Cruising the Strip

by Radclyffe

  For me, everything went away except the eyes and hands of my opponents and, of course, the cards. Her hands were warm and pliable on my back. Her eyes were gray and her pupils slightly over-dilated. Lust, I thought, and I kissed her. She wasn’t an opponent and I was going to pay attention to all of her.

  “So you watch me every chance you get, huh?” I grazed my teeth over her jaw and down her throat.

  “Especially your hands,” she said. “I’m obsessed with them. Lesbians should have to wear gloves.”

  “I think right now you’re happy I’m not wearing gloves.” There was no point in being subtle. I squeezed her breasts through the thin fabric of her wrap dress before quickly unfastening the tie that pulled it so alluringly around her body.

  “Your hands are as amazing as I thought they’d be. It’s the way you hold the cards. The way your fingers curl and you hold them like you can will them to whatever you want them to be.”

  She shivered when I peeled opened the dress. Victoria’s Secret’s finest shaped and molded her breasts and hips, setting off her honey-tanned skin with satiny pink. I pulled the bra straps off her shoulders, then yanked her bra down to her waist.

  She gasped.

  “I have a plane to catch, so we’re gonna make this quick.”

  “Yes, baby, that’s what I want.” She ground against me, her eyes closed. I didn’t know what I was to her. Maybe she did this with all the female players. A raw fire lit in me. She was obsessed with my hands?

  I cupped her ass as I bit down on her inviting nipple. A winning hand was what I wanted, and I thought I could get us both there. Her skin was tightening along with her muscles. She was on her tiptoes, head arched back, offering her breast to me.

  There was no time to spend on foreplay. We were in somebody’s room and had to get out fast. I needed to get out of town. She didn’t want a relationship, she wanted to get fucked. I shoved my hand between her legs, pulled her panties aside, and cupped the luscious beauty of her.

  She thrust down on my hand with a little cry. “Take me, baby. Any way you want.”

  I knew what I wanted, but she was moving all over the place. I let her go long enough to pull her into the bathroom, then I pushed her up on the counter and spread her legs.

  “My purse,” she gasped. “In my purse there’s lube.”

  “You really want this, don’t you? Take your dress the rest of the way off.” I was gone only long enough to find the small bottle, but the dress was on the bathroom floor when I got back. I hooked my thumbs in her panties and yanked them down until I could drop them on top of the dress.

  She watched me lube my hand, watched me smear lube up to my wrist, watched me sink into her, two fingers.

  There was room, there was plenty of room. She pulled my mouth to hers, kissing me frantically as one hand closed around my forearm.

  She showed me how hard she liked it. She showed me how deep, and she wanted more. I grinned against her mouth because I wanted more too, I wanted all of her, and that was exactly what she was giving.

  She braced herself when I tucked my thumb and I slipped in with hardly a push. The little incoherent cries were all encouraging as I pressed deeper and rubbed my knuckles all along the ridge of her inner muscles.

  “I knew, I knew,” she repeated.

  I knocked away her grip on my forearm, curled my fingers inside her and pulled halfway out.

  “No,” she moaned. “Stay inside me—”

  I pushed in hard. “Is that what you want?”

  “Yes.” Her eyes flew open. “Fuck!”

  “Okay,” I said. “Let’s do that.”

  Wet and wild, she arched into every thrust. There was no restraint in her at all, and I wasn’t finding any either. My hand was clasped inside her where she so badly wanted me, gripping her against me as I pushed inside her, again, and again, and again.

  I gave it to her quick, hot, and hard.

  She came for me exactly the same way.

  *

  A few minutes later, she shrugged her bra back into place and pulled on her dress.

  I gave her the bottle of lube. “The next tournament is in—”

  “Atlantic City.” She tucked the bottle into her handbag, and slung the mink around her shoulders.

  Opening the door just a little, I saw no one in the hallway. I stepped back to let her out of the room first. She turned right. I turned left.

  In the elevator I surreptitiously examined my still wet hand, then raised it casually to scratch my nose. The scent of sex overwhelmed all my other senses. Home was still a long way away. For just a little while, I had a winning hand.

  ...Doesn’t Stay In Vegas

  by Karin Kallmaker

  “Who are you?” Debbie didn’t mean to bark, but her throat was incredibly dry. She swallowed, which caused a tight pain behind her eyes, and she recognized the signs of a champagne hangover.

  The red hair spread out on the pillow jerked out of reach as the woman abruptly sat up. “Fuck you, too.”

  “Sorry.” Debbie wasn’t even going to try to sit up. “Is this my room or yours?”

  “Yours. I’ll leave if you want me to.”

  The full, rounded breasts were enough to make Debbie sincerely regret her hangover. “No, it’s okay. Did we…?”

  Eyes that were jade, and jaded, gave her a narrow look. “Yes, as a matter of fact. You seemed pretty happy about it.”

  “Were you pretty happy about it?” Something in the women’s bad temper was actually grounding and refreshing, as if they’d already moved past all the show and pretense and it was Get Real or Get Out Time. Sort of like her last two relationships without the months of wasted courtship.

  She turned her head, eyes slicing. “Are you paying me to be happy about it?”

  With a jolt, Debbie remembered meeting the woman in the bar. God, she’d been a total ass. “Oh, man, I’m sorry. I could have gotten us both arrested.”

  “Which is why I hustled you up here. You stuffing twenties down my shirt and announcing you’d double it if I’d—how did you put it? Eat you on the back of your Yamaha at eighty miles an hour? Yeah, that was going to get us arrested, and I didn’t need that.”

  “I’m sorry, honey. Really. I don’t drink much, but last night…”

  Another jolt and Debbie remembered why she’d hit the hotel bar. A slow, hangover-banishing grin spread over her face. A twelve thousand dollar pot was truly a beautiful thing. She thought she’d drink some champagne, pick up some companionship. “Cara.”

  “What?”

  Relieved she remembered the woman’s name, Debbie managed to sit up. “I’m really sorry. Do you want some breakfast?”

  “Maybe I’ll just go.”

  “No, please stay.” Hazy details were slowly coming into focus. Cara had half-carried her upstairs and dumped her on the bed. They’d been playful, shucking clothes, shinnying under the covers, kissing…

  Trouble was, the memories stopped there. She wasn’t sure what had happened after that.

  “Are you sure that we, um, you know?”

  Cara rested her arms on her knees. “Maybe we didn’t.”

  “I promised and passed out.”

  She shrugged. “I’m not on the clock, so it’s irrelevant what did and didn’t happen. I should go.” She swung her legs over the edge of the bed.

  “No, really.” Debbie put a hand to her head, rubbing a little to ease the persistent throb between her eyes. “Stay.”

  “I’m having a bad convention—okay, a bad year. I’m not much good as company.”

  “At least you can have some breakfast.” She pulled the phone onto her lap and punched the speed dial for room service. “What would you like?”

  Cara tossed her long hair over her shoulders with a heavy sigh. “Eggs and toast.”

  She disappeared into the bathroom while Debbie conveyed their order. Eggs and toast sounded good to her, too, as long as it came with bacon and fried potatoes. Within a minute or two she’d also vi
sited the bathroom, downing a couple of aspirin and quickly brushing her teeth.

  The hotel must have had her room tagged as a high roller, because room service had never arrived so quickly before. Cara had pulled on one of Debbie’s button up shirts, and now looked better than anything on the room service menu as she perched on a chair, legs crossed, and plate balanced on her knee.

  “So what’s with the bad year?” Debbie chowed down the potatoes as she watched Cara fork up her eggs far more sedately.

  “Got dumped. My car was stolen the day after I paid for a new engine. That sort of thing. I came to the convention thinking I’d figure a way to change my life, somehow just get out of the place I was in. I agreed to be eye candy for some writer, and then she dumped me for someone else. Then this attractive dyke picked me out of the crowd to flirt with, but it turned out she was drunk and I didn’t get any action.” Cara gave her a resentful look.

  “That’s a crime. That dyke sounds like she owes you.”

  “What’s she got besides breakfast?” Cara nibbled toast.

  “A red vintage Yamaha and the open road?”

  “So you weren’t joking about what you wanted last night, were you?”

  Debbie laughed. “Of course I was. I’m a safe biker, and sex on a moving bike is asking for death. Foreplay, on the other hand—”

  “I thought the bike was foreplay.”

  “It can be.” She was feeling much better for having some food in her stomach. Champagne—it always gave her a headache. Twelve grand in her pocket and she didn’t think to get a good Scotch? “Sex on a stationary bike, say one parked in the hotel garage, now that’s foreplay.”

  “Sex is foreplay?”

  With a crooked smile, Debbie said, “Because after that we get on the bike and go for a long ride in the wind and the sun.”

  Cara had a little frown creased between her eyebrows. “Are you telling me that riding your bike is better than sex?”

  “Depends on the woman and the sex, don’t you think?”

  “And the bike.”

  Debbie laughed again. In spite of her bitter overtones, Cara was diverting. She squinted at the clock. “If we hurry, I can prove it before the day gets too hot to ride.”

  “Believe it or not, that’s the best offer I’ve had in months.” Cara finished her eggs in two mouthfuls. “Is there time to shower?”

  “Sure.” She’d no sooner said that than Cara was in the bathroom turning on the water. The mirror gave her a multi-reflected look at the tumble of deep red hair down the lean, curving back. She did her best to finish her breakfast in time to join Cara—her stomach was demanding that she finish every bite—but the shower was turned off before she was done.

  She had her own quick shower and came out of the bathroom to find Cara in the tight black jeans and sapphire blue top of the previous night. She took a deep breath, remembering perfectly well now why she’d picked Cara out of the crowd of women. She was beautiful. It was that simple.

  A quick call to fellow traveler Rose scored her a jacket and second helmet, and in no time at all they were down in the parking garage and Debbie was eagerly showing off her pride and joy. Cara didn’t say much as Debbie rambled on about the restoration, the year, and model, but she didn’t act bored either.

  When Debbie finally paused for breath, Cara threw a leg over the back, easily straddling the bike. Her red hair and that blue shirt looked glorious against the bike’s custom paint job. Her black boots were perfect against the chrome, and her legs were long enough to flat-foot it, well, with the help of those spiked heels. With a grin of pleasure, Debbie helped her strap on her helmet, then secured her own. The jackets were unpleasantly warm. Cara didn’t argue about their necessity. They had them on and half-zipped before she joined Cara on the bike. Cara had the pegs down all by herself—no novice—before she leaned into Debbie’s back.

  The club had been out for a ride yesterday morning, so Debbie followed the route, hoping Cara would enjoy it, even if the desert was at its least interesting in August. She started with the famous Strip, which truthfully didn’t look very glamorous at this hour as the neon blinked dully against exteriors that baked daily in the sun.

  Heat rose off the pavement as they headed west out of the city. The dry dust of the desert slowly yielded to hints of green in the ground cover, then the formations of the Red Rock Canyon rose into view. The road rolled out silver and white in front of her. The loop drive was a delight to navigate, and the warmth of Cara behind her was very welcome, even as the day grew hotter and hotter. She had a beautiful woman hugging her back and more money in the bank than she’d seen in years. It was a gorgeous, new day.

  *

  By the time they were back in the parking garage, it seemed blissfully cool by comparison. They both immediately took off the jackets, then she helped Cara out of her helmet, doffed her own, all the while grinning helplessly.

  “So what did you think?”

  “That was pretty fun.” Cara grinned back at her, looking greatly refreshed. The jaded eyes had a new sparkle. “But I’m still not convinced.”

  “Of what?” The woman looked damned sexy, Debbie thought, her feet still on the pegs. Her top was soaked to her skin, which left only the really best parts to her imagination.

  “That the ride is better than sex on the back of the bike.”

  Debbie’s chest got tight, but in a good way. “Can I help you with your decision in some way?” She was already glancing around, aware that this corner was low traffic, which was why she and a number of other members in the club had chosen it.

  Suddenly looking vulnerable, Cara said, “I think you know the answer.”

  “I’m sorry about last night.”

  “I said yes because I thought you were cute and I just wanted…time with someone, no obligations but what we might decide we wanted to do.”

  “That’s pretty much what I was after, too, and I passed out on you.” Debbie urged her forward so she could straddle the bike behind her. “We can only get started here, though, at least in broad daylight. Remember that part about not getting arrested?”

  “Yes.” Cara leaned forward to grip the handlebars.

  “If you weren’t wearing pants, I could really make you feel good.” Debbie ran her hands under Cara’s ass, then between her legs. Cara’s responsive shiver was inviting.

  “I guess you have a challenge, then.”

  With a low laugh, Debbie leaned into her. “I do like challenges. You didn’t meet the real me last night.”

  There was no law against public massage if her hands stayed off the parts of Cara that made her lusciously female. And maybe that wasn’t a bad strategy, because every time her hand caressed Cara’s ribs and shoulder blades, Cara arched forward in a pose that made Debbie want to fill her hands with those wonderful breasts. She hoped Cara was aching for it, that her nipples were hard and firm. She would find out upstairs.

  For a few minutes, she abandoned Cara’s upper body, and focused on thighs and hips. Cara lifted slightly as if to give Debbie access to her ass.

  “Do you dance?” Debbie traced the defined muscles that had tensed to hold the pose.

  “No, but I work out.”

  “You feel fantastic.”

  “You’re feeling me pretty fantastically, too.” Cara’s little laugh turned to a half-moan as Debbie smoothed her hands up Cara’s ribs again, then pulled hard enough to break her grip on the handlebars. She draped Cara over her, secure in her arms, and moved her crotch suggestively against Cara’s ass.

  “Oh, now if we were in my garage at home, I’d have something for you to really ride, honey.”

  Cara didn’t miss the added purr in Debbie’s voice. “Is that something you’ve given a lot of thought to?”

  “Oh yeah.” Risking arrest for just a few seconds, Debbie squeezed Cara’s crotch with one hand and her breast with the other. “A really long, hot ride.”

  “Oh…And you still think the ride is better than the sex?”

/>   She buried her face in the luxurious red hair and nipped at Cara’s neck. “Maybe not if you’re the woman. Let’s go upstairs, honey.”

  The elevator ride was blissfully short and it was good to find the room had been tidied in their absence. At Debbie’s insistence, they both drained a water bottle from the minibar. She was just about to suggest a piece of chocolate when the unmistakable sound of clothes falling to the floor whipped her head around.

  Cara was wearing no pants and one long hand was gliding lightly between her legs. “I think you said something about making me feel good if I didn’t have pants on.”

  Debbie rose to her feet, unable to hold back a reflexive licking of her lips. “Take everything off.”

  Cara lifted one eyebrow. “And is this the—”

  The phone rang and Debbie snatched it up and growled hello.

  The background noise in Rose’s room was a jumble of television and Rose’s girl singing in the shower. “Jeez, what bit your butt? I just wanted to see if I could get my jacket and helmet back.”

  “If you’re here in thirty seconds or less.” Debbie gave Cara a searing look as she put down the phone. “You do as you’re told, now.”

  Cara’s laugh did not convince Debbie that her attempt at being in charge had been successful. She opened the door just enough to hold the jacket and helmet outside and waited for Rose to appear from down the long hallway.

  Without warning, a fully naked, voluptuous female body pressed into her from behind. Rose appeared from around the corner, closing in fast as Cara rubbed her entire body the length of Debbie’s.

  “What’s the hurry?” Rose gave her a puzzled look as she took the jacket and helmet from Debbie’s outstretched hand.

  Cara found one of Debbie’s nipples and squeezed. Debbie’s answer was strangled.

  Rose started to ask again, but the sight of a very feminine hand with pink-tipped nails over Debbie’s shoulder shut her up. The hand waved a definite buh-bye. Rose grinned and backed off, mouthing, “Call me later.”

  Debbie managed to get her arm back on the same side of the door with her body. The door slammed and Cara yanked up her T-shirt.