‘I’m so sorry,’ I said, twisting my accent slightly to sound vaguely Southern. Men liked Southern. ‘I think I’ve taken a wrong turn?’
‘Looks like it, ma’am. This area is off-limits.’ The guard wasn’t the man I’d expected to see. My research into The Venetian’s security personnel had prepped me for a fiftyish black man, not a well-built white guy in his mid-thirties.
Damn cute one, too. Whuf. Big brown eyes, wavy dark hair and the kind of chest I could all too easily imagine curling up on between rounds one and two of wild monkey sex.
Well, it was entirely possible they’d hired extra staff for this event. This fine hunk would be just as much fun to distract as the one I’d been expecting.
I touched the back of his hand, gently. ‘Has a man come through here? With a red-headed showgirl type?’
Bingo. I’d picked the right ruse. The mix of concern, sympathy and, face it, curiosity, could only do me good.
He shook his head. ‘’Fraid not.’ Slight, charming traces of Texas in his voice. ‘Someone taking those “what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas” ads too seriously?’
I let my lower lip quiver, just for a second, before I squared my shoulders and composed myself. In a way that clearly implied my composure was all an act to hide my anguish.
‘That would suggest the city is the problem.’ I sighed. ‘You know, when he keeps it discreet, it’s one thing. But to leave me standing there alone – to sneak out of the ballroom and flaunt that he’s going off to have his fun … It’s too dayamn much.’ I faked an expression of surprise and embarrassment, knowing that most of it wouldn’t show under my mask, but hoping it would be reflected in my eyes – eyes that glittered with the threat of spilling tears. ‘I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t be talking about this to a complete stranger.’
The big man – the name on his uniform was Joe – shrugged. ‘Easier to talk to a stranger sometimes, and you must be as mad as a hornet.’
I’d been stepping a little closer while we talked, edging Security Joe away from the hallway entrance. I did a quick mental calculation of how much time had passed. George should be at the top of the un-alarmed back stairs, about to step into the hallway at my signal.
Time to step up the distraction level.
‘Mad means both angry and crazy.’ I stepped close enough to smell a combination of healthy man and inexpensive but not unpleasantly spicy cologne. ‘I feel a bit of both. Humiliated. And yet … it’s his loss, right? If he can play at the game, why can’t I?’
One step closer and I could feel the heat of Joe’s body. I touched the peacock-feathered fan dangling from my wrist, triggering the communication to George.
‘Ma’am? Are you sure …’ the Texan politely protested even as he put his arms around me.
‘Tonight, I’m Francesca,’ I whispered, and kissed him.
Kissed him more thoroughly than I’d meant to.
I’d planned a little flirting, a little smooching, then dissolving into tears of guilt and jealousy. Most men haven’t a clue what to do with a sobbing woman. The security guard would comfort me as best he could, helpless patting on the back and whatnot, and I’d make enough noise long enough for George to relieve the case of the Lucchese Star and get back into the stairway.
Change of plans. Ramp up the smooching instead.
Because despite Joe’s protestations, he was getting into the smooching just fine.
His hands tightened on my corseted waist as I parted my lips, flicking my tongue out to touch the corner of his mouth. He pulled me closer, causing my breasts to pillow even more impressively out of the top of my bodice. Polyester may not be sexy, but there was this shocking sense of naughtiness at his uniform brushing against tender flesh that I don’t normally expose in public.
All that barely suppressed sexual energy that had built up since we’d started planning this heist bubbled to the surface.
I reached up to stroke the chiselled planes of his face, urging him to deepen the kiss. When his tongue entered my mouth, I couldn’t hold back a moan of pure pleasure.
‘Francesca,’ he murmured against my lips. ‘An exotic name for an exotic lady.’ He slid his hands up over the curve of my breasts and drew his finger along the line where fabric met flesh. My nipples tightened in response. ‘But you’re not that much of a lady, are you?’
I stiffened, fearing he’d seen through my ruse. But then he was coaxing my breasts free of the corset. First my nipples showed darkly through the semi-sheer silk, but he pulled the top of the chemise away. He brushed his thumbs against the needy buds, and I clutched his arms.
‘More like a courtesan,’ he said. ‘Brazenly tempting men.’ He increased the pressure, rolling my nipples between his fingers. A steady aching pulse started between my legs.
He kept up that maddening, rhythmic pressure while his lips languidly wandered around my neck, my ear lobes, my clavicle, the swell of my cleavage. By the time his mouth found one nipple, my hips were moving in time to the rhythm, thrusting forwards. He was leaning over me to kiss and lick and suckle, though, so I was humping empty air.
Until he stood and my mound connected with the impressive swelling in his uniform pants.
Oh! Well, then.
‘What have we here?’ I murmured. Unable to keep my hands off something like that – a hard cock is almost as enticing as a hot rock, and certainly more fun to play with – I pressed my palm against the bulge.
His hips jerked, and I felt his prick throb even through my gloves. My mouth watered.
Well, what better way to keep a man distracted? With a rustle of silk and brocade, I sank to my knees.
‘Oh, sweet Jesus,’ Joe said as I tugged his pants down. His cock sprang out. Long and slender, with a proud curve and darker mushroom head.
I started to peel off my gloves, but Joe’s harsh whispered ‘No’ stopped me.
‘Leave them on,’ he urged, and who was I to argue?
He tasted as earthy as he looked. I took him full in my mouth, slicking him with saliva, and brought my hands up to encircle him while I sucked.
My pussy lips were getting just as slick. I could feel them rubbing together, my clit throbbing between them. As tempting as it was to fight one hand beneath the layers of skirt and fondle myself, I resisted. I like giving blow jobs, for one thing. And for another, I had to keep alert for any sounds of George, and make sure I kept Joe from noticing anything other than what I was doing to him.
From Joe’s reactions, I was pretty sure he wouldn’t have noticed a parade of elephants galumphing down the hall. His hands on my head, he urged me to increase the length of my oral strokes.
‘Oh yeah, that’s it,’ he said, his voice rough with desire. ‘Take me in. Suck me. Play with my balls.’
I was more than happy to comply, and moaned my agreement as I did.
‘Oh, yeah, you like it when I give directions?’ he asked. ‘Naughty girl. That’s it, suck me. Use your hands. The leather feels so good against me. Faster now.’
I increased the pressure and speed, feeling his balls contract up towards his body. He was close, and I wanted to bring him off. That feeling of power, of control.
He groaned something unintelligible, and came, twitching. I rocked back onto my heels, savouring his tang, feeling smug about the relaxed, slightly goofy, absolute content look on his face. OK, maybe George wouldn’t be thrilled if he found out what I’d done, but it had certainly worked. With that as a distraction, there was no way the guard could have heard any very faint sounds that George might be making.
That George might still be making.
I’d taken my time, both for distraction value and because Joe had a yummy cock and a delightfully dirty mouth.
Where the hell was George? A delicate operation like this one might require more time than we’d anticipated.
Suddenly the corridor seemed tomblike, so silent (despite all the normal background sounds you get even in a quiet corridor in a busy hotel) that I fancied Joe could hear Geor
ge breathing in the other room, let alone going through all the meticulous steps needed to snatch the Star.
I could go with Plan A, Part Two: tears, confusion, repentance.
But my slick pussy and throbbing clit had other suggestions for continuing the distraction.
And they sounded like a lot more fun. Never really enjoyed playing out the weeping-woman scenario, though it’s killer effective. Ruins the mascara and all that.
I stood up, one graceful motion, swaying only a little in my high heels. (Yes, I do practise things like that. It pays to stay limber, and grace adds to the erotic-distraction factor when I need it.)
Pressed myself against Joe. Might be risking a few lingering drops of come on my brocade gown, but it wasn’t as though I’d be wearing this a lot in the future. (Although George had dropped hints that once the job was done, he had some amusing uses in mind for the corset and the nearly sheer split-crotch silk drawers – both historically accurate and practical when you’re dealing with sixteen acres of skirt – that went underneath everything.)
Kissed him, letting him taste himself on my lips.
Felt the silk drawers get even damper than they already were.
Moaned ‘please’ into his mouth and didn’t have to act to get that tone of sheer brazen want. I was squirming with need.
‘Please what? Tell me what you want, Francesca.’ His big hands glided over the ample sensitive mounds of my cleavage, not quite touching my aching exposed nipples. I arched against him, tried to wiggle my nipples under his hands.
No good. He was onto me. ‘You have to tell me what you want if you hope to get it.’
As he said that, he did pinch one of my nipples – unexpectedly and hard, jolting electricity through my body so once again all I could manage was ‘Please.’
‘Please what?’ he repeated, toying with my nipples some more.
This was work. Supposed to be work, anyway. I was supposed to stay focused, even if the job was offering perks beyond amazing hors d’oeuvres. But dammit, my whole body was one giant ache, and I wasn’t George, able to deflect my desire into something else.
I took a deep breath, found my brain just long enough to say, ‘Please get me off. I don’t care how. Just please make me come.’
He grinned, a cat who’d found not only cream, but a whole roast chicken and a catnip garden for dessert. Manoeuvred me around so I could lean against the wall – and a good thing too, since my knees were already shaky and I didn’t think they’d be getting more stable any time soon. ‘Lift up your skirts,’ he ordered, his voice as rich and decadent as the best dark chocolate or a fine vintage Bordeaux.
I did, crumpling expensive silk and brocade as if it were cheap cotton. Almost drowning in fabric, I didn’t have a good view of what he was doing. But oh, I felt it all right.
His leg roughly pushed mine farther apart. Coarse polyester brushed fine silk, taut wet skin. He ground against me for a few seconds, until I was sure my juices were leaving a stain on his uniform. Then he moved, and his fingers slipped into the slit in my drawers.
‘You’re soaked,’ he breathed. ‘Such a wanton naughty girl. And so hot.’
Fingers circled my clit, sending pleasure spiralling through me. I started making alley-cat sounds under my breath, and my world narrowed its focus to between my legs. Then he got his other hand involved, sliding two fingers into my dripping pussy, and began to pump.
I clutched at Joe’s shoulders, held on tight, came like there was no tomorrow and no yesterday either, just a long mind-melting now.
When I could focus again, I could see that Joe was once again standing at attention. Or maybe he was one of those lucky guys who stayed hard even after he came if the situation were interesting enough.
A compliment in either case.
A very distracting compliment. I may have come, but it had been a long dry few months, and one orgasm, even a toe-curler like that one, was just enough to take the edge off my need. I was still throbbing, still open and ready.
I should save it for George, who’d be relaxed once the job was over, relaxed and full of all the sexual energy he’d been channelling elsewhere for so long.
But that didn’t keep me from staring at Joe’s renewed erection with the longing of a poor girl staring into Tiffany’s display window. It looked hard as gemstones, but a lot warmer …
I realised what I was doing, mentally shook myself, opened my mouth to begin the next part of the act (flustered nerves and mild guilt). Before I could say anything, though, Joe took my arm. ‘Want to be inside you,’ he said, his voice husky and hypnotic. ‘There’s an electrical closet down the hall. Come on.’ He tugged at me.
The jewel thief in me sang out gleefully. The only thing better than a distracted guard was an absent one.
The female-in-heat part of me made an inarticulate moan of surrender. I could imagine that cock sliding into me from behind, inch by glorious inch, and while I could imagine more scenic places to do it than an electrical niche – one of the now-empty exhibits, maybe, so I could be surrounded by things I’d like to steal given the chance – my pussy didn’t much care at this point.
But the part of me that did the strategic thinking glitched. On one hand, maybe Joe was just killing time at a job he didn’t care about and willing to risk a priceless but anonymous-to-him gem to get some hot sex. (A trait I liked in a man I was duping, especially, as in this case, if it meant I also got the hot sex.)
On the other hand, it seemed almost too convenient, and that made me curious and a little nervous. Not much in our line of work was convenient.
Play the part. I was supposed to have given big bucks to get the Lucchese Star to this country. I’d be at least a little concerned about it. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be guarding …’ I gestured towards the door.
Joe shrugged. ‘This place is so wired, alarms will squawk all over the building if an unauthorised person so much as breathes in there. They hired some high-priced security firm on top of what we already have for the casino and they rigged a bunch of stuff – I don’t understand half of what they’ve got set up, but that thing’s guarding itself. We’re just back-up.’
‘Well, that’s a weight off my mind.’
And it was. Joe was a slacker – a really hot slacker – relying on a high-tech security system to do his job for him.
Which it would have if I hadn’t scrambled half of it and George wasn’t dismantling the rest even as Joe and I played. Well, at least Joe would get his hot sex before he got fired without references, poor gorgeous bastard.
He ran his hands over my still bare breasts, sending shudders through my body, making me forget any qualms I had, including the ones involving George coming to find me and hearing strange noises coming out of the closet.
OK, a little bit of me thought it might serve him right. I was crazy about George, I really was, but a woman can only handle so much chastity – especially when the person she wants to be unchaste with is right there in bed with her, but not interested.
The closet was as unglamorous as you’d imagine: criss-crossed with wires, unventilated, humming with various mechanical noises. It smelt like dust and electricity, and it was barely big enough for the two of us.
And at that point, I didn’t care. No time to worry about atmosphere. The only nicety we took the time to bother with was a few rough but sweet kisses, the kind where you try to devour the other as if you’d never get a chance to touch again, which in this case was true.
When he turned me around so I could support myself against the wall, the cold grey-green breaker cabinet I found myself leaning against brought goosebumps to my heated skin.
The good kind of goosebumps that added to my arousal.
I briefly considered flipping a few breakers while Joe was figuring out what to do with my layers of skirt – create some confusion to cover George’s retreat, and all that – but then Joe’s cock nudged against my heated pussy.
And after its long hunger, my pussy took control of the s
ituation. Just sucked that magnificent cock in, I swear, because I don’t remember any transition between that teasing tap and hot crazy full-on fucking. Joe’s hard cock pistoned inside me, stroking all those long-neglected spots that even the best toy can’t hit the way the real thing does. One of his hands cupped my breasts, fingers scissoring and stroking the nipple, the other infiltrated under my skirts to circle my clit through wet silk.
I pushed back, met each hard stroke with force of my own. No time for subtlety or tenderness. This was an unabashed quickie and I didn’t care. Wanted it that way. Wanted to push myself over the edge and take him with me, here, surrounded by the drone of the hotel’s inner workings.
Besides, we had to be fast. George should be done by now, and Joe was deserting his post. I couldn’t speak for him, but the edge of danger just made me hotter, made my inner walls clench around him, made me wild and made him wild along with me.
If I weren’t an endorphin junkie, I’d still be creating security systems, not cracking them. I like risky business, and this job was pushing thrill buttons I hadn’t even known I had.
Joe’s fingers found just the right rhythm on my clit, and his cock pounded into me, and I rolled my hips like a jazz dancer.
And then I thought something must have happened to the electrical system because everything went black, then exploded around us.
I didn’t see stars as I came. Not exactly. I saw the Lucchese Star, all sixty spectacular carats of it, cloned fifty times and dancing behind my eyelids.
Strong arms circled me. ‘That’s my good bad Francesca. Feel a little happier now?’
‘God, yes.’
Another wicked grin from my talented security guard. ‘Sometimes getting a little yourself is the best revenge.’
Oh yeah. I was supposed to be playing a part here, wasn’t I?
In a small voice laden with fake confusion, I whispered, ‘I guess so. It was fun, anyway.’
Deep breath. Satiated but somewhat uneasy smile. Sudden concern with smoothing out my skirts and repairing my lipstick, my hands trembling.
Sex with Strangers Page 9
