Cruising the Strip

by Radclyffe

“No, I don’t find consuming passion too violent. I don’t believe that needs so deep you bleed from them are dark, only powerful. After all, blood is life.”

  “And what would a vampire story be without blood?” Chase’s pale, perfectly shaped lips thinned slightly, with what might have been regret.

  “Incomplete,” I said immediately and saw her eyes, which I had first taken to be a deep brown, suddenly become so black the irises nearly merged with the molten centers. I couldn’t look away, and feared I would never want to.

  “Are you here alone?” Chase asked.

  “You know I am,” I answered, certain it was true without understanding how.

  She held out her hand. “Come.”

  Her long, tapered fingers were cool as they closed around mine, and as she clasped my arm close to her body, I felt the power in her deceptively slender frame. I was aware of hallways, an elevator, a door opening, but I viewed these commonplace things as if through shifting fog. A sharp, pungent odor swirled around us, like leaves burning on a cold autumn night. My skin tingled as if I had stepped from a hot springs into a frigid snow. My blood rushed so close to the surface, I felt more acutely alive than I ever had before. Beside me, Chase moved with effortless grace, her expression unreadable, at once intense and remote.

  Then I was inside a room unlike any I had seen in the hotel thus far. The windows were covered with heavy brocade drapes, the dark, richly papered walls lost to shadow. The only illumination came from a heavily shaded lamp in one corner of the bedroom just beyond the room in which I stood. The bed was raised, with gleaming carved posts at each corner. The very air felt thick and languid against my skin.

  I dropped my briefcase on a nearby chair and started forward without invitation, knowing my destiny as if I had been in this place before. Chase caught my hand and turned me back to face her.

  “Do you know me?” she asked simply.

  “I feel like I do.” In the low light, her skin took on color and mine blanched until the hand I extended to touch her once again was the same shimmering white as her face. I wondered if my eyes had turned from blue to the fathomless black depths that looked back at me. “I recognized you this afternoon.” I touched my breast, over my heart. “Here.”

  Chase made a sound low in her throat that was half moan, half growl before clasping my shoulders and pulling me to her. Her mouth on mine was hot in the way ice burns, and I opened to a heat that was not flame, but something far more dangerous. Through my half-closed lids the room took on a hazy red glow and I would have fallen if Chase had not wrapped one arm around my waist, cleaving me to her. Her body was hard, power beyond simple strength rippling beneath the surface. I pushed her jacket from her shoulders and she freed one arm, then the other, never letting me slip out of her embrace. Tilting my head back, I offered my throat while I pulled at her shirt, knowing I was tearing the fine linen and not caring. When I slid my hands beneath the pale weave, I touched perfection. Sleek, flawless skin, perfect breasts—as pristine and pure as driven snow. I caressed her, brushing my fingertips over her small, hard nipples until she groaned against the base of my neck. I felt the graze of her teeth, careful and restrained. When I gripped the back of her head and urged her to plunder, she pulled away.

  “No.” And for the first time, her implacable countenance faltered. She trembled as I stroked her breasts, and I saw hunger smoldering in her eyes, a hunger that went deeper than anything I might touch.

  “Yes.” I retreated from her embrace but gripped her arm, compelling her to follow me to the bed. I felt her reluctance but would not let her deny us what we both craved. “Yes.”

  I held her gaze as I unbuttoned my blouse, unzipped my skirt, and removed each article of clothing until I was completely nude. She watched me, strangely helpless, as if the slightest movement would break the spell and we would find ourselves once more in the brightly lit, noise-filled chaos of the other world. The world where we had never belonged but lived as exiles, incomplete and forever wanting.

  “Please,” I whispered, reaching for the gold belt buckle at her waist. I opened her belt, then worked the zipper down. Hooking my fingers over the waistband, I searched her eyes. I saw worlds in them, past, present, future, sliding around me and over me and through me until I was dizzy. “Please.”

  And then the landscape beneath the dark mirror of her eyes shifted, and flames leapt in them. She tore her shirt away and cast the remnants aside. Then she grasped my arms and pushed me down on the bed, following an instant later after she’d shed her clothes. When I reached up to draw her into my arms, she clasped my wrists, one in each hand, and forced my arms down to the bed. At the same time, she knelt between my thighs, forcing my legs apart, so that I lay exposed, arms outstretched, legs open to accept her as she curved above me, a specter of fire and ice.

  “Touch me,” I begged, and she brought her weight down upon me, roaming my neck with her mouth as she fit her sex to mine. My skin burned wherever hers touched mine, and I writhed beneath her, swollen and hot. Although she kept my arms pinned so I could not hold her, I wrapped my legs around her thighs. She was hard against my hardness, wet against my wetness. When I rubbed myself against her, she moaned and I felt the sharp bite of teeth at my throat.

  “Take me,” I urged, thrusting up as she bore down between my legs. Blood pounded, thick and heavy, in my loins, making my clitoris pulse in time to the beat of my heart. Our one heart. “Fuck me, please.”

  She released one arm and kissed me as she slipped her hand between us. I cried out against her mouth as she filled me with those long, cool fingers that heated me inside until I felt my body turn to flame. I cupped her neck, refusing to let her draw away as I thrust my tongue into her mouth, exchanging fire for fire. She pushed deeper inside me, and I felt my orgasm ripple and spread from the tight walls around her fingers to the base of my clitoris and down my legs. I tossed my head and felt a sharp pain in the side of my tongue. Then I tasted blood. My blood. My blood, her fire, our passion.

  She jerked her head away, crying hoarsely, “No.”

  “Don’t stop, I’m coming,” I moaned, as she reared back. I reached for her as she knelt between my thighs, her arm as hard as stone between my legs. “I’m coming. Please.”

  “Remember me,” she whispered as she bowed her head over my body and drove me to orgasm, once and then a second time, until the breath left my body and I pleaded helplessly for her to stop.

  She was so beautiful, kneeling between my legs, and through the haze of my own pleasure, I thought I saw her eyes glow red, as if reflecting the passion she had unleashed upon my body. Reaching down, she began to draw the sheet over my body, but I found the strength to raise myself and still her hand.

  “You haven’t come,” I murmured, cupping her cheek as I kissed her. My fingers were so hot now that she felt even cooler. “What do you need?”

  “Nothing,” she said, her voice thick and low. “You’ve given me everything I need.”

  I framed her face with both hands and searched her eyes. The fire still burned in them. “Not quite everything.”

  Finding her hand, I drew it to me and pressed her fingertips to the place where the pulse still beat hard and heavy between my thighs. “I need you, too. I need you inside me. I need to be inside of you. Please don’t say no.”

  “You don’t know—”

  “I do.” I kissed her, my hands in her hair, my breasts against her breasts, my tongue searching for what we both needed. I felt a small stab of pain again and then the clean, coppery taste of my blood. She trembled and would have pulled away, but I would not let her. She was so much stronger than I, but her need made her weak. Now, in the heat of our wanting, I was the stronger one. I guided her down as I lay back, until her face brushed the inner curve of my thigh.

  “Take me,” I whispered for the second time that night. “Drink me,” I implored, for the first time in my life.

  Still, she tried to resist, but I pressed myself to her mouth. Her tongue was soft
, her mouth gentle, her hands careful as she entered me again. I caressed her jaw as she kissed me, her fingers taking me closer to coming with each stroke.

  “I’m close, I’m close,” I told her. “Please, come with me.”

  She groaned, and I felt the last of her resistance fall before the rising tide of our singular need. Then a wave of heat like nothing I’d ever felt before seared through my being, burning a pathway to my heart, to my soul, to a place beyond time. She filled me and I filled her, with all that we were.

  When I awakened, the sheet covered me and she was gone. I bent my leg and saw the small shadow of a bruise in the bend of my thigh. In a few hours, it would be gone. In a few hours, she might be gone. But I didn’t intend to wait that long. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and reached for my clothes.

  I intended to find her. What is life, after all, if not the flame of passion?

  Hard Ten

  by Radclyffe

  Just as Micki Wright laid her chips on the Pass Line and held out her hand to accept the dice from the stickman, a deeply tanned blonde with ocean blue eyes and short, sleek hair edged up to the craps table opposite her and nodded as if they were acquaintances. They weren’t. Micki had never seen her before. She didn’t forget women built like her—etched muscles in her biceps and forearms, broad swimmer’s shoulders tapering to a narrow waist—and all of it nicely showcased in a black silk T-shirt stretched tight over prominent pectorals and small, neat breasts. Micki couldn’t see much of her black jeans, but she had no trouble imagining the toned thighs and firm ass that had to be there. After a few brief seconds admiring the very impressive package, Micki turned her attention back to the table.

  “Dice are out, hands high,” the stickman called, and the players around the long, narrow table lifted their hands off the rail. Micki shook the dice and let them fly. They bounced off the far rail, and the gamblers drew a collective breath as the small red cubes came to rest. “Natural seven,” the stickman announced. Everyone cheered, and the dealers paid out the bets.

  The blonde gave Micki an approving nod and a smile that said, very nice, and Micki’s stomach did a little roll. The dice came back to her and she had to look away from the captivating face to place her chips and shoot again. Her come out roll was an easy eight, and excitement built around the table. She threw again—a fever five, then an easy four, and finally, a three and five.

  The stickman announced, “Winner eight,” and the guy in Bermuda shorts and Hawaiian shirt standing next to her clapped her on the shoulder, collected his chips, and left the table. The blonde took his place.

  “Nice shooting.” Her voice was chocolate smooth, dark and creamy with a rich aftertaste. Micki’s stomach tightened a little more and her clit bucked in her jeans. She supposed anyone watching would think them mirror opposites, her with her dark hair and eyes and white T-shirt versus the blonde in black. Micki had worn a sports bra, but not a heavy one, and since her nipples were as hard as her clit, she knew they had to be obvious if anyone cared to look. Apparently, the blonde did, because she dropped her gaze for an instant, then looked into Micki’s eyes. “Very nice.”

  “Thanks.” Micki’s throat was dry and her drink was empty, but she wasn’t passing the dice while she was winning. Besides, she wasn’t sure she was reading the signals right. She couldn’t imagine she was the kind of woman the blonde would go for. Micki had almost as many muscles as her, and she gave off “top” vibes even though that wasn’t always the case. And if she hadn’t been planning to spend the evening in such a public place, she might have been packing. She wouldn’t be surprised if the blonde had a little something extra behind the buttons of her 501s herself. No, the appreciation she was picking up on was probably just friendly approval from one stud to another.

  Micki let loose the dice and rolled double fives—a hard ten. Next to her, the blonde placed a huge chip stack betting that Micki would hit the point. Micki wanted to win for her. She wanted to please her. Didn’t matter that she didn’t know her. She just wanted to see her eyes light up again. She rolled the dice, and a relieved sigh flowed around the table when an eight came up, and not a seven. She was still alive. She rolled a six. Then she glanced at the blonde, who nodded encouragingly, and let the dice fly. Double fives came up. Yes!

  “Hard ten again,” the blonde murmured, resting her hand in the small of Micki’s back. “You’re good.”

  It could be just a friendly gesture, but Micki’s legs went weak. She pocketed her chips and passed the dice to the guy next to her. Then she turned to the woman whose hand still rested on her back. “Let me buy you a drink.”

  “I’d like that,” the blonde said, “but I’m already late for an engagement.”

  “Oh, sure. Got it.” Of course, she’d have a date. They stepped away from the table and others immediately took their place. People hurriedly brushed past them, anxious to get to their addiction of choice—the bar, the gaming tables, the slots, or just the teeming streets where anything goes and everyone keeps your secret.

  “Listen, why don’t you come with me?” the blonde said. “One of the sponsors is throwing this bash, and they always provide all the entertainment.”

  “What do you do?” Micki asked, stalling while she tried to get a read on the invitation.

  “I’m a poker pro. One of the online franchises sponsors me.” The blonde held out her hand. “Fenn Anderson.”

  Micki shook her hand, liking the strength in Fenn’s long fingers and noticing that she seemed in no hurry to break their connection. Still, Micki wasn’t sure about this “party” idea. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m not certain this is my kind of thing.”

  Fenn stepped closer and lowered her voice. “Unless I’m way off base, you and I probably have the same taste in women. There will be some great looking girls there, and believe me, they like playing as much as we do.”

  “I guess it’s not your first one of these parties,” Micki said, doubting very much that she and Fenn had the same tastes. Everyone assumed from looking at her that she was into femmes. That wasn’t the case, most of the time, but Fenn sure looked and sounded as if she liked the lipstick girls. “Who else will be there? I’m not into guys. That gonna be a problem?”

  “Nope. Unless you signal that you’re into something, no one will pressure you.” She grinned, her eyes dancing. “If you just want to watch, that works, too.”

  “Even for you?”

  Fenn ran her hand down Micki’s bare arm. “You can watch me all you want.”

  “Let’s go then.” Micki’s rapidly swelling clit was already calling the shots, and watching would be better than nothing.

  Fenn led the way through the casino and out onto the expansive rear veranda where individual cabanas as large as some middle-class family homes ringed an enormous free-form pool complete with waterfall and multiple hot spas. Parties seemed to be going on in all of the buildings, but the artfully arranged landscaping provided natural barriers that dampened the noise and obscured visibility from one cabana to the next. When they made their way down a palm-shrouded walk and inside to a large open room lit by flickering faux-flames in wall sconces, Micki saw the party had been going on for quite a while. Even in the low lighting, she made out the forms of men and women lounging on sofas and oversized chairs throughout the room. More than a few couples were sharing kisses and caresses along with their drinks.

  “Looks like we’re late,” Micki said.

  “How can we be late?” Fenn slung her arm around Micki’s shoulder and gave her a squeeze. “We just got here.”

  Micki laughed and some of her tension dissipated. She might not be Fenn’s date, but they were together somehow, and she liked that. As they made their way through the throng toward the bar, she tried not to stare, but considering the number of half-undressed people—of all sexual combinations and a few threesomes—flagrantly making love, no one would mind if she did.

  “Is it always like this?” Micki asked, signaling the bartender for a
beer.

  “Yeah, these private deals are wild,” Fenn said, taking a beer of her own. She glanced around the room. “You probably can’t tell, but there are security people all over the place in here. The party’s invitation only, and we were most likely scanned coming up to the front door. You got in because you’re with me, but there are some pretty famous people in here who don’t want the world to know about their party habits.”

  “And what are you looking for tonight?” Micki asked.

  Fenn shrugged and tilted her beer bottle toward a redhead perched on the arm of a love seat on the far side of the room. The redhead, in a backless, skintight dress that just barely reached the tops of her thighs, stroked a woman’s breasts as the woman busily kissed a third person. Male or female kissee, Micki couldn’t tell.

  “She looks wasted on that action,” Fenn observed.

  Not surprised that the sexy redhead would be the kind of woman Fenn picked out, Micki took a slug of her beer. She shouldn’t have been disappointed, but she was. “So go for it.”

  “You mind?”

  “Nope,” Micki said, hoping for cool. “I’m good.”

  Fenn hesitated, her expression pensive, then she upended her beer bottle and drank it down in a series of deep pulls. She set it aside on the bar behind them. “Don’t go too far.”

  “I wasn’t planning on it.” Micki wasn’t interested in hooking up with anyone. The only person she was interested in clearly had different tastes. But she’d known that coming in, so she could hardly complain. She accepted a refill on her beer from the bartender and shifted along the perimeter of the room as Fenn cut directly through the crowd to the redhead. Fenn held out her hand as she leaned down to say something in the redhead’s ear, and then the two of them moved off to a vacant sofa against the wall. Even though they were in shadows, Micki could see them clearly from where she leaned against one of the pillars in an even darker part of the room. She thought she saw Fenn glance around, imagined that their eyes met, but she knew that was wishful thinking. Still, she watched, because part of her enjoyed watching, and because Fenn had seemed to want her to. Maybe that was why she’d invited her.