by Kim Tiffany
Shaking his head and swallowing hard against the steamy images in his mind, Ethan yanked himself back into the present and checked to make sure that she hadn’t called his cell while he was asleep. He dialed her cell and waited, cursing softly when it went straight to voicemail. He thought for a moment to text her, but discarded it. He didn’t want to text her about last night, he needed to see her face and gauge her reaction when he brought it up.
She was everything he had hoped for in a woman—warm, funny, irreverent, easy to talk to and a sexual dynamo to boot. Her passionate nature was a huge turn-on, and he was eager to finish what they had started with gusto. His body hummed with renewed excitement just thinking of the way she’d generously deep-throated him, the way she had screamed and collapsed in paroxysms of pleasure when he’d used her dildo on her. He remembered the way she’d writhed against the bedclothes, dewy and trembling and hotter than any Vegas act he’d ever witnessed. Damn, she was the whole package. A complete sweetheart and phenomenal in the sack.
Where the hell could she be? Why hadn’t she tried to wake him up?
He snapped his cell open again to make sure that there had been no calls, and blinked. Three missed calls from Sean? Sean! Fuck. It was his best friend’s bachelor weekend in Vegas. And he was the best man.
Ethan sucked his teeth in annoyance and exhaled noisily. He supposed he should feel like shit for cutting out on his friends without any warning, but he couldn’t dredge up any real regret. It had all been so fucking incredible, the most intense sensual experience of his life. If he had the chance, he knew he would do it all over again. His gaze lingered on the bed as he recalled the way Sara had suckled him on her knees, her huge eyes looking up at him with a seductive twinkle, her plump bottom begging for the flat of his hand to warm it. Her sweet submissiveness and utter trust called something deeply primal in him, and he planned to explore it further at the earliest opportunity.
And he needed to talk to her. Soon. He needed to let her know that it hadn’t been a case of hit-it-and-quit-it for him. Despite his elusive little lady’s disappearing act this evening, he couldn’t wait to prove to her over and over again that the tender feelings that had roiled up in him during their lovemaking hadn’t been a fluke.
Just then, his phone rang. “Sara?” he answered automatically. “Is that you?”
There was a stunned pause, and then a shout of deep laughter. “Uh, no, dude. But I guess I don’t need to ask you where the hell you’ve been the past three hours.”
“Sean.” Ethan’s shoulders slumped in disappointment. “Hey, man. No, I didn’t mean—she and I, we didn’t—I mean, we did but we didn’t…” Ethan clamped his mouth shut against the half-uttered excuses that threatened to tumble out on their own accord. Sean didn’t need to know the details.
What the hell could he say anyway? That he’d been unable to keep his hands off the sumptuous maid of honor for one more second and that they’d spent the past few hours in a sexual haze when he should’ve been sending his best friend off to the state of holy matrimony in high style? He sounded like a douche, even to his own ears.
Plus, he wasn’t sorry about the latest development in the slightest.
“We were catching up in private,” Ethan explained cautiously.
Sean chortled uproariously. “Oh, I just bet you were,” he howled over the phone. “Don’t worry about me, brother,” Sean admonished. “If you and Sara stopped dancing around each other long enough to see how perfect you are for each other, I’m happy for you, bud. Where is she anyway?”
Ethan sighed and rubbed his face, almost groaning at the faint scent of her excitement that still lingered on his hand. Sean knew him too well. “I wish I knew, man. She took off while my back was turned.” He kicked at his socks on the floor, and one landed near the TV console.
“Damn, already?” Sean hooted. “You must be losing your touch. What happened? Been so long for you that you forgot what goes where on a real woman?”
“Fuck you, man,” Ethan retorted without any heat as he retrieved his wayward socks. “I don’t know. I think she’s running scared.”
“Again? You got warts on your willy or something?”
Ethan sighed. “Shut up, will ya? Angie tells me that that I don’t have anything to worry about, but, damn…she took off without a word. I kinda do feel like a leper.”
He could practically see his friend shrug. “Well, will you at least tell me if she was worth the wait? You’ve been hankering after her for almost eight months. Don’t spare any details. Angie’s wanted you guys to hook up from the very beginning—so, what’s up? Can I tell my soon-to-be-wife that you’ve finally been tamed?”
But Ethan wasn’t listening anymore. He was busy staring into the small trash can beside the console. He reached in with a frown and slowly pulled out Sara’s vibrant pink dildo. She must’ve thrown it away before leaving since he distinctly recalled tossing it beside the bed after she’d passed out from the last orgasm he’d given her with it.
He stared at the glittering phallus and recalled how fucking amazing Sara had looked as she strained and arched into each measured thrust he’d delivered, the way her full thighs had glistened with moisture and the musical sounds of her exuberant orgasm when he’d cranked the toy to its highest setting. At the time, he’d wanted to be deep inside her so bad, feeling those voluptuous contractions on his bare cock, that he had practically ground his teeth into dust. His jaw ached in proof. His cock twitched with remembrance and renewed vigor, pressing against the seam of his zipper.
He tried not to read anything into the fact that she’d discarded the toy like rubbish. She probably just thought it was unsanitary to wander around town with a very well-used vibrator in her purse…but, well, he wished she’d felt some sort of attachment to it.
It was stupid, but it had been their first time together, technically. The tacky vibrator was a kind of memento, a testament to their first coupling. He suddenly felt anxious and out of sorts. He really needed to see her, to find out what she was thinking, what she was feeling after they’d…they’d…
Fuck, they hadn’t even gone all the way, and he was distracted as hell. He knew he had it bad, obsessing over the whys and wherefores like a damn chick. He couldn’t wait until this whole weekend was over, so that he could corner her at home and have it out once and for all.
“Yo, la Montagne, you still there?” Sean yelled. “You fall asleep again?”
“Nope,” he barked back, tossing the vibrator into his open duffel bag in the closet and shoving his feet into his shoes while holding his cell to his ear. “Sorry, man, I’m getting dressed. Where’s everyone at?”
“Where do you think? You orchestrated the whole night. We’re finishing some shots right now, and then we’re heading to Gardens of Olympus to catch the show,” Sean reminded him, mentioning a popular gentleman’s club located off the Strip. “Why don’t you meet us there? You can’t do anything about Sara now anyway, man. Not if she doesn’t want to be found.” There was a chorus of ribald hooting and epithets at Sean’s mentioning of the strip club, and Ethan managed to grin.
He’d arranged a private lap dance for the man of the hour, and it had cost him an arm and a leg. The least he could do was go out and make sure Sean had a good time. He checked his watch. It was only a short cab ride away. He could still make it there in plenty of time and hopefully redeem himself in the eyes of the wedding party. And it beat the hell out of sitting in the dark, fantasizing about big brown eyes that pleaded at him to please, please, make me come…
Fuck, man, get a grip, he chastised himself. He exhaled slowly, commanding his raging hard-on to subside. “See you guys in twenty,” he grunted, and hung up as he headed out the door.
He reminded himself that male-bonding was compulsory this weekend. But as soon as the curtain fell tonight, he knew he’d be heading directly to the hotel where Angie and her friends were staying, to finally collect his woman and let her know that there was no need to run away from
him ever again.
From now on, he would be her escape—because she was already his haven.
Chapter Eight
“Isn’t this fun?” Caro shrieked over the pulsating techno music, dewy with exertion and crushed between the gyrating, oil-slicked bodies of two male strippers, one wearing a rakish cowboy hat and the other in animal pelts. Both had on glow-in-the-dark thongs that cupped their impressive bulges and framed their gleaming, chiseled buttocks.
Sara grimaced inwardly as she nodded in agreement. She pertly waved the banner that Angie had worn earlier that evening over her head in a show of allegiance, and tried not to look at her watch for the millionth time that evening. Instead, she watched as Angie and Caro bopped rhythmically against the well-endowed young dancers, giggling and touching their chests and abs and anything else they would let them get away with.
Mount Olympus boasted the hottest, most riotously sexy male exotic dancers off the Strip, and as far as Sara could tell, they hadn’t over-exaggerated. The male strippers were ripped, meticulously groomed and swiveled their latex-clad hips with well-oiled precision. Music pounded in the background as the gorgeous men took turns dancing at tables as well as on the stage. Drinks were liberally poured, and a legion of inebriated females shrieked in glee as the good-looking dancers came up to them in turn and nibbled at their necks or cleavage.
Sara wondered why it all left her feeling so drab and invisible. Exhausted too, if she was really being honest. She supposed part of it had to do with having had wild, out-of-control dildo sex with Ethan earlier. The other was the fact that after having engaged in their incredible bout of…whatever it had been, she was suddenly very aware of how expressionless and mechanical the male dancers seemed. The suggestive hip thrusts and cocoa-buttered bottoms, designed to inspire lust in the hordes of hungry females, seemed rather insipid tonight. And they were all way too waxed and smooth to be drool-worthy. Not one of them had the brawny natural good looks of…someone else she knew.
Her thoughts turned again to her vibrator, and she silently bemoaned the fact that she’d discarded it. All this oily flesh did absolutely nothing for her. Ethan really had ruined her for life.
And they hadn’t even gotten to the actual sex part yet!
And there was a very good chance that they never would, she admitted to herself. Where exactly along the path of ruination their friendship currently lay was still up in the air, which really worried her. Now that the heat of impulse had worn off, she was aware of how shamelessly she’d behaved. Even now, she could scarcely believe that person had been her.
She recalled the feverish look in his eyes as he watched her scream and buck against his hand. And going down on a man had never been her favorite in the best of circumstances, but with Ethan…it all felt so sexy and liberating. And strangely right. She could still feel his hot, hard length against her tongue, the frenzied thrusts of his hips under her hands as she plied his heavy sac, his dark shout of completion as he tunneled his fingers into her hair and spent himself deep inside her mouth.
Sara felt an answering throb deep between her legs and pressed her thighs together. It had been a heady feeling, she acknowledged with a shiver, to know that she had been in control of his desire, despite being on her knees in front of him. Her breath grew shallow in memory, and her aching nipples stiffened against the knit fabric of her top.
A buff, darkly tanned Indian chieftain danced past her, wearing a strategic loincloth and a smile, and did a double take upon seeing Sara seated so quietly and unmoving amongst the wildly gyrating groups of women.
“Hey, baby, you wanna dance?” he yelled over the din, crossing his hands behind his head and treating Sara to a front-row view of his impressive pectorals and washboard abs. He wore an ornate feathered headpiece and war paint on his face, but it was the blindingly white, bulging thong that demanded women sit up and take notice.
“Geronimo here is happy to see a sexy mama like you!” he crowed, striding over to the empty table that she occupied. Most of the girls in the bridal party were on the floor or lined up against the stage, trying to tuck dollar bills into bobbing banana-hammocks, or in the ridiculously long line for the bathroom.
Surprised and uncomfortable that she had been picked off despite the crowded stage and dance floor, Sara swallowed a groan and tried her best to act as if she hadn’t seen or heard him. She shifted in her chair, affected a casual slouch and reached for her half-empty beer, deliberately keeping her face averted.
“Aw, don’t play hard to get, baby! C’mon, let me give you a dance you’ll never forget!” He bopped over to her and leaped onto the arms of the chair she occupied, in effect straddling her so that all Sara had in her line of sight was his tremendous tumescence. The screams and hollering by nearby tables that accompanied his show of freakish agility was lost on Sara.
She was starting to get a little annoyed.
“Look, no thanks—my friend is the bride-to-be, she’s right over there ---”
“No, no, honey—this is all for you tonight!” Glistening with sweat and bronzer, he began to gyrate energetically to the primal beat that pounded out of the speakers, causing Sara to flatten herself against the back of the chair for fear that his “arrow” would accidentally slap her across the face as it flailed about rhythmically. Sara knew her face was flushed red from embarrassment, but did her best to not squirm out of the chair while he danced and thrust like a maniac above her. She held her breath and counted the seconds…twenty…thirty…forty…
Yipping like a deranged jackal, he flipped backward and landed in a dramatic crouch before Sara. She yelped as he suddenly grabbed her foot, pulled off her shoe and pressed it to his chest, leaning into her at the same time so that her leg folded in toward her chest—which had the unfortunate side effect of causing her skirt to ride dangerously high up along her thigh.
Sara shot her leg out and shoved him with all her considerable might. With a loud grunt, the dancer sailed backward, his plumage tumbling in disarray to the floor. Sara was half out of her chair, her heart in her throat and her hand reaching out inanely as she watched him almost knock over some passing waitresses before landing safely, if incongruously, on his naked bum.
Goooaaalll! she thought.
“What the hell, lady!” he shouted, scrambling onto his feet and securing his wayward thong in one hand. “Why’d you kick me?”
“I’m so sorry!” Sara bit her lips hard against the sudden laughter that threatened to bubble forth at that moment. She didn’t think the mock chieftain would appreciate it very much. “Sorry! It was an accident! I’m unbelievably ticklish, see. It was complete reflex.”
The young man scowled as he rolled his kohl-rimmed eyes. “Whatever. You’re still going to tip me though, right?”
“Huh?” Sara’s mouth fell open in mild shock.
“A tip. Y’know, for the dance? How ’bout it?”
“Um, no,” she said. “I don’t think so.”
“Hey, you owe me, lady. You got the goods!” He had the nerve to sound offended.
A snort escaped her as she picked her shoe up off the ground and unceremoniously shoved her foot back into it. “Please,” she retorted. “I’ve seen better in my morning Zumba class.”
“Screw you, lady, it’s not like you were complaining!” he yelled back with his hands on his hips.
Fine, two could play this game. Sara sat primly back in her chair and lifted her beer to her lips, taking a dainty sip and flat out ignoring the six-foot-tall cretin with too much attitude. No way in hell was she going to allow this college punk to intimidate her out of twenty hard-earned bucks. She was practicing what she preached to her fifth graders and doing her best to passively defuse the dancer’s growing ire.
To her relief, he just threw up his hands in disgust and stomped away. “Fucking figures,” he shot over his shoulder. “Fat-assed chick counting ceiling tiles, should’ve known you’d be cheap, too!” His firm buttocks jiggled impudently as he dove back into the throng.
How mortifying, she thought self-derisively, letting some random stranger’s mean-spirited comment bother her to the point of tears. But it had been a long night and she was anxious and sick over recent events.
Fuck it, she needed some air. She grabbed her purse and almost tripped in her eagerness to escape. She was almost out the double doors leading to the valet when the sound of male laughter coming from a nearby doorway stopped her in her tracks.
The layout of the ground floor was identical to the upstairs. Sara realized that there was another stage in this enormous place. Curiosity got the better of her, and she stepped through the thick, heavy curtain that shielded the room from view in the lobby.
She was surprised to find herself in a darkened but posh gentlemen’s club, complete with gleaming wood tables, a bar, and a lighted stage and pole against which two topless (and virtually bottomless) buxom blondes were kissing and stroking each other.