by Ruby Steele
Teacher’s Bet
Ruby Steele
Contents
Foreword
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue
About the Author
Copyright © 2017 by Ruby Steele
All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, locations, and events in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons or places is purely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form without the express consent of the author.
Foreword
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Prologue
Aiden’s eyes flare with heat, and he takes a quick sip of his whiskey before grabbing my head and yanking me flush against him.
It takes me by surprise, but I melt right into him, tilting my face to his as his mouth descends on mine, hungry, hard, and demanding. I feel my knees go weak—who knew that was really a thing?—as his tongue explores my mouth. The sharp whiskey flavor only makes me crave him more.
I moan into his mouth, and the hand not holding my drink seems to have a mind of its own, because next thing I know I’m tugging at his belt, fumbling in my one-handed attempt. I give up and reach further down to cup him.
“Christ, Olivia,” he hisses, breaking the kiss and dropping his head back on a groan.
I start to rub my hand up and down his length, and holy hard-on, Batman! The guy is packing some serious heat. And not in the is that a gun in your pocket sense. No, he is long and thick, and for a minute I pause, wondering how in the hell that thing is going to fit.
But when he looks back at me, eyes so hot they’re like molten metal, I don’t care. I want him in every way.
Grabbing my drink, Aiden leads me back to the sofa and sets both drinks on the table. Then he reaches behind my neck and undoes the clasp of my halter dress. Tortuously slowly, he lowers the straps, revealing my chest inch by inch. I gasp as the cool air hits my sensitive skin, bringing my already pebbled nipples to tightened nubs.
I lick my lips and watch as he bends down and grabs an ice cube from my drink. When he stands up and winks at me, I have no idea what to expect next. And with my lack of experience, I couldn’t have imagined it if I tried.
Cupping a breast in one hand, he squeezes, kneading the sensitive tissue. My breath picks up, and I feel a tingle of anticipation in my clit. Then he places the ice cube against my throat, trailing it through the hollow dip and further, down my chest. When he gets to my breast, he circles just outside my nipple. My skin is on fire, and I feel the cold liquid melting on contact, running down my body. When he touches the ice to my nipple, it hardens even more, a taut peak begging for attention.
“Aiden,” I breathe, watching as he continues to tease my nipple with the ice. Once it’s completely melted, he pinches it, rolling the bud between his thumb and fingers. I cry out at the sensation. “More,” I plead, shamelessly.
“Feel good, baby?” He grabs another ice cube, but before repeating the treatment on my other breast, he captures my rock-hard nipple in his teeth and tugs. I feel the pull all they way to my core, an aching, needy throb deep in my pussy that begs to be satisfied.
When he fastens his lips onto my breast and sucks, simultaneously teasing the other nipple with the ice, the contrast of hot and cold sensations rockets me through the stratosphere.
“Where have you been all my life?” I say, not even caring what words are falling from my lips as long as he never stops.
He chuckles, then brings his lips back to mine in an erotic kiss. He thrusts his tongue in and out of my mouth, mimicking the act I’ve yet to experience, and I can’t help myself. “Fuck me,” I beg. “Now.”
1
Olivia
Earlier that evening…
“Do I look like someone who’s about to have sex for the first time?”
I push my lips out in what I hope is a sultry pout, but I think I may just look like I’m impersonating a fish.
“Oh my god, Olivia, if you don’t stop stressing over the way you look, I’m going to go grab the first guy I see and ask him if he’ll just do the deed and get it over with.” My best friend Becca rolls her eyes as she applies another coat of lip gloss in the bathroom mirror, smacking her lips together and pulling off the come-hither look way better than I could ever hope for.
I sigh with envy over her boobs. They’re practically spilling out of her dress. I look down at my own girls. It’s not fair. Can’t a girl enjoy training for marathons and not lose her assets in the process? Not that my assets were very substantial to begin with, daily running sessions aside.
“You look hot,” Becca says, turning to me and fluffing up my honey-blonde waves. She looks down at my chest. “I could never pull off a dress like that. Consider yourself lucky.”
The short red halter dress I’m wearing is pretty fucking awesome. Something I would never wear in my everyday life. But she’s right. The dangerously thin strips of fabric that cover my B-cups (Okay, who am I kidding? They barely qualify as Bs.) would never keep anything bigger in place without a bra. Not unless they were surgically fortified to defy gravity.
I nod, more in an effort to gather my resolve than in agreement. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
Becca grins. “You are crazy. You know that, right?”
Yep. Fully aware. Not only did I decide on a whim to come celebrate New Year’s Eve in Vegas, but I vowed to finally give up my v-card while here. That’s right. Who has managed to make it through almost three years of college without losing her virginity? This girl right here.
But not after tonight. Because what better place to have a random hookup than Sin City? If it ends up being horribly, painfully awkward, there is no chance in hell I’ll ever have to see the guy again. And I am the Princess of Awkward. I’m not even sure I’ll make across the casino floor without tripping in the ridiculous heels I’m wearing, much less fumble my way through my first sexual encounter without some major snafu.
“Whatever I am, there is one thing I will not be by this time tomorrow.” I grin to hide my nerves. Picking up guys is so not my thing. I can count the number of dates I’ve been on since starting college on one hand. Yep again. One hand. I’m that pathetic. The girl you see in the library on a Friday night, hunched over math books? That’s me. My favorite YouTube channel is a semi-weekly exploration of chaos theory.
So the idea of not only hitting on a guy but getting him to take me back to his room? Panic inducing.
“I still don’t get why you’re so obsessed with this.” Becca tosses her dark hair and links her arm in mine, leading me from the restroom we’re in just off the casino at the Bellagio. My stomach flutters as fast as the wheels of the spinning slots that assault my senses with their flashing lights and tinkling bells when we hit the casino floor.
“I told you,” I hiss, looking around to make
sure no one can hear us as we make our way to the sleek bar. I’m definitely going to need some liquid courage. “It’s to the point now that it’s becoming embarrassing. When I go out with a guy—rare as that may be—all I can think about is what he’s going to think when he finds out I’m a virgin.”
It’s the excuse I’ve been giving her since I came up with the idea. True enough, but there’s more to it. Something I don’t feel comfortable sharing, even with my best friend. Deep down, I’m afraid that I’m turning into a boring old lady at the ripe age of twenty-one. I can see it already. Me and my YouTube videos, surrounded by a bunch of mewling cats as I solve math problems for fun, a literal forty-year-old virgin.
Maybe it’s a dumb fear. But I’ve been so focused on school for so long that I’m starting to think I’m missing out on life. I want to see what it would be like to let loose for a change. To have fun and live a little. When I ring in the new year at midnight, I’ll be a whole new woman.
Becca shrugs as she orders four shots of tequila and speaks loudly to be heard over the hypnotic sounds of gambling and music. “Whatever. I’ll just be glad to stop hearing about it. Who knows? You may find out there’s a little sex kitten that’s been hiding behind those glasses all this time.”
“Right.” I snort, glancing around to make sure no one heard her declaration. But the mention of my glasses has me blinking rapidly, reminding me just how much I hate wearing contacts. But really, if I’m on the prowl for guys, my librarian glasses would hardly reel them in.
The bartender sets out the shot glasses in a line on the bar, along with a dish of limes and some salt, and gives me a slow, sexy smile, not even trying to hide the fact that he’s checking me out.
“Remember, lick, sip, and suck,” he says with a wink. He’s totally fuckable, in my not-so-experienced opinion, so of course my instincts kick in. I blush and start to lower my head, hoping my hair will cover my face and hide my embarrassment.
“Uh-uh. No ma’am.” Becca lifts my chin forcefully and shoves a shot in my face. “That shit has to stop right this second.”
“What?” I take the shot and run my thumb nervously around the rim of the glass, cutting my eyes back to the bartender. He’s moved on.
“That right there. You had the perfect opening to flirt with that guy, and what did you do? Hid behind your hair like a twelve-year-old.” She hands me a lime and grabs the salt shaker. “Give me your hand.”
I lick the skin between my thumb and forefinger and hold it out, and Becca pours salt on it before clinking her glass to mine. “To a new year full of hot sex.”
I laugh. “Hear, hear.”
We lick the salt from our hands and throw the shots back, then suck on the limes as our faces scrunch up. The burn as the liquor makes it way down my throat brings tears to my eyes. But it also gets my blood buzzing. I feel more relaxed already and reach for the second shot glass.
Looking around the casino, I keep an eye out for some guys that might be game to take me up on my unconventional proposition. But more than that, I scan the tables. My main goal might be to hook up with someone, but it’s also my first time in a casino. I want to play blackjack first.
There are several tables nearby, but things are getting crowded. I’m not sure I want to gamble for the first time with a huge audience.
“Becca,” I say, pointing across the casino, “do you think the high limit section is as crowded as the main floor?”
She looks at me as if I’ve sprouted a third boob. “Seriously? I know you are not thinking of going in there.”
I bite my lip, and she groans. Because she knows I am. I look around again, lowering my voice even more. “I think I can do it. I’ve been watching these videos.”
“Oh my god, you and your videos.” She shakes her head, then shrugs, grabbing the salt shaker again. “Well, I guess if anyone can do it, you can.”
Here’s the thing about Becca. She’s my best friend, but she’s the absolute worst at telling me when I have a bad idea. My plot to rid myself of my pesky virginity being Exhibit A. In fact, she encourages bad behavior. Probably because it’s so out of character for me that she loves it when I actually let loose.
“I know my limit,” I tell her, holding out my hand for another shake of salt. “I’ll only play up to a certain amount, then if I lose it, I’ll walk away.”
I don’t have a choice. I’m on a ridiculously tight budget. The only reason I was even able to escape my small town in Colorado and attend Stanford is because I’m on a full scholarship. Math nerd, remember? That elusive eight hundred SAT math score? Nailed it. It should be getting a bit clearer now why I’ve only had five dates in three years and am besties with my fingertip vibrator.
I come from a modest background, and I’ve paid my own way from the time I was sixteen. I’m not afraid to work hard, and I’ve stashed enough money away to pay for this trip, including some money to lose. Call me overconfident, but that perfect SAT score and weekends watching math videos have taught me a thing or two. I know enough about blackjack that I should be able to hold my own. I don’t think I’ll be losing tonight.
At least I hope.
I grab a lime. “Let’s do this.” We repeat the lick, sip, and suck, then laugh our way out of the bar, the start of a good buzz forming. I only trip over my feet once. Damn high heels.
Becca is busy scoping out the guys as we make our way toward the high limit area. It is fancy. Not gonna lie, it’s a little intimidating. Peeking past the ropes, I see that it’s definitely less crowded. I also see very few women in there. It looks a bit like an old gentlemen’s club—not that kind of gentlemen’s club—with its dark woods and deep, rich jewel tones.
When Becca looks past me, she starts shaking her head. “I don’t think I should go in there.”
I purse my lips. It might actually be better if she didn’t. I need to focus if I’m playing high stakes with the only extra money I have.
“Okay, how about this? You go find some single guys, I’ll play a few hands, then we’ll meet up.”
She nods and gives me a mischievous smile. “I’ll find you a good one that’s packing and ready to show you what you’ve been missing out on.”
Groaning, I roll my eyes. “Just text me. And no, not a dick pic,” I interject before she can say what I know she’s thinking.
Then she’s gone, and it’s me and the high rollers. I suck in a breath and square my shoulders, trying to project the confidence that I need if I’m going to stand a chance in here. No sign of weakness.
I step into the area, and a burly security guard immediately tests my resolve. “Sorry, lady. High limit players only.” He jerks his thumb back in the direction I came, apparently caveman for asking me to leave.
I stop and glance around. There aren’t many people in the room, but the asshole is just loud enough that nearly everyone turns to look at me. Perfect.
Then my eyes land on the blackjack tables. There is only one in use, and only one man sitting at it, his back to me. I focus on what I’m doing in here and give the security guard an icy glare. “Guess that’s me, then.”
Tossing my hair over my shoulder, I make a show of waltzing to the table like I do this every night, praying all the while I don’t trip in these godforsaken heels.
Miraculously, I only wobble once, and I think it’s barely noticeable. When I slide into the seat next to the man at the blackjack table, and say, “Mind if I join the next shoe?” (that’s right, I learned all the words from YouTube) the nerves I’ve been fighting all night suddenly hit me full force.
Not because of the money I’m about to lay down, though that should give me cause for concern. But because when the man turns his head toward me, he is hands down the sexiest man I have ever seen in real life.
Dress pants and jacket over a tailored button-up, tie loosened and top button undone, dark scruff covering his chiseled jaw, he exudes rich, cool confidence. But when his steel-gray eyes meet mine through dark-rimmed glasses and one corner of his li
ps quirk up, I feel a rush of heat shoot straight to my core.
Every nerve in my body is acutely aware of this man, all of them humming with electricity as he slowly rakes his eyes down my body, lingering on the absurdly short hemline of my dress. He takes his time bringing back up to meet mine, and I have never in my life understood what the phrase undressing someone with their eyes meant until now. Because that is exactly what it feels like he’s doing. And I fucking love it.
I don’t even know this man. But when he says, “Sure. We just reached penetration,” in a low, gravelly voice, my mind skips over the fact that it’s a blackjack term and goes straight to where any under-sexed virgin’s mind might. That if I’m dealing out my v-card, I want this man to be the one to take it.
My lips curve up, hoping he can’t see how nervous he’s making me. “Perfect,” I say, my voice breathier than normal.
“Indeed.”
Jackpot.
2
Aiden
Fucking hell. From the second I hear her voice, all stern and commanding as she puts the security guard in his place, I’m fascinated by the woman now sitting beside me, asking if she can join my game.
As much as I don’t want to be that guy—the one that devours her body with my eyes like a total creep—I can’t resist dropping my eyes again as she slowly crosses one long, tanned leg over the other, fuck-me heels dangling from her feet. How could I not? Those legs seem to go on for miles, all the way up to the hem of her dress that barely covers what looks like a toned, firm ass.
I want to groan out load. A good set of legs is my weakness, and this woman’s are beyond fantastic. Lean and toned, it’s not hard to imagine what they might feel like wrapped around my head as I use my mouth to make her scream in pleasure.
