“You’re so fucking beautiful, Annelise,” he grits out, and I wonder how many women he’s said that to before. It’s not like I am the first girl he’s hired for this role. To him, this is work, and the dirty talk is just part of it.
For me, it’s a job. It’s money that will guarantee no more buttered pasta for me and Luca and the possibility of motherhood for Rachel. As I watch Damien stroke himself, it’s hard not to get lost in all of this myself. Even if it’s not real, it can be real for now, right? After all, if what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, then what happens in the Opal Room (in the Velvet Lounge nonetheless) has to stay in the Opal Room. It’s physics…or something.
As Damien leans forward, I lean back. I hike the dress up around my hips, and he crawls on top of me. As he does, he slides the head of his dick up and down the length of me, wetting it with each stroke.
“Do you want it, Mariposa?” he asks, and something about the way he says the word feels familiar.
“Yes,” I tell him.
“Say it then,” he says, stroking me again, teasing the opening as he does.
“I want it,” I tell him. “I want you inside me. Please.”
Damien groans, and I’m not surprised. Every man, especially dominant men, loves to be begged. Honestly, the way my thighs are pulsing with heat at the thought of that girth inside me, I need it enough to beg.
He doesn’t need me to say it twice and drives himself inside me. It’s hard, hot, rough, and unspeakably thick. After a split second of pain, my body relaxes, wrapping around him tightly and making him moan.
“Fuck me, Annelise. You feel so good.”
“You do too,” I tell him.
“I’m not too much for you?” he asks.
I shake my head.
“Good. Now hold on.”
Damien grinds against me, sliding in and out over and over with enough friction to start a fire. As our bodies meld together, it’s as if we were made for each other, fitting together seamlessly as both of us move with the rhythm that gets us closer and closer to the edge.
“Are you going to come for me?” he asks as I grip my hands around his shoulders. His chiseled muscles strain as he hovers over me, each line of definition running with sweat that smells like cedar and spice and something else. Something familiar.
“Yes,” I tell him. “I will come for you.”
“Good girl,” he says, and he thrust into me faster and faster; harder and harder until the room turns from pink to a blinding white, and we both cry out in ecstasy. I suddenly don’t care who can hear us. Hell, I don’t even care if someone is watching us. The only thing I can think about is riding out every last wave of this tide until I crash to the shore in a million drops of pleasure.
Damien stands up and fixes his pants and his shirt before running his hands through his hair. He waits as I stand up and readjust the dress that I was so sure I was going to fall out of. Then he reaches outside the curtain and grabs my panties, handing them to me.
“Thanks,” I tell him with flushed cheeks. As he opens the curtain, I take a deep breath. The room feels fuzzy. None of this feels real.
“Are you ready?” he asks, and after looking at my face, he follows up with, “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I answer. “I just…I can’t believe I just had sex in a club full of people.”
Damien holds out his arm, and I take it. Then he adds, “You were perfect. But next time, it won’t be as private.”
Chapter 11
Damien
“Look at that ass,” Diego says as the waitress walks away. He makes no point of being quiet enough that she can’t hear him, and she tosses a look over her shoulder. Diego winks at her, turns to me, holds up his glass and says, “Cheers, brother.”
I clink my glass to his, and we both take a sip. We are at Freya’s, a rooftop bar at one of our sister hotels on the strip. Sometimes it’s nice to get away. To be above the city, away from the lights and the noise and the constant pressing of work. Of course, Diego is here, so I can only relax so much.
“So?” he asks.
“So?” I parrot.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” he asks.
