whatever they’re discussing gets a giggle out of the second waitress. They return to where we’re standing, push the tables together, and the sexy waitress passes menus to each of us. From the way everyone around our two tables stares up at her, I’m sure we’re all thinking the same thing. The waitress has stunning good looks, the kind that no one would expect to find in a Podunk dive like this.
“Well, thanks Missy,” Jeff says, flashing her a broad smile.
She gives him an all-business nod.
“So, Missy, what do you recommend on the menu, darlin’?” Chauncey asks, plastering on the most insincere country twang I’ve heard in ages.
“You can’t go wrong with the breakfast items,” she replies. “Can I get you gentlemen something to drink while you decide on your order?”
“Coffee all around,” I tell her.
“Is your bar open?” Chauncey drawls the question. “I could go for a Jack on the rocks.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” she replies with a tight smile. “We don’t serve alcohol, but there’s a gas station about five miles west of here. You can buy liquor by the bottle.” She turns to leave and politely says over her shoulder, “I’ll be back shortly with your coffee.”
Chauncey looks around. “It’s slim pickings in here,” he observes. “Except for that hot as fuck waitress. Those tits are perfection.”
“Shawna will like them too,” Jeff tells him. “Especially now that she and her divorce attorneys are probably combing through the prenup she signed to see what dirt she can nail on your sorry ass.”
“What the hell difference does it make?” Chauncey mutters. “She’s already filed for divorce.”
“You don’t want to fuck with Shawna, is all I’m saying. You need to be careful with this divorce.”
“And why is that?”
“You really need to ask?”
“I just did.”
“For starters, your wife doesn’t seem like she can handle a divorce, and if it’s anything like the last one, you’ll be SOL after it’s all done.”
“I’ve got that under control.”
“Says the guy working on his second divorce in three years.”
“Listen. Shawna is an ungrateful, cold woman. She had her ride, and now it’s someone else’s turn. Get off my back about this.”
“Fine, but we just don’t want to see you get screwed.”
“That’s what the prenup was for. The sooner it’s over and done with, the sooner I can marry Sherri.”
Everyone around the table whips their head to look at Chauncey.
“Wait. Hold up,” Jeff continues. “Sherri as in your first wife? That Sherri?”
“Yes and no. She’s like a different Sherri. A kinder, nicer one. She’s changed.”
“What’s your deal with getting married anyway? You can get all the pussy you want whenever you want it. And don’t tell me you love these women you married.”
“How about you mind your own damn business?”
“You’re the one who brought it up. Anyhow, you might want to start testing the waters next time.”
“I already did with Sherri. That’s why we’re remarrying.”
“Make sure Shawna doesn’t find out. She didn’t hire the top divorce law firm for kicks. Just thinking about you, buddy.”
“Yeah, you were really thinking about me when you gave her their number too, weren’t you?”
“She asked. What was I supposed to do?”
“You could have told her you’d get back to her, dumbass. Because loyalty, you know what I’m saying?” Chauncey shakes off the frustration. “Are we at least doing the hot springs while we’re in town?” he asks, changing the subject.
Victor straightens up at the question, pulling out his phone. “Yeah.” He unlocks his phone and opens up the itinerary. “We have an overnighter tomorrow. We’re all set.”
“And the entertainment is coming with?”
“Yup.”
“Do we have room for one more?” Jeff asks out of the blue, staring right at the waitress as she approaches again, balancing our coffee mugs on a tray in one hand, and the coffee carafe in the other. “I don’t know if twelve girls will be enough, but thirteen…that could be our lucky number.”
It’s obvious to me what he’s getting at.
“Hey, Missy,” he addresses her. “Have you heard of the Neville Lodge? It’s about fifteen miles southeast of here.”
She nods at him, setting down the mugs. “Sure, I do. Would you gentlemen like some directions?”
“We’re actually staying up there for the next couple of days.”
“Great to hear. I hope you enjoy your stay.”
“Listen, Missy. How would you like to hang out with us tonight?”
Her eyebrows raise and she grins. “Me? With all seven of you?”
Jeff shakes his head. “No, nothing like that. Maybe you could bring a few of your friends?”
“Yeah, sure,” she says casually, but is looking directly at me, even though she’s replying to Jeff’s question. “Sounds like fun.” She pulls out her order pad, and only then does she look at Jeff. “So, what can I get you guys?”
Interesting.
Maybe I have a shot with this bet, after all.
She takes our orders and leaves to pass them on to the cook in the kitchen.
“I’ll be tapping that ass tonight,” Jeff informs us.
I nod, but I don’t agree at all. “Nice score. Just make sure she’s not jailbait or anything.”
“I doubt it. She has a nice eighteen-plus rack. I’d say it’s at least a D-cup.”
“What the fuck does her bra size have to do with her age?” Markus barks, shaking his head.
“Let me by, Vic,” I tell my brother. “I need to take a piss.”
I head to the restroom. Time to find out what Missy’s really thinking.
Chapter 4
Missy
All the diner patrons have their eyes on these seven wealthy, well-dressed, tall, gorgeous men gracing us with their presence for breakfast. My first thought was they had to be lost, because all the rich people who visit north Lake Tahoe would either stop in Carson City or Reno long before they
got this far into the sticks. And that was if they didn’t take a helicopter shuttle service directly to their lodges.
But here they are, slumming with the locals.
“Do those boys need maps?” my boss, Ed, asks when I take their orders to him. “They look lost.”
“Nope,” I tell him.
“Check out the limos outside, Missy,” says Janice, the other waitress on shift today.
“I noticed,” I reply, lining up ketchup bottles behind the counter.
“Make sure you treat them like royalty, you hear? No mouthing off with these frat boys, all right? Their tip can probably double this whole week’s pay, if you’re lucky.”
“You know how I feel about guys like that,” I mutter. “I can’t stand snobs. Rosa-Beth dated a few of them in college. I swear, if they start any of that stuck up rich-boy shit—”
“I can always take them off your hands, you know?” Janice offers, cutting me off.
I smile. “Naw, I’m good. I don’t hate them that much,” I reply, eyeing the blond giant who gets to his feet.
He’s the reason I agree to visit the Neville Lodge later.
Maybe.
Man, is he tall. They’re all tall, really, like a wall of sexy that I could drape myself across in my wildest dreams. I’d have a blast with all seven of them, if they’re not stuck up pricks, that is. And maybe not all at once, but at few at a time could be fun. The blond one smiles at me on his way toward the restrooms, giving me a wink as though he knows what I’m thinking.
“What the hell are you two doing?” Ed barks out to us, placing three plates on the counter for another table of local patrons. “Orders are up, and last time I checked, I don’t pay either of you to stare out the window.”
Janice takes the order for her table, and I go to the supply room for a few mustard bottles. These rich kids usually like their Dijon. My hands close around a full bottle of yellow mustard and an half-empty, ancient bottle of spicy brown mustard. This will have to do. Stuffing the yellow mustard in the side pocket of my apron, I step into the hallway, unscrewing the cap of the brown mustard to check whether it’s still fresh enough to consume. That’s when I crash into the bright white, perfectly pressed dress shirt of someone walking out of the men’s room, squirting mustard all over his shirt.
“Shit, I’m so sorry, sir!” I blurt out as my eyes travel up the expanse of white to Mr. Sexy Blond God’s face. “I didn’t…sorry, I didn’t see you,” I tell him, tightening the cover.
I quickly stretch over the side counter for a rag and begin to dab the mess of yellowy-brown, which only makes it worse. But my hand is hitting solid muscle underneath the shirt, so I keep at it until he grips my wrist.
“It’s fine,” he says, looking down at the stain.
“If we get water on it fast enough, it’ll come right off,” I say in a hurry. I take him by the arm, pulling him back into the bathroom without waiting to hear whether he protests. I grab a handful of paper towels and soak them in cold water as I lean to one side to grab the all-purpose cleaner in the cupboard below the sink.
“Hurry up and take it off,” I instruct him.
“Excuse me?”
I look up at him. “The shirt needs to come off…like right now, unless you want to get soaked to the skin.”
Furrowing his brow, he removes the shirt and passes it to me. I remove the excess mustard with a dry towel first, and spray the stain. I’m doing my best to focus on the shirt, but can’t help stealing a look at his broad chest and ripped six-pack.
“I’m so sorry about this,” I mumble, hoping he won’t freak out.
“It’s just a shirt,” he says. “Plus, it’s silk. What you’re doing won’t really help.”
“Oh. Crap.” I look at the stain. He’s right. The cleaning spray is doing something weird to the material. “Why didn’t you say something?” I add without thinking.
He shrugs his shoulders, and I almost want to ask him to stay perfectly still, because all that moving around is only giving me an up-close view of bulky, corded muscles as they flex and relax.
“I’m kind of enjoying watching you squirm,” he says. “I may just enjoy watching you, period.”
I glance up into his incredibly blue eyes, biting back a groan. Are we having another moment? Why is heat pooling between my legs and beginning to drench my panties? I can’t help myself. As I pause my attempt at blotting the stain, the back of my hand drifts forward and brushes against his chest, traveling over his hot, rippling muscles.
He grips my hand, removes the shirt and paper towels with the other hand, and presses my palm to his chest. I don’t know whose heart is pounding harder. He leans his head down until our faces are only inches apart.
Yes.
This is happening.
My last thought before our mouths meet is that I hope one of us locked the restroom door, because I’m about to let Shirtless Blond Rich Guy take me, right in here. His shirt drops to the floor, and he takes the back of my head, crushing his lips to mine. I grab onto his hips and pull his groin in close. He’s already hard, and Christ, I hope Mr. Big and Tall is proportional below the belt.
He holds on to my waist and lifts me right off the floor. One pivot allows him to shove me on the counter, and with one leg, he parts my legs. I like that he’s a little rough. Random sex should always be wild. His shirt is long forgotten. We’re still mid-kiss as my hands fumble with his belt while he fondles my breasts through my uniform. He tugs at one or two buttons for more direct access. His roughness pops one button, which I see flying off just as I open one eye. Neither of us stop. He stuffs his hand into the opening of my blouse, and I moan into his hungry kiss, groaning when his fingertips find my nipples. He greedily gropes my flesh and massages each nipple. God, his touch sets my crotch on fire. Pulling from my lips, he drags down my blouse and bra cups in one move, latching his mouth to one nipple.
My legs wrap around his hips. I arch my back, whimpering as he sucks one nipple then the other. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I’m hoping we don’t get caught. I can’t afford to lose this job. Still, it doesn’t stop me. All I do to help my situation is cover my mouth so my noises don’t carry, and reach into his unzippered pants to hurry this up so we’re less likely to be missed.
Fuck, he is packing something big and thick. I smile, relieved that he is indeed proportional. Pulling his cock from his pants, I stroke along the length for a few seconds, and then I press his tip to my pussy. We can’t afford to go slowly.
“We have to hurry. I hope you have a condom,” I groan out the wish from the back of my throat. His tip is already wet with precum, seeping out his excitement. I rub it on my palm, using it to glide more easily up and down his shaft as he reaches into his pants pocket and produces his wallet.
“Me too,” he grunts, barely lifting from my breast, which has my hips rolling against his massive erection.
He pulls back, leaving enough space to fumble with the condom wrapper, and hurriedly rolls on the protection we both need desperately so we can continue. He moves a hand to my ass, gripping me tightly when he’s ready.
I manage to find a moment of clarity. “What’s your name?” I ask, letting out a breathy giggle at the humor of the badly-timed question.
Eyes dark and focused on only one thing, he runs a finger along the seam of my panties, pushing it to one side. My eyes roll to the back of my head as he flicks my swollen clit a few times and presses his cock against my opening.
“Carter,” he whispers, and at the same time, he buries all the way into me and covers my mouth in a rough, wicked kiss.
Carter practically picks me up off the counter with each thrust of his hips. His strong hands help as he slams into me. All I can do is moan into his mouth, tilt my hips, cross my ankles at his back, and enjoy the wild, satisfying, mind-blowing ride.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he grunts. Carter pumps into me with powerful jerks that intensify and speed up by the second, stretching me, filling me up and then so
me. I begin to notice the way my clit brushes against his lower abs as he slams into me, and how his fingers squeeze my ass cheeks to keep me from falling off the counter. Hissing out a gasp, it all becomes too much, and I rocket to a climax that has tremors rocking both our bodies. I can hardly hold on to his biceps anymore. All my energy drains from me, flying to my quaking, rippling core.
Carter grunts out a couple of choice swear words as his moves become more frantic. With a few more, or a lot sharper thrusts, his hands hold me tighter against him, and his body stiffens. I feel satisfied as he comes, burying inside me and pressing his mouth to my neck to muffle his sounds.
We remain frozen for a short time, panting hard for air so some logic can return, and remind us that we’re complete strangers who just fucked in a dingy little restroom—and I’m at work.
Even as the logic returns, I’m guilt-free.
I take it as a good sign, and tilt my hips to pull apart from him. Jumping off the counter, I straighten my uniform. I turn to check myself in the mirror as I wash my hands. Except for the missing lipstick, and the lost button, I’m not looking too shabby.
“That was…” he starts, hands resting on my shoulders as he looks at our reflection in the mirror.
“It was,” I agree, not bothering to finish his sentence. I pick up his shirt, which now has a big, wet, dirty footprint on it beside the mustard stain. “Well, I’m really sorry about the shirt.”
“I’m not,” he answers. Carter stuffs it in the garbage bin and reaches the doorknob to unlock it.
“You’re going out there without a shirt?”
“Sure. I’ll get something from my luggage,” he tells me, kissing the top of my head. “So… are you sure you’ll come by the lodge later? Or do you need more convincing?”
I shake my head. “I’ll be there,” I tell him, smoothing out my ponytail.
Rich guys with big cocks and decent skills are good for one thing.
The same thing that poor guys with big cocks and decent skills are good for.
Really good sex.
His Naughty Waitress (Insta-Love on the Run Book 4) Page 2