by Candy Sloane
“Bathroom?” Allie asked.
“Over there,” Garrett said. “They are both unisex and private.”
She sauntered over to the first vacant door.
“You certainly know your way around the place,” I said.
“It’s my job,” Garrett said.
I had no response for that, or I did, but it might have lost me my other twenty-five thousand dollars.
We moved into the back room. A line of amber shots was already set up and waiting for us.
“Tequila?” I asked.
“We are in Vegas,” Garrett said.
“Enough drinks. Where are the girls?” Tongue asked.
“I wish you’d been in my frat,” Kappa said.
“I would never be able to hang out with sixty of you. One douchebag is more than enough.”
“Would you guys just get a room already,” Allie said, back and freshly made up from the bathroom. She grabbed a shot and sucked it down.
“I hope there’s water,” Cowboy said.
I slapped his back. “If you think the waves on a yacht are bad, wait until a girl is riding you. Maybe keep your intake to a minimum.”
“That’s what the hat is for.” He smiled. He held my arm and whispered into my ear so it wouldn’t be heard on-camera, “I might suggest the same to you.”
I shook myself free and did another shot.
Scott came up behind me. “Take it easy, V.”
“I need something to make it through the next two days. I’ve decided I’ll spend it drunk. Then it will all fold in and smooth into a fog. That I can deal with. The ticking seconds until I have to pick one of these idiots…”
“I know,” he interrupted, “just be careful.”
Every tantalizing orgasm Scott had delivered hit me at once. I was tired of feeling selfish. I longed to give him what he’d given me.
I checked to make sure the coast was clear and I grabbed his dick, drunk enough to forget that I shouldn’t. “Careful is not what I want to be.”
His body melted into me as he hardened in my hand like hot iron being forged.
“How can I keep saying no,” he said, his face yielding, “when all I want to say is yes?”
“Say it,” I whispered, holding his hot, hard dick tight.
“Meet me in the second bathroom in ten minutes.”
“Seriously?” I replied, sobering up slightly from his answer. I wasn’t expecting a yes, but I was definitely glad for it. “How are we going to get past Garrett?”
“I’ll take care of him,” he said with a single-minded grin.
I took a seat next to Allie and the Gasms. Up onstage, a girl started dancing, making her way across the platform and down the stairs. The announcer let us know in a deep vibrato over the song Girls, Girls, Girls that her name was Ginger.
She was built like a perfume bottle, no breasts and all ass. She had red hair. At least she’d given some thought to her stripper name.
She slinked over and straddled me. I hoped her dance wouldn’t take longer than ten minutes. Otherwise I was going to be the one not letting someone else finish for a change.
“No way,” Garrett cried, staring at his phone. “Chris Martin and Jennifer Lawrence are at Tao in the Venetian.”
“I thought they broke up months ago,” Allie said.
“Exactly,” he replied. “I’m going to need to take the limo. None of the gossip sites are there yet. We might actually get some film.”
“Can I come?” Allie asked. “I mean if I won’t be in the way. I really love Coldplay.”
“Sure, whatever,” Garrett said, in full work mode, “but we have to leave now. Scott, just get enough shots to fill out the episode.”
I looked over at Scott, and he greeted me with a wink.
My hero.
Forget filling out the episode, there was only one thing I hoped he would fill.
Garrett and Allie left in a flurry as three girls hopped on top of Cowboy, Kappa, and Tongue.
Ginger kept writhing on top of me. It felt fine, nice even, but the only thing I wanted to feel was Scott. Especially now that I knew I was finally going to be able to.
The music ended, and she got up with a shrug. “You might be frigid.”
For anyone but Scott, I suppose I was.
“I need to pee,” I said, loud enough so everyone could hear.
No one was listening. They were all occupied by their own “Gingers.”
I made my way through the club and entered the second bathroom.
Scott was waiting for me against the sink. His arms were crossed over his chest, so his shirt sleeves stretched against his biceps. I was ready to take him down in one shot.
“Chris Martin and Jennifer Lawrence.” I laughed.
“It had to be big, but Garrett will be back in like an hour when he realizes he’s been shafted.”
“How much time do you need?” I said, sliding closer to him, the heat between us ratcheting up.
“Need or want?” Our faces were inches apart, his breath like fire on my lips.
“Let’s go with need for now,” I said, the words coming out like syrup. I wanted his lips, his tongue, and his dick. I needed it, now.
His arms circled my waist, squeezing me closer. “I’ve got a whole lot of need, V.”
“Let’s take care of that for you.” I ran my fingers along the waistband of his jeans, teasing the warm skin of his abdomen.
“I can’t say no anymore,” he said. “I can’t deny how much I want you. But are you sure this is where you want to have our first time together?”
“At least we’re alone,” I said, jumping on him, tasting his neck. I couldn’t wait anymore.
“I want you to understand that I am going to fuck you right now,” he hissed into my ear, “because that’s what happens when you’re standing in a strip club bathroom, but I also plan on making love to you. Slowly, tenderly, for so long you won’t be able to walk the next day.”
“Yes please.”
He kissed me so hard he almost knocked me over, his tongue darting around my mouth and mine keeping up. Our lips overflowed with the unspoken agreement that, even though our time would be brief, he would be mine and I would be his.
I snaked my hand down and undid his fly, his dick already so hard it bounced out of his boxers.
“It’s time,” I said, running a condom down onto him.
He spun me, lifted me, so I was sitting on the sink. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more than to be inside you, to feel you come when I do.” He entered me, slowly at first, teasing me. A growl escaped from the back of his throat as he thrust faster and faster. He was in so deep his balls smacked against my skin. “You feel incredible.”
“Scott,” I breathed, the sink hard and cold on my ass, him hard and hot inside me.
He kissed me and plunged deeper. “I am going to fuck you until your tight little body explodes,” he said into my mouth. His words tingled my taste buds. “Until the only word you know is my name.”
“Scott,” I repeated. “Harder, more,” I continued, statements I’d never uttered before, never felt like I had a right to say before.
He jerked me off the sink and rotated me around, forced my hands to grip the wet porcelain.
“Put one hand on your clit and the other over your mouth,” he commanded, steadying me at my back and pulling on the scruff of my neck. “I’m about to make you scream.”
Episode Eleven: Aces and Areolas
I woke up in my suite alone. I didn’t remember getting back to the casino. Didn’t remember anything past when Scott spun me around in that strip club bathroom.
My stomach was touching the wet sink; the delicious tear of him plunged into me harder and harder, faster and faster, my finger worked my clit, my teeth bit against the palm of my hand and then there was—
Nothing.
Like I’d been reading a book I was so engrossed in that I didn’t even notice someone had ripped out the last chapter.
; Had he made me scream?
Had I thrown up on him?
I didn’t know.
I must have blacked out.
I know, I know, I didn’t need any help feeling shittier about it than I already did.
I stretched, reaching out for the headboard, pulling my body taut and trying to read more into the familiar ache between my thighs. I’d definitely been fucked hard, but was it different somehow? Did I feel satisfied?
I rewound back to Scott’s hands on me. Scott in me. His breath as forceful as a locomotive whistle against my earlobe, but after that was blank. Even if I could have remembered everything, it wouldn’t reverse that I was alone in bed now and I had to get ready for that day’s episode.
I clicked on the light, but the glare made me nauseous. I couldn’t be sure if I’d achieved an orgasm, but I was definitely sure I’d achieved a hangover. I turned it off, rolled out of bed, and pulled on the first clothes I could find in my suitcase—underwear and a bra, jeans and a T-shirt.
I thanked the reality-show-Gods that wardrobe had thought to send me with jeans. I had no patience for plaid that day.
I glanced at the alarm clock on my nightstand, it was almost 10:00 a.m. and no one had bothered me yet. Maybe we weren’t filming today at all. I let myself believe that un-grantable wish until the phone rang.
“We have taping in twenty,” Garrett barked through the receiver, before I had a chance to say hello. “We’ll be in the private high stakes poker room,” he continued before I had a chance to respond to the first thing he’d said.
He hung up before I could reply at all.
I guess he was still pissed that his trip to Tao the night before had been a bust. Hopefully, his call was a recording that went out to all the Gasms. He wouldn’t call and not care what I had to say; he wasn’t that much of an asshole.
But maybe he wasn’t in the mood to deal with my crap anymore, which I understood as nausea came at me in a new way, really made me the asshole.
Everyone was already in the high stakes poker room at the back of the casino when I arrived. The Gasms sat around a green velvet poker table busy being Gasms. Allie was stationed behind the camera with Garrett. He was whispering to her and letting her look through the viewfinder.
Barf.
Scott was the only one who noticed me walk in. He was bent over, untangling sound cables with some of the crew, but stopped to glance up at me. “Good morning, Chris, not too worn out from last night, I hope,” he said, loud enough for the whole room to hear.
I wished we were alone so I could have asked Why, should I be?
Not sarcastically like Tongue would have but because I really needed to know. Had I finished?
Even more importantly, had he?
“Nope, I could have gone all night,” I finally replied, playing it safe by answering as both public Chris and private V.
Scott had a seductive glint in his eyes. Let the heavy silence between us speak for itself.
I might not know exactly what had happened last night, but he was still here and he was talking to me. That was something.
“Your tolerance had different ideas,” Tongue said.
The hairs on the back of my neck turned to stickpins. I hadn’t expected to deal with the Gasms so soon.
“Excuse me?” I turned to her reluctantly.
“We had to carry you to the limo,” she explained. “I doubt you remember. You didn’t seem into the strippers, but when we were leaving the Spearmint Rhino you kept screaming, more, I want more, like a crazy person.”
At least she was filling in a part of my blackout. Thankfully it sounded like I was wearing clothes again. I snuck a look at Scott. He hid a guilty grin, clearly understanding the more I wanted referred to him or, more specifically, his dick.
“Have a seat, Chris,” Cowboy said as he shuffled a deck of cards, making a bridge with them. The thing that one guy at a party can always do.
I think Kappa was probably jealous.
I took an empty chair.
“Guess you are pretty good with your hands,” Tongue said, aiming her attention on him.
Cowboy blushed. “I used to play gin rummy with my grandma.”
“And,” she paused, “you just ruined it.”
“Can we play Asshole instead of poker?” Kappa asked. “I’m way better at that.”
“What a surprise,” Tongue said, rolling her eyes.
“No,” Garrett said, strolling into the center of the room. “No Asshole, no more fancy shuffling. We’re playing poker.”
The Gasms went silent. They had a respect for Garrett they didn’t have for me, or even for each other, like he was a father and they were an unruly bunch of kids in the backseat of a station wagon.
“Let’s get those doors shut,” he bellowed. “This is a closed set, no one in or out.”
“Why closed?” I asked, my one rebellion, though my body was tight and at attention.
“Strip poker,” Garrett said.
My stomach tilted and not from the hangover. I shouldn’t have been surprised but, fuck me.
“I saw everything I needed to see last night,” Tongue said.
“Well, the audience didn’t,” Garrett replied.
I glanced around, wondering if anyone had a copy of my contract.
Did I sign up for nudity?
I mean bed-nudity, sure. There would be sheets and candles and night vision to make sure you didn’t see the moon craters on my ass, but we were in a non-forgiving florescent-lighted room. I would be sitting upright in a chair, for fuckssake, do you know what that does to an average female stomach?
I guess Scott saw the panic on my face.
“You can keep your undergarments on,” he said, motioning the signal for Calm down with his hands.
“Boring,” Tongue said.
Even with the threat of partial public nudity I couldn’t help but smirk, undergarments, that was totally a public Scott word. I would make fun of him for saying that later. Or maybe just make him beg me to take my undergarments off.
“I’m not wearing any,” Kappa said.
“You can get a sexually transmitted disease that way,” Cowboy whispered out the side of his mouth.
“Who told you that, Grandma?” Tongue laughed.
What the hell did I get myself into by keeping these three?
“Just play down to your pants,” Garrett said.
“I don’t have any on either,” I said, thinking quickly.
“Nice try, Christine,” Garrett said heading off-camera.
I cursed myself for not just throwing on jeans and a T-shirt and forgetting the damn undergarments. Who was I kidding? Garrett would have made me go upstairs and fix that. Only Kappa got to be Kappa.
Allie continued to look through the camera lens, zooming in on each of us.
“Allie, get your ass over here. You’re playing, too.” If I had to get half-naked, she had to get half-naked.
She shrugged and headed over to the table. For Allie, getting half-naked around strangers wasn’t any different than any other day when she wasn’t at work.
I tried to turn on my hungover brain. What underwear was I wearing? It was too dark to see when I got dressed. I guess one saving grace of The Orgasm Virgin was that they packed me with matching, brand new undergarments.
Any mother worried about your having clean underwear when you had been in an accident would be proud.
“Five card straight poker, I’ll deal,” Cowboy said, suddenly transforming into a guy sitting in a saloon in a Western.
“Straight,” Tongue quipped with a laugh, “it figures.”
“Action,” Garrett bellowed from behind the camera. Scott was working the boom mic, dangling it over us like a cat toy.
Cowboy dealt the cards around the table, laying them in front of each of us like meat being piled on a sandwich.
My stomach growled. I hadn’t even eaten yet.
Allie arranged her cards like a fan, and I did the same. Much like Cowboy, all my card
knowledge came from playing with grandparents, in my case Go Fish.
“Can we get some rules please?” Allie asked, shooting her gaze over at Garrett.
“You lose a hand. You lose a piece of clothing. You play the cards you’re dealt.”
Never before had my life so mirrored a country song.
I studied my cards, one ace and shit. Unless someone else had worse luck I was losing a piece of clothing.
Fuck me for not having a hat as big as Cowboy’s from last night. That would have probably counted for two pieces of clothing.
“Show your hands,” Kappa said, laying down his cards—a pair.
“Show your tits,” Tongue said, laying down hers—a hand full of royalty.
The rest of us followed.
Tongue won the hand with all her queens. I waited for Kappa to make a homosexual joke, but none came.
Everyone else was safe, and it was down to Allie and me.
The ace saved me, and Allie lost the hand.
I considered keeping it hidden in the pocket of my jeans, so I might have had the chance to keep winning, but who knew how much longer I would have them?
Allie shrugged and slipped off her leggings. “I was hot anyway.”
I often wondered what it was like to not care about things the way Allie did, or at least have the courage to act like you didn’t.
Cowboy dealt again. This time I didn’t even have an ace, I just had shit.
“Can we drink or what? Playing poker sober is like Christmas without Santa,” Kappa said.
“It’s not even noon,” I said.
“We’re in Vegas, aren’t we?” Tongue said.
“Good point.” I stared at my hand full of shit. “Vodka,” I said. A shot would definitely help.
Garrett snapped his fingers, and drinks were deposited around the table.
I drank mine quickly, the hair of the dog going down just as well as you might expect.
We laid down our latest cards. Does it matter who won? Because no surprise—I lost.
“Yay!” Allie clapped. “Now I won’t be the only one who’s freezing her cherry pie off.”
I took another shot, unbuttoned my jeans, and slid them under the table. I glanced down at my underwear. The hem of my T-shirt just grazed them. Only a small sliver of my stomach showed. They were bright purple, shiny, silky, but otherwise doing their job.
