Ritchie pauses and shares a glance with me before he boasts, “Yeah, tag team. Nobody could fuck a woman better than the two of us.”
Chapter 5
Bex
I’m not a prude. Just because I don’t watch porn on the regular, and I wasn’t immediately familiar with the term “tag team,” doesn’t mean I’m offended by this conversation. But it’s… different for me. Being from Vegas and seeing how liberal the tourists can be when they visit; it takes a lot to shock me.
But staring at Corey and Ritchie, I can’t help but imagine myself between them. These two tall, broad shouldered, muscular guys… heat floods my core, and I squeeze my thighs together. They’re both older than me, though Ritchie has the look of someone who’s had some work done to appear younger, and Corey looks natural, with faint lines around his eyes and lips and a sprinkle of salt and pepper near his temples.
“So, what do you think?” Ritchie is talking to me, and I’m not paying the slightest bit of attention.
“Sorry, didn’t catch that,” I say, taking a sip of beer.
Corey hasn’t taken his eyes off me since he greeted Ritchie, and the heat in his gaze has me squeezing my thighs tighter and biting my lip. The movement doesn’t go unnoticed by Corey and he smirks, tilting his head at me like he’s caught me doing something naughty.
Three loud, giggly, plastic-looking women sneak up behind Ritchie, all of them trying to run their hands over him at the same time. He looks crowded, but in a way he likes; I wonder, given the work he’s had done and the women around, if Ritchie is the type of guy who seeks validation solely from others. He wraps his arms around two of the women, leaving the third to stand behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind—it looks awkward.
Corey steps back and leans against his chair, closer to me.
“We’re headed to Satin… you guys coming with?”
Satin is the new high-end strip club downtown. One of the Bravado co-owners invested in the property, but it’s not typically a place I’d check out on my own, or even with my friends.
I reach for my phone to check the time—it’s just past 2:30 a.m.—and even though I have the day off tomorrow, I should probably be heading back to my apartment. Surely Corey doesn’t want a chubby acquaintance he’s known for a few hours to accompany this crowd to a club like that… could he?
“Can I see that?” Corey asks, reaching for my phone.
“Why?”
“Just want to check something,” he says. I drop my phone in his hand and watch curiously as he taps a few times, then locks my phone and hands it back. “Thanks,” he murmurs, his hand lingering on mine.
“Ritchie, baby, can we get going?” the plastic woman standing behind him whines. Clearly, she feels neglected, but Ritchie nods.
“Yeah, baby girl, we’re going,” he says, tilting his head back toward her. “You coming, Frank? What about you, beautiful?” he directs toward me.
Corey slides in front of me slightly, as if he’s shielding me from his friend. “We—” he starts, but I interrupt.
“I need to get headed home,” I say, standing up from my chair. My legs are a bit stiff since we’ve been sitting here talking for over an hour.
Corey whips around to face me, and I can tell he’s disappointed, but he recovers smoothly. “It is late, and you worked all night,” he says, brushing my hair back over my shoulder.
The gesture gives me chills, and he notices me tremble.
Grinning, he leans closer to whisper in my ear, “Can I see you again? I’m in town for a few days.”
I swallow hard; his proximity, his scent, and his warmth envelop me and, though I’ve been turned on during our time at the bar, I can feel how wet I am when I shift my hips. “That would be nice,” I respond.
He reaches into his pocket and takes out a hundred-dollar bill, putting it down on the bar by our drinks—which more than covers our beers and shots. Janie slides over, grabs the bill, as she says, “Be right back with your change.”
Corey waves her off. “It’s yours,” he says, and the look on Janie’s face is precious and priceless.
“C’mon Frankie, we gotta roll,” Ritchie says. Two of the women have already headed for the exit, giving the neglected one at his back time to slide around to his front for some face time.
“Yeah, I’ll meet you out front,” he says as he begins to roll up the sleeves of his dress shirt and… good lord, I might need to sit back down, because his forearms are just as muscled as the rest of his body, and thoseveins popping out are making me feel faint. Rolling those sleeves up gives me the impression he’s about to get his hands dirty at the club, and I feel a twinge of jealousy that I have absolutely no right to feel.
He turns to me, leans in close, and cups my jaw. “We aren’t near finished with our conversation… among other things,” he murmurs.
I bite my lip, and he groans. “What other… things?” I ask, breathless.
