Seven Nights of Sin

by Lacey Alexander

  “Can I get you drinks?”

  He looked to Brenna. “More wine?”

  “Sure.” She felt so out of her element that she feared her voice had come out sounding mouselike. Even if she looked the part tonight, she wasn’t used to being surrounded by so much glitz.

  Damon asked Cynthia to bring a bottle of her best Pinot Grigio and, when she departed, took Brenna’s hand and led her onto the red velvet.

  It felt undeniably odd to lean back into the comfy pillows in her satin dress, bared legs stretched out before her with knees bent, especially in a roomful of people—yet at the same time, it made her suddenly feel much more a part of the open sensuality of the setting. Damon lay next to her, propping on one elbow to face her.

  “So, this is my surprise?” she asked.

  He gave a short nod.

  “It’s…pretty wild. I’m still trying to adjust.”

  “Adjust?”

  “I’m used to clubs that have tables—not beds.”

  Just then, a low moan echoed from somewhere nearby—one of the other beds, she supposed. She pointed vaguely toward the sound. “Are people really having sex here? Right here? In the club?”

  Lechery laced his grin. “That’s kind of the point of the beds.”

  She rolled her eyes at him, offering a contrite smile. “I get that part. But…why go out to have sex when you can have it at home or your hotel? Especially since I’m guessing you have to pay for one of these beds.”

  Damon reached out to touch her knee, using his thumb to caress. “Some people come here hoping to meet somebody they want to fuck. And people like us, who already know who they want to fuck…we come for the thrill.”

  Suddenly, she got it. “It’s…forbidden.”

  His eyes sparkled. “Right.”

  “Like doing it on the Eiffel Tower,” she went on. “Or in a gondola.”

  His hand slid warm up her thigh. “Remember what you said on the gondola last night? You said if you could, you would fuck me right there, and you wouldn’t care if anyone was watching.”

  A thin ribbon of embarrassment combined with arousal twined through her. Indeed, she had said that. Hard to believe, but true. Even harder to believe was that she’d meant it. Damon had transformed her into a shameless sex addict, it seemed.

  And just a little while ago, she’d been ready for whatever he wanted her to do, wherever he wanted her to do it. And maybe she’d been taken aback by the bluntness of this place, where the sex was so “in your face,” but as Damon’s warm touch slid gently higher, his fingertips flirting just beneath the hem of her dress now, maybe her shock was starting to fade. It faded even more when he kissed her, his tongue flirting gently with hers—a soft, sensual meeting of mouths.

  Just then, one of the bustier-clad waitresses appeared at the edge of their bed, bearing two stemmed glasses and an ice bucket with an open bottle of wine inside. “Your Pinot Grigio,” she said when they both looked up.

  And it occurred to Brenna that she should feel uncomfortable—but she didn’t.

  Because this was normal here—to be lying down, making out, in front of other people.

  “Thanks,” Damon said, then raised to pull out his wallet and pass the girl a tip.

  When the waitress had gone and Damon began pouring the wine, Brenna said, “I have some questions.”

  He paused to flash an amused look. “I can’t wait.”

  She smiled, knowing he found her naïveté entertaining. “Okay, how do you pay for the bed? I mean when? I didn’t see you give Cynthia any money.”

  “You give your credit card number when you call to make a reservation.”

  “Ah.” Made sense, she supposed. Her next question, though, wasn’t quite as pleasant. “And if people have sex on these beds, are they, um…clean?”

  “Yes, babe, they’re clean. The velvet cover is removable. Each time a bed is vacated, the whole compartment is sanitized.”

  “Good,” she said, then tilted her head. “But how do you know that?”

  “Because the brochures say so.”

  Brenna felt her eyes go wide. “They have brochures? That talk about cleaning the beds after people fuck on them?”

  Damon let out a throaty laugh. “It’s worded a little more delicately than that, but yeah. They’re at the door and probably on the bar. And…”

  “What?”

  “If you’re wondering about people hearing you, the compartments were designed to keep noise inside. I know you heard that moan a few minutes ago, so yeah, some leaks out, but mostly it’s contained.”

  “I suppose that’s delicately described in the brochure, too?”

  He gave a concise, playful nod.

  And she couldn’t help teasing him as he passed her a glass of wine. “Sounds like you’re an expert on this place.”

  “It’s not my first time,” he said with a wink. Then lifted his glass in a toast. “To new experiences.”

  She bit her lip, feeling at once shy but adventurous—and adventurous was quickly taking over. She gently clinked her glass against his. “To new experiences.”

  Four

  They drank their wine and talked a little more, and Damon shed his jacket, laying it aside on the edge of the bed. They kissed, cuddled, listened to the music, and did some people watching through their open curtain.

  When Damon drained his glass, he moved closer to her, resting his palm full across her stomach, his thumb barely grazing the underside of her breast—and making her yearn for more. She’d grown pleasantly intoxicated throughout the night, and now she was getting pleasantly drunk on this place—the bold colors, the lush fabrics, the flirtatious people all around them.

  “I want you,” she whispered.

  He leaned his forehead over to touch hers, his look deliberate and pointed. “You’re gonna have me.”

  Just then, Brenna caught a glimpse of a sexy leopard-print dress drifting past the edge of their bed—but then it stopped. Both she and Damon looked up.

  “Damon Andros,” the girl in the dress said with a smile.

  Hell. Yet another female fan. And this one was even more beautiful than most—her long, straight hair a stunning coppery color, her olive complexion flawless, her lips pouty and moist, the curves of her pert breasts peeking from inside the dress’s halter top.

  “Jenelle,” Damon said, sitting up to greet her with a smile more sincere than when other women had approached him. “How the hell are you?”

  The striking girl leaned her head back and gave a playful eye roll that—to Brenna’s surprise—made her instantly warm to her. That quickly, she seemed more likable and less affected than most of the women in Damon’s “fan club.”

  “I’m okay,” she said, but she didn’t sound okay. “Broke up with Danny.”

  Damon tilted his head, his look slightly scolding. “I warned you about him.”

  “Yeah, and I should have listened. Rat bastard cheated on me. With Darla.”

  “Shit,” Damon said, sounding truly shocked.

  At which point Jenelle shifted her focus to Brenna. “Darla’s my best friend,” she informed her as if they were pals. “Well, my ex–best friend.” Then she held out her hand across the bed. “I’m Jenelle.”

  “Brenna,” she introduced herself, briefly taking the girl’s soft hand. “And…sorry about your boyfriend.”

  Jenelle tossed her head in the other direction, clearly trying to play it off as no big deal, though it clearly was. “He didn’t deserve me,” she said, trying for a smile. “Which Damon told me the last time I saw him, like six months ago, but did I listen? No. Though you know how it is with some guys—how they’re just so hot and they just get under your skin somehow and make you crazy?”

  Brenna didn’t used to know about that—but as of this week, yeah, she did. So she cast a smile that said she could relate. “Yeah, I do.”

  “Brenna’s ex-husband was the same kind of rat bastard,” Damon said to Jenelle, then turned to Brenna. “I hope you don’t m
ind me sharing that.”

  She shook her head. “Not at all.” Wayne was such old news—yet she liked that Damon understood how awful cheating was, and she knew Jenelle agreed.

  “Your husband cheated on you?” Jenelle’s face twisted into an expression of true revulsion, as if she’d never heard such a terrible thing.

  Brenna nodded, then summed it up simply. “He was an ass.”

  Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Jenelle leaned closer. “My God—you poor girl. I mean, it was horrible enough with Danny, but I can’t imagine how awful it would be with someone you’re married to.”

  Brenna sighed. “Well, it definitely sucked. But the good news is—he’s history.”

  “And now you’re hanging out at Rendezvous with yummy Damon.” Jenelle grinned.

  “Indeed I am,” Brenna replied, and at the moment she couldn’t be sorry Wayne had driven her to end her marriage—given that Damon was an indisputable upgrade. She reached out to gently squeeze his knee through his blue jeans, and he covered her hand with his larger one.

  “So you’re out and about enjoying the single life again, huh?” Damon asked Jenelle.

  Like before, the gorgeous girl sighed but attempted to play if off lightly, smiling as she spoke. “Trying to get back on the horse is more like it. But I kind of messed up.” She scrunched her nose. “I came out alone tonight, thinking I’d see people I knew, or maybe meet someone nice, but I’ve basically just wandered around feeling lonely.”

  Damon gave his head a doubtful tilt. “Don’t tell me no guys have put the moves on you in that dress, honey, or I’ll know you’re lying.”

  She gave another light eye roll. “Oh, they have. But they were just…bleh. Too pushy. Or presumptuous. Or gross. That’s the problem when you go out looking to get laid. I can enjoy casual sex as much as the next girl, but it’s only fun if it happens naturally. Know what I mean?”

  She looked to Brenna for that last part, so even though the only casual sex she’d ever had in her life was with Damon, and even though sex with Damon was starting to feel way more than casual, she said, “Absolutely.”

  “So I think I’ll just go home and drown my sorrows in a bottle of wine, then sleep it off and start again tomorrow.” With that, she pushed to her feet. “It was nice meeting you,” she said to Brenna, “and great running into you, Damon. Call me the next time you’re in town and we’ll do lunch or something. I’m kind of hard up for friends right now because all of mine are hanging with Darla and Danny, the shit-heads.”

  Despite wanting to be alone with Damon—well, as alone as one could be at Rendezvous—Brenna truly felt bad for Jenelle. It was one thing to lose your man, but another entirely to lose your friends at the same time. “If you’re just gonna go home and drink, we have wine here.” She motioned to the ice bucket, the bottle jutting from it. “Hang out a while.”

  Jenelle tilted her head and flashed a knowing smile. “That’s sweet, but I don’t think you two came here to socialize—except maybe with each other.” She winked.

  “We’ve got all night,” Brenna told her, not even embarrassed anymore that it was assumed she and Damon were going to have sex. And though it was already late, she’d learned that Las Vegas nights lasted longer—even for her—than nights most other places. She went so far as to pat the red velvet next to her. “Come on in and have a drink.”

  Jenelle bit her lower lip, looking tempted, and Brenna was struck again by her beauty. “Are you sure you don’t mind? I won’t stay long.”

  “Yes, I’m sure.” And even if it was a bit hard to believe she was inviting such a stunning girl into “their bed,” Brenna kept insisting because Jenelle was so much nicer than most women that attractive—and because hearing about her evening made Brenna realize that maybe life wasn’t always beautiful for the beautiful people. In fact, maybe it even sucked sometimes.

  “Well then,” Jenelle said, “I’m headed to the bar for another glass—and I’ll grab another bottle of wine while I’m there. What kind?”

  “Pinot,” Damon replied, then eased the bottle from the bucket to flash the label.

  “Be right back,” Jenelle tossed over her shoulder with a smile just before the leopard-print dress disappeared.

  After which Damon turned to Brenna, his eyes brimming with surprise.

  “Are you bummed?” she asked. “That I asked her to stay?”

  He smiled softly. “No—you’re right, we have all night. But it sure as hell caught me off guard.”

  Brenna shrugged. “She seemed nice. And kind of adrift. Maybe I’m just thinking back to when my marriage broke up. It really sucks, especially when your friends in common have to choose sides.”

  He nodded. “She is nice.”

  “How do you know her?”

  “She’s a showgirl—a dancer at the MGM now, but I originally met her when she danced at the Tropicana, at an after-show party. I’ve known her for years.”

  “Have you had sex with her?”

  “A long time ago. Just once.”

  “Does she dance topless, like in the show we saw tonight?”

  “Used to. But the last time I saw her, she’d just gotten promoted to a more prominent role where the costumes aren’t quite as revealing. In fact, I’m betting that has something to do with her troubles. Darla’s in the same show, and I don’t think she was happy when Jenelle rose to the feature spot.”

  Brenna grimaced. “So you think Darla got together with Jenelle’s boyfriend for revenge?”

  Damon shrugged. “Who knows, but it seems likely.”

  Brenna couldn’t help thinking how ugly that was. And what a racy and competitive world Jenelle lived in. “What makes someone want to be a showgirl here?” she wondered aloud.

  “Jenelle once told me she’d tried her damnedest to make it on Broadway, but couldn’t—her voice wasn’t strong enough. All she wanted to do in life was dance, so this seemed like the next best place.”

  Just then, Jenelle reappeared, an uncorked bottle of wine in one hand and a glass in the other. “I’m back.”

  “Come on in,” Brenna said, motioning her inside.

  Jenelle lounged on the other side of Brenna, holding out her glass for Damon to fill. With Jenelle suddenly so much closer, Brenna’s attention was drawn unwittingly back to the other woman’s breasts, her cleavage looking tan and perfect. And for the first time, she also saw Jenelle’s feet—wrapped in red, strappy, fuck-me heels. Though Brenna would never have matched them with the leopard print, Jenelle had enough style to pull it off.

  “This dress is gorgeous,” Jenelle said, reaching out to run one hand softly over the satin at Brenna’s hip.

  Unbidden, Brenna’s pussy flinched at the touch—to leave her utterly unnerved. She took a long swallow of wine and tried to act normal. “Thanks.”

  “Your boobs look great in it,” Jenelle added, her hand still on Brenna’s dress.

  “Mmm—they do, don’t they?” Damon chimed in, leaning over to drop a small kiss on the ridge of Brenna’s breast. A shiver echoed through the small of her back—not only from the kiss but the fact that the curtain was still open, and Jenelle was still touching her, so casually, easily, as if such contact were commonplace. Maybe it was in her world.

  “Yours look pretty fabulous, too,” Brenna then heard herself say to Jenelle.

  God, what was she doing? Why had she said that? They did look fabulous, but since when did she hand out compliments on other women’s breasts?

  Yet neither Jenelle or Damon seemed taken aback. Instead, Jenelle playfully jiggled her chest in the leopard print and replied, “That’s why I bought the dress.”

  At which point Brenna recalled what Jenelle did for a living and decided it was probably completely normal in her circle of acquaintances for women to discuss their breasts.

  But the crux of her thighs still felt heavy, and her mind spun, confused. Now she sort of wished she hadn’t invited Jenelle to stay. Because she just wanted to roll over into Damon’s arms and
kiss him, touch him, have her way with him. The need had been building all night, and now, with an alarming suddenness, it was growing fierce, like it had last night in the gondola.

  “So how do you two know each other?” Jenelle asked.

  Damon answered, explaining about Brenna’s job change and why they were in Vegas.

  “Wow—that’s so cool,” Jenelle said, finally moving her hand away as casually as she’d first placed it. “Congratulations.”

  Brenna struggled to pretend she wasn’t burning up with lust. “Thanks. I’m really excited about it, and Damon’s been a great teacher.” Meeting his gaze, she—once again—couldn’t quite stop herself from spewing out her next thought. “In more ways than one.”

  “Is that so?” Jenelle lowered her voice and cast a grin that said, Spill.

  “Well,” Brenna began, trying to think how to answer—because she wasn’t going to admit to either one of them that she’d never had a casual affair before—“I hadn’t been with anyone since my divorce. And Damon…helped get me out of that rut.”

  Next to her, Jenelle sighed. “I’m so jealous. I need somebody to get me out of my rut. I haven’t had sex in a month.” She said it like it had been a five-year drought.

  But Brenna was beginning to understand something. Maybe you didn’t miss sex so much if what you had was average or even just good. Now that she’d had Damon, though, she knew she was going to miss it like crazy when it was over. Once you’d had mind-blowing sex, it would be harder to live without it—and she was guessing Jenelle had had plenty of mind-blowing sex.

  Jenelle wanted to hear more about what they’d been doing since they’d arrived—what bars they’d hit, how many acts they’d signed, what restaurants they’d eaten at. They both supplied answers, and Brenna drained what was probably her fifth glass of wine tonight—thankful she’d stretched it out over so many hours or she’d have surely passed out by now.

  “Today,” Damon went on, “I didn’t have much business to take care of, just a few phone calls, so I took Brenna shopping.”

  “Oooh, what’d you buy?” Jenelle asked, her perfectly coiffed eyebrows raising.