by Eden Summers
“Don’t go.” Leah made a drunken attempt to clutch Gabi’s arm and missed. “I was joking about Blake’s body.” She peered up at Gabi with pleading eyes. “Well, OK, maybe I wasn’t. You’re lucky to have such a hottie. He’s every woman’s wet dream.”
“Including yours?” Gabi asked.
Leah jerked back in shock. “Hell, no.”
Gabi bit her tongue, wishing she could sober up to stop the hateful thoughts swimming around in her head. As much as the conversation hurt, she knew Leah and Alana would never talk like this if they knew what she was going through.
“Where are you going?” Alana’s mom asked with parental concern.
“Just outside the front doors. I won’t be long.”
Leah opened her mouth to protest, but Alana cut her off. “Let her go. I’m not really fond of sticking around a female strip club anyway. Once Kate chats up a stripper and gets her number we’ll follow you.”
Gabi glanced away from the sympathy in Alana’s eyes and took her first step toward the entrance of the club. The floor swayed, followed by her head, and then her stomach voiced its reluctance to hold the liquid it contained. Quickly, she diverted her course to the female restrooms where she heaved every last ounce of alcohol, along with her dignity. Once the private humiliation was over, she freshened up in the basin. She didn’t bother looking at herself in the mirror. Her haunted gaze would only compound the situation. Instead, she stumbled on numb legs to the cloak room, retrieved her coat, and made her way outside.
She closed her eyes when the cold air hit her skin, and raised her face to the sky. The comfort of darkness helped, a little. Yet she still yearned for the peace of the Australian starlit skies and fresh Queensland air. Not the manic, tainted surroundings of Vegas, with the night lit up as if it were day.
People strode around her, carrying on with life even though hers had stopped spinning. She didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know how to move forward. Or how to dislodge the torment and confusion.
On any other day—before the drama of this week had shattered her— she would’ve loved experiencing the debauchery of her first trip here. Right now, though, she wanted to be alone. She hadn’t even had time to talk to Blake. He’d come home from Richmond with minutes to spare before leaving for Vegas, and her news wasn’t something she could spring on him in public.
“Gabi?” Alana’s voice called soft and low, barely registering over the excitement of the city.
She opened her eyes, glancing at Alana’s worried expression before lowering her gaze.
Alana’s hands brushed Gabi’s coat covered shoulders. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
Gabi sucked in a breath, wavering, so close to crumpling. Her body began to shiver, from the cold or belated shock, she wasn’t sure.
Alana’s arms enveloped her, holding her in a tight hug. “Do you want me to call Blake?”
Gabi shook her head and squeezed her eyes closed, releasing a trail of scorching tears down her cheeks. “I’m going to go back to the hotel.” She spoke into Alana’s shoulder. The Bellagio was only a five-minute walk from here. “I don’t want to ruin your night any more than I already have.”
“I’m not leaving you alone, Gabi.” Alana held her tighter. “Why don’t I take you back to your suite, and we can watch a pay-per-view.”
Gabi continued to shake her head and pulled out of her friend’s arms. She stepped back, putting distance between them, letting the frigid air cool her heated face.
“Then tell me what’s wrong,” Alana continued. “I may not be able to help, but talking might make it better.”
Gabi sucked in a ragged breath until her lungs filled to capacity. She couldn’t say the words, otherwise Blake would’ve known by now. And once she was strong enough to speak, he would be the first to know.
Gabi swiped at the tears lining her cheeks and laughed, hoping to placate Alana. “I’m fine. Just having a drunken breakdown. Give me five minutes to pull myself together, and I’ll come back inside.”
The last thing she wanted to do was walk back into the strip club, but if she didn’t get the alone time necessary to regain her resolve, she didn’t think she’d be able to get through the rest of the night, let alone the entire weekend. “I promise,” she continued. “Once I settle down, I’ll find you.”
It wasn’t a lie. Gabi did want to enjoy Alana’s bachelorette party. She just wasn’t sure if settling down was an option she had any control over.
Sean climbed from the cab and followed the guys into the beauty salon. He had to admit, the night wasn’t as lame as he expected. When he’d been told their plan of strippers and booze was being changed to a pansy-ass game of challenges, he’d been annoyed. But Mason’s bitchy attitude made the lack of naked women worthwhile.
Not that he liked seeing his friends struggle…well, yeah, that may be a lie. When it came to Mason, Sean was happy to watch the guy suffer. The band front-man had the monopoly on cocky arrogance, so being a witness to his stress over the upcoming album had turned into a pleasurable experience. The rest of the band knew he’d kick out of the funk soon enough. None of them were worried. Instead, they enjoyed the fuck out of Mason’s loss in confidence.
Up ahead, Mitch held the door to the salon open, and Sean stepped inside. The acrid scent of nail polish and incense hit him like a physical blow. He ignored it, sinking into the zone. He had a date with hot wax and a sexy beautician. What more could a guy ask for?
“The bachelor party?” a middle-aged woman asked from behind a waist-high counter. She had dark wavy hair and a friendly smile that reached her light hazel eyes. Sean studied every inch of her, imagining her hands roaming his crotch, the way the warm wax would tingle against his skin, the sharp sting of pain and pleasure that would follow.
“Yeah,” Mitch murmured from beside him, his shoulders swaying as he pulled the door closed.
“Great.” The woman clapped her palms together. “I have a room set up for the waxing, but I was told there would be three more treatments specified once you arrive. What else would you like done?” She handed a brochure to Ryan.
Mason snatched the paper and began scanning the list.
“I’m easy,” Blake spoke from the back of the group. “I’ll get my nails painted a pretty shade of black.”
“Bullshit,” Mason spat. “If I’m getting my eyebrows waxed, you have to get something better than that.”
“Nah.” Blake gave a lazy shake of his head. “I really don’t.”
A grin spread across Sean’s face. This truly was an awesome night.
“Lighten up, asshole. This is meant to be fun.” Mitch stumbled forward, grabbed the brochure from Mason and handed it back to the woman with an apologetic smile. “Why don’t you surprise us? Just be kind, OK?”
The woman inclined her head. “Sure. Let’s get started.” She outstretched her arm, gesturing toward the hall. Her hands were small and delicate—not big enough to wrap around Sean’s cock, yet he could already anticipate the smoothness of her palms against his shaft. “Whoever is getting the Brazilian can go to the first room on the left. Maree is waiting for you.”
Maree? Damn, he’d become used to the thought of fucking this lady's pretty little mouth. No biggie. Nine out of ten beauticians were hot. It was one of the main reasons he kept coming back for more.
“And you,” she glanced at Blake, “can take a seat at the nail counter over there.” She pointed to a table with an overhead lamp in the far corner of the room. “I’ll be able to paint your nails for you.”
Sean turned to the guys, a grin plastered on his face, and gave them a salute. “I’ll see you in a little while.”
Mitch chuckled, his intoxication showing in the glaze of his eyes. “Have fun, you crazy bastard.”
Oh, he would. No doubt about it. He strode down the hall, stopping at the first door and slid it across, stepping into the dimly lit room. Candles burned in the corners of the counter stretching along the far wall, and a massage table sat in the mi
ddle of the room, draped with a small white towel and one of those paper thongs he’d grown to hate.
A curvy woman stood with her back to him, her light strawberry-blonde hair pulled into a ponytail and resting against her spine. Her concentration sat on the container in front of her, her gloved hands stirring a stick through what he knew would be warming wax. She glanced over her shoulder, her gorgeously smooth hair swishing around her neck to land against her chest. The room was dark, seductively so, yet he still noticed the blue in her irises and the spark of recognition in her gaze.
“Hi.” He grinned at her, his cock already thickening, eager for action. “I’m Sean Taiden.”
Her mouth opened, then snapped closed. Shyness crept into her ocean eyes, and she smiled up at him under delicate lashes. “I know who you are.”
Really? He quirked a brow. It wasn’t often that people did. Yeah, Reckless Beat were famous—Mason, Mitch, and now even Blake being household names. But Sean was the faceless guy who sat at the back of the stage. As Mason would say, he literally sat on his ass and hit shit all day. Nobody knew him. Although she did look familiar. “Have we met before?”
She shrugged and turned around to concentrate on stirring the wax. “I’m from Richmond.”
Ahh, a woman from his home town. “So we know each other?”
“No. And don’t worry, you wouldn’t remember me.” She placed the stick on the counter and turned back to face him. “Have you had a Brazilian before?”
“Yeah.” And the more he thought about getting another, the harder his dick became. He pulled his shirt over his head. Entirely unnecessary seeing as though she only needed to focus on his crotch, he just wanted to see her eyes brighten with his show of skin.
She didn’t disappoint.
He couldn’t afford not to have a flawless body when it came to pussy. If it wasn’t for his physique, every groupie would pass him over for Mason. He fucking hated getting scraps.
He reached for his belt and unfastened the clasp.
She stared at him with wide eyes, her mouth agape. “OK. Well, I’ll leave you to put on the paper underwear, for modesty’s sake.” She didn’t move, simply stood there, watching as he toed off his shoes and undid the first button of his jeans.
“I’m not modest,” he drawled, and pushed his pants and boxers down his thighs.
She gaped for long seconds, and then swiftly turned back to the counter. “I guess not,” she whispered and cleared her throat. “If you’d like to lie down on the table we can get started.”
He did as requested, lying across the thin layer of paper draped down the length of the cushioned table. He rested his hands behind his head and stared at Maree as she turned with a stick full of wax.
She didn’t make eye contact. Her face now devoid of emotion as darkness crept into the top of her cheeks. “Can you turn one of your legs out and hold your…penis to the side, please?”
He chuckled, enjoying her discomfort. “Sure.”
She leaned over his package and used her fingers to make the already tight skin of his sac, taut. With efficient strokes, she made two trails of wax, one along the lower side of his shaft, and the other over his balls. Then she turned, placing the application stick into a bin, and came back to blow on the cooling wax, lightly tapping it to see if it was set.
“Ready?” she asked.
He didn’t reply, merely grinned down at her until her blush grew darker.
The first rip of the wax stung. The usual burst of pain filled his lungs and made his cock pulse. Normally, he wasn’t a masochist. Pain in the bedroom didn’t crank his chain. Yet once he had a stranger’s hands on his balls and the thrill of customers waiting in the reception area, things changed.
Maree continued to apply the wax and remove it minutes later. Apply and remove. Apply and remove. Until his cock was so sensitive, the mere grip of his own hand made him want to come. She didn’t speak. Refused to make eye contact, yet her sassy little tongue kept coming out to moisten her pretty pink bottom lip.
“Done,” she announced, snapping off her plastic gloves and placing them in the bin.
“Really?” he drawled. “You’re really finished with me?”
She glanced at him in confusion, and he released his erect cock, letting it bob against his stomach. Her eyes widened, the shyness creeping back into those big blue irises.
“There’s nothing else you want to do?”
Her gaze moved to his shaft and then back to his face. “I shouldn’t.” She paused to swallow. “I’d get in a lot of trouble.”
“You won’t.” He reached for her hand and pulled her close, placing a kiss on her knuckles. “I can be quiet, if you can.”
She bit her lip, and ever so slightly, her mouth tilted in a shy smile, exposing tiny dimples.
He took the passion in her gaze as a sign of approval, and sat up, maneuvering his legs to hang over the side of the table. He dragged her forward, securing her between his thighs and lifted her chin with his fingers. She stared at him, a mix of awe and surprise in her features.
“I want to kiss you,” he murmured, leaning in so their faces were mere inches apart.
She replied with a whimper and closed her eyes, her hands coming to rest at his sides. He chuckled against her lips, loving her sweet acquiescence, and swept his mouth against hers. She moaned into the kiss, her fingers hesitantly moving over the smooth skin where his legs joined his waist.
“Touch me.” He spoke into her mouth. “Grab my cock.”
Slowly, she complied, drawing her palms over his skin until her nails brushed the length of his shaft. He tensed, so fucking close to exploding, and deepened the kiss. He devoured her, breathed in her needy whimpers, tasting the sweetness on her tongue.
“We need a condom,” he whispered.
She nodded and stepped back, allowing him to push from the table and stride the few steps to retrieve his jeans from the floor. He scrounged through the pockets, grabbing one of the three condoms he’d placed there—because a guy never knew how lucky he’d get—and maneuvered back around to her side.
He stopped when they were toe to toe and grasped her hips, lifting her to sit on the table. Without preamble, he gripped the waistband of her navy pants and began to pull, dragging them down her thighs, over her knees. He yanked them off, along with her black shoes, then stepped back to admire her soaked white panties. The virginal, lace underwear spoke of inexperience, yet the slight gleam in her eye showed a hidden seductress waiting to break free.
“Spread ‘em.” He nudged his knee against hers and pushed between her legs.
Damn the nail polish permeating the air. If they were back in his hotel suite, he’d be able to smell her arousal, be able to taste her sweetness on his tongue.
“Open this for me.” He handed her the condom packet and grinned at the seconds it took her to blink back to reality. “You OK?”
She nodded.
“Good.” He grabbed the waistband of her panties and yanked them off, making her gasp with his roughness. Once the thin material hit the floor, he stared at the apex of her thighs, enjoying the tempting sight of her hairless pussy. “Nice.”
“Glad you approve,” she replied, spreading her legs a little wider.
He loved the female body. He could stare for hours, play for days, he would never get enough. Reaching out his hand, he waited for the condom. With shaky fingers, she placed it in his palm, and three seconds later, he was suited and ready for action. He gripped her ass, pulling her forward to hover on the edge of the table. She gasped, clinging to his shoulders and hissed out a breath when his cock found the entrance of her sex.
“Get ready, sugar.” He slid the head of his shaft between her folds, gauging her arousal, testing her need. He teased her until she began to whimper, her gentle fingers now gripping the back of his neck tightly. “You’re not a screamer are you?”
She shook her head. “No,” she panted.
“OK, then.” In one thrust, he sank home, enveloping his s
haft in tightness, causing him to stifle a groan of utter satisfaction. Her nails dug into his skin, and she lowered her head to rest against his shoulder.
“Do me hard,” she begged.
He growled, loving her style, enjoying her loss of inhibitions. He plunged into her, the harsh slaps of skin against skin echoing in the room. She was slick, his cock driving in an out of her, smooth as silk.
“What’s your trigger?” he asked, wanting to bring her along with him as he approached the finish line. He’d had enough women to figure out they were all different. Some liked nipple play, others clit stimulation, or anal. He enjoyed everything. Most of all, he appreciated the way they succumbed to pleasure.
She stiffened and pulled back to look him in the eye. “I don’t understand.” Innocence crept into her features, and he didn’t want it there. He wanted her undone, writhing against him, her covered breasts thrusting for friction.
And why the hell hadn’t he taken her top off? Shit, he was a man on a mission tonight. Normally, he was all over those puppies.
“What do you like? How do I make you feel good?”
Her dimples came out again, and she broke eye contact. “Just do me harder.” She leaned back to rest one hand against the massage table behind her, while the other slid down her waist to her clit.
Christ. She may be shy talking about sex, but she didn’t have a problem helping herself reach climax. He watched, fascinated as she worked the tips of her manicured fingertips over her clit. It was so cute. So feminine. Enough to make his balls tighten at the beauty. He gripped her hips, pounding hard enough that his sac slapped against her ass. She sucked in a breath and winced. For a moment, he thought he’d hurt her, but she narrowed her eyes, her greedy stare daring him to continue. Her nails dug into the table, and with the following thrusts the wooden legs moved, jumping against the floor with sharp, squeaking protests.
Maree closed her eyes and began to whimper with each penetration, her hand frantically gliding back and forth over her nub. Her whimpers became faster, louder, and he hoped like fuck she was about to come because he was already there.
