“Tease,” Rand murmured.
“Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“Oh yeah.” As evidenced by the bulge in his slacks. The man had an impressive package, and while she displayed hers, he certainly garnered a few of his own double takes from the women as they left the elevator lobby. And from some of the men, too.
The casino was only slightly smoky, considering that smoking was allowed indoors, and alive with voices, laughter, the bells and whistles of the slot machines, even the electronic sound of coins dropping when someone cashed out. She still thought the old-fashioned arm you pulled and the clink of your winnings in the tray was more fun, but these days it was all push-button. She loved the penny slots, though, where you could throw in twenty dollars and make it last two hours, which was about the same cost as a movie, popcorn, and a soda these days.
Rand led her down the center aisle, slowly heading to the front of the casino. “Let’s stroll,” he said. “I want to make sure everyone sees you.”
Despite the presence of the same kind of sweet, young, bikini-clad nymphets they’d seen that afternoon, Rachel was getting her own share of attention. The women stared to make sure they were actually seeing what they thought they were. The male gazes never made it to her face, fastening onto her nipples, eyes glazing over. It should have been degrading, yet it was Rand’s air of possession and his delight in the show that made her skin hot and her body wet.
She wasn’t Rachel Delaney, thirty-nine-year-old mother of two. She was sexy, seductive Rachel, ready for anything this hunky man had in mind. Vegas was a party town, and she could get away with being loose and wild.
“Men love to look at you. Do you like it?”
She tipped her head to lean lightly against his shoulder. “I never thought I’d love being ogled.” Because she’d never been ogled, and because everyone told you it was bad to be nothing more than a sex object. She was realizing that sometimes a woman needed to be a sex object.
Call her shallow, but it wasn’t the overweight drunk ones that gave her the glow. It was the occasional hot dark-haired young stud, or even the still-sexy gray-haired used-to-be stud.
Rand obviously loved displaying her. Would he actually try giving her to any of these men? She wouldn’t like that, but she loved his cocky, possessive smile.
“Where are we going?” she asked as they hit the marble lobby and he maneuvered them to the front doors. People were still checking in, even this late at night. Vegas certainly never slept.
“Patience,” he said. Outside, they queued for a cab. In less than five minutes, they were in the backseat. Rachel snuggled close, hanging on Rand’s arm like a besotted lover.
“Where to, sir?” the cabbie asked with a guttural German accent.
“The Bordello,” Rand answered.
The cabbie’s expression in the mirror said it all. Rachel saw both eyebrows go up, then he cocked his head and shot a smirk over his shoulder. The Bordello. It had to be something very interesting.
“What are you planning, honey bunch?” she asked in a coquettish voice, her lips almost against his cheek. She molded herself to his side and slid one foot up his leg until she crossed her knee over his.
“It’s a surprise, darling. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.” Then he winked into the rearview mirror as if he were sharing a big secret with the cabdriver.
“I’ll take the backstreets to avoid the Strip traffic,” the cabbie offered.
“Perfect.” Then Rand ignored him, cuddling her closer. The show was already starting, and it was for their driver.
Rand undid another button on the see-through blouse and trailed a finger from her throat to her cleavage. “Very nice,” he said, his head down, inspecting her. He hitched her leg higher on his, and her skirt rode up to reveal more thigh. If he moved it just a little farther, their driver would see that she wasn’t wearing panties.
Stopped at a light, the cabbie adjusted the mirror down for a better view. Both she and Rand pretended not to notice. She held her breath, waiting for Rand’s next move, then said, “So tell me more about this bordello.”
The cab made the left turn as Rand caressed her thigh right up under the skirt, cupping her butt, squeezing her bare skin. “It’s a couples’ club. Scantily clad waitresses, nude dancers, posh atmosphere.”
“Naked women doesn’t sound like a couples’ club, honey bunch.” She pouted for him.
Removing his hand from beneath her skirt, he trailed along the outside of it, up the center buttons of the blouse, then rested his fingers along the underside of her breast, stroking her nipple with his thumb. She was sure the cabbie had seen far more explicit things, but to her, this was sexy and daring.
“Watching a bit of pole dancing and whispering dirty things in each other’s ears can whip up the erotic emotions, my dear.”
The cabbie nodded vigorously in agreement.
“It would be more helpful to me if the pole dancer was a man.” She pursed her lips, blew him a kiss. As Rand teased her through the blouse, Rachel decided it was only fair to tease him, too. She moved her leg, up, down, caressing him through his slacks. Something was definitely heating up down there. He paid her back by slipping right inside the blouse this time.
True to his word, the streets the cabdriver took were far less crowded. Rachel figured it gave them more time to play and him more time to watch.
“This is how it works,” Rand said, pinching her nipple.
Rachel moaned, loudly for the driver. “That’s definitely working, sweetie.”
“I’m talking about The Bordello. We watch the dancers, then I say I’d love to see you dip down like that, or I’d love for you to sit on my lap making that move.”
“Ah,” she said dramatically. “So we go elsewhere and act it all out.”
He smiled. “You’re starting to get the idea.”
“I certainly am. We’ll do a private pole dance later.”
The cabbie raised the rearview mirror to exchange a glance with Rand. “Something like that, my sweet,” Rand answered.
God. He didn’t expect her to pole dance for him in public, did he? The man had another thing coming, but she’d get into the rest of the game. Thank God this was all staying in Vegas.
Then, at last, they pulled up in front of an innocuous-looking building off the main Strip with small clothing boutiques and jewelry shops. The stores were open, but the sidewalks were far less crowded, and the patrons appeared to be dressed less casually than what you saw out on the main boulevard.
The cabbie double-parked, and Rand helped her out. Leaning into the window as he paid the man, they exchanged a few words and some manly laughter before the cab drove away. Rachel knew it was something rude. It was all part of the game.
A windowless establishment with a narrow brick facade and wooden, brass-handled door was sandwiched between a dress shop and a jewelry store. There were no identifying markings except a large B branded into the wood.
Rand knocked; the door opened. A burly man even taller than Rand looked them up and down. Rand handed him a business card, or it could have been a ticket. Bald, muscles bulging under his tuxedo, the man glanced at the card, handed it back, then held the door wide, flourishing a hand to indicate a set of stairs.
Rachel followed Rand in. She ascended the wide hardwood steps with one hand on the polished railing, the other through Rand’s arm, until they reached another door at the top, this one padded burgundy leather. Rand tugged the gold bellpull beside it.
“This is fancy,” she whispered. “How did a mere high school principal hear about it?”
“Ask the Internet,” he said, “and ye shall receive.”
“That’s scary.” The Internet was a whole lot of trouble for a mother of teenagers these days. But she wasn’t a mother right now. She was a seductive lady on a very sexy man’s arm.
The door was opened by a man in a flashy tuxedo, this one looking less like a bouncer and more like a maître d’. He eyed Rachel’
s nipples appreciatively, then ushered them into a carpeted hallway with dark wood paneling and several ornate doors up and down its length.
Without a word, Rand handed him the card, the man read it, then returned it with a smile. “Welcome to The Bordello. What room may I show you to?”
“We’d like The Saloon.”
“Excellent choice, sir. Right this way.” The man turned, crooking his finger for them to follow, his shoes soundless on the carpet. Slender but tall, his dark hair was cut short, and his tuxedo and grooming added to the ambiance.
The Bordello was housed along the top of the shops and therefore was much larger than Rachel had first imagined. She counted six doors spaced fairly far apart along either side of the hall. Their host led them to the third door along and opened it, the noise overwhelming as he ushered them inside.
“Sit anywhere you like,” he said, leaning close to be heard.
Rachel clung to Rand’s arm after the man left. “I can’t believe you don’t even hear all this out there.” There were so many indistinct voices, the cries of gamblers winning, laughter, and music like something out of an Old West movie. The noise wasn’t earsplitting, just surprising after the quiet of the outer hallway.
The large room was set up like an old-fashioned saloon, with an intricately carved wooden bar, card tables, roulette wheel, and a craps table. At least she thought the dice game was called craps. The waitresses wended their way through the tables. Dressed like saloon girls, they wore bustiers tied tightly to push up their breasts and short skirts with stiff crinolines that held them almost straight out to the sides, like a ballerina outfit. A wide wooden stage ran down the center, with several poles for the dancers. Bar stools ringed it, the girls just out of reach. The dancers weren’t scantily clad, dressed instead in elaborate saloon-singer costumes, albeit with slits high up their thighs and deeply plunging necklines. They dipped and twirled on the poles, their sequined dresses sparkling in overhead lamps, which were shaped like vintage gaslights.
The dress code was upper-crust, Rand being one of the few men in the crowd without a tie. The women primarily were adorned in evening gowns, very few as revealing as the blouse Rachel wore.
Despite the noise level, it was not so crowded they couldn’t find a spot. Rand led them to a wide curved bench of red leather with a small table at one end for drinks. Just as he’d said, it was a couples’ club, and there were very few single males drooling over the pole dancers on the center stage.
They’d been seated less than a minute when a waitress stopped by to take their drink orders. She didn’t dip at the knees but leaned down to ask what they’d like, and Rachel feared her nipples might pop right out of the bustier. She was young, pretty, and stacked—almost anyone would be in that outfit—but Rand simply turned to Rachel. “What would you like?”
“A chardonnay,” she said.
The girl began listing the different chardonnays, and Rand said, “She’ll have the Cakebread. I’ll have a Campari and soda.”
Smiling, the girl straightened, saucily flipped her little crinolined skirt, and headed back to the bar without writing anything down.
“This place is kind of fun,” Rachel said.
Before Rand could answer, there was a burst of applause center stage. The four dancers wore identical dresses in different colors: green, red, blue, and gold. Twirling in unison, they kicked high, wrapped around their poles, then with a flourish, they each tore off a layer of sequined skirt, revealing a shorter skirt beneath. The crowd around the stage hollered as the girls tossed the material high, each managing to land it on a man’s head.
She grabbed Rand’s arm, pulled him close. “We should be sitting over there.”
Rand shook his head. “I like the view better here.” He glanced down to her breasts beneath the lace. “So do some other men.” His gaze traveled around the room.
Sure enough, she noticed several pairs of eyes focused on her lacy peekaboo top.
“You’re the show tonight, sweetheart.” In the guise of caressing her thigh, he eased the skirt up. “Cross your legs for the men.”
She suddenly understood his plan. They were seated on a bench with the small drink table to one side.
The next time she crossed her legs the opposite way, she’d be giving her audience a shot à la Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct. Sharon hadn’t been wearing panties either.
27
SHE WASN’T THE YOUNGEST WOMAN HERE TONIGHT, NOT EVEN the prettiest, but she was the hottest. Rachel was a MILF. Every man wanted a MILF, a mom all dressed up and ready to fuck. Rand wanted her badly, but he also hoped for a little sexy fun with her first. Just like in the cab, touching her in front of the driver. It made him rock solid in his pants.
He loved showing her off, teasing other men. That blouse had been an inspiration. He’d taken a trip to the lingerie shop at the mall, where the saleslady offered silky negligees and high-cut panties. He’d spied the see-through blouse and known immediately it was perfect. The whole idea came to him while imagining her in it. Imagining other men watching her. She’d drive them crazy.
The waitress brought their drinks and despite the wiggle and the preponderance of breast pressed almost into his face, all he could think of was the next show he’d make sweet Rachel give.
“Do you like the club?” he asked conversationally, so when he offered up a new command, he’d take her by surprise.
“It’s actually quite classy.”
Hell yes. He’d done an exhaustive Internet search for just the right venue. It was pricy and exclusive with a higher caliber of patron than a peep show or a downtown strip club. He hadn’t wanted sleazy; he’d wanted elegant. Just like her.
The pole dancers ripped off another layer of dress and tossed it into the revelers around the stage. They were down to bustiers, ruffled bottoms, and fishnet stockings.
He arranged Rachel’s hair, which smelled of some flowery shampoo. Then he leaned down. “Cross your legs again.”
In the midst of all the whooping over the dancers, Rachel recrossed her legs slowly, parting her thighs a tiny bit more than necessary. Most watched the stage, but a select group watched Rachel. And she liked it. Her breasts rose and fell, and beneath the lace, her nipples were tighter.
“Do you like your wine?” He leaned across her to retrieve the glass and handed it to her.
“Mmm,” she said after a long swallow. “That’s delicious.”
She was delicious. He wanted her tipsy and willing, and liked that she didn’t slouch, at ease with the see-through nature of her blouse.
He kissed her ear, then licked her lobe, blowing a breath against the moist flesh. She squirmed on the seat. “Stop that,” she whispered, and batted at him ineffectually. “You’re getting me all wet.”
He ran a hand up her thigh, raising the skirt a little more. “I want you very wet.”
She laughed. “I meant my ear.”
He knew exactly what she meant. He knew exactly what she wanted. Holding her chin for a quick kiss, he then trailed a finger down her throat and straight across her nipple.
“You’re very bad.” But she didn’t push him away.
He tested her limits, palming her breast. She’d allowed him a few liberties in the cab, but they’d had only one witness. Here, they had a whole audience.
Her nipple was hard, her lips tantalizingly red, her eyes a smoky hot hazel as she held his gaze. Then, dropping her voice, she said, “Pinch me. I want to make sure this is real.”
Most people would take that to mean their arm. Rand understood it was another step. Her nipple was already peaked beneath the delicate lace. He gathered the bud between his thumb and forefinger, giving her a hard tweak.
She pressed her lips together, smoothing her lipstick. Her eyes shuttered, then she let out a whispered, “Oh.”
The sex wasn’t overt. While some of The Bordello’s rooms displayed rampant sexual activity, he hadn’t chosen that for Rachel. He’d planned something milder, a taste of being naught
y that would delight and mesmerize her, and have her begging for more. That whispered Oh was exactly what he’d hoped for.
She opened her eyes, smiled directly into his before her gaze flitted around the room to determine who had been watching. “Filthy man,” she said, pushing his hand away and raising her arms to fluff her hair. The move drew her breasts high and displayed her beaded nipples.
Oh yeah, she liked the brazenness of it. Vegas gave her freedom.
The piano rose to a crescendo, and the girls onstage kicked high and twirled, then slid down to do amazing splits. After a hearty round of applause, the piano player began a series of old-time melodies, and the dancers gracefully stepped down from the stage to prowl the room in their tight bustiers.
The brunette in blue trailed her fingers over a man’s shoulder, leaned down to murmur in his ear. He slid his hand across the ruffled bottom of her lingerie, then slipped a bill beneath the lace edging of the bustier right over her breast. His hand lingered a moment, tracing her flesh just above her nipple. Pushing his straight back chair away from the small table at which he was seated, he helped her climb aboard his lap. Spreading her legs over him, she snuggled close, wriggling, laughing, her hands on his shoulders, her hair cascading down the back lacings of the bustier.
The other girls were searching for lap dances as well.
They’d arrived relatively early, and the action would get rowdier. How much sexier, Rand wasn’t sure.
Rachel leaned in, her scent surrounding him. “Pay one of them to give you a lap dance.”
Now, that wasn’t something he’d expected. He’d taken her for a woman who wouldn’t share. Perhaps, though, her confidence in her own charms was growing; she’d let him have the dance, but knew he’d be back to her for the real thing.
“Which one?”
“The gold one.”
The girl was tall, her blond hair matching the gold of her bustier. Just as Rachel spoke, she found a willing victim, an older gentleman with graying hair. After receiving her tip in the top of her stocking, she climbed on top of him.
The Principal's Office Page 21
