Buy Me(5)

“You like what you see?” She turns in her chair and looks up at me, never breaking eye contact.

“Like isn’t the word I’d use to describe what I see.” I lean in just a little, still not making a move to touch her but wanting to be closer to her. I have a strong need to know what she smells like. I’d bet my casinos it would be sweet.

“Hmm.” She runs her eyes up and down my body. “You’re not so bad yourself. If you’re into the whole daddy thing.”

A bark of laughter shoots from me, making her smile even larger. Her perfect white teeth are on full display, and her dimple deepens. Most women try to be all sweet and sexy; she went straight for my balls. Hitting the nail on the fucking head. I’m old enough to be her father. It was the reason I’d tried to stay away from her from the beginning. I didn’t have a daddy kink, but she could call me anything she fucking wanted if it made her mine.

“I’d prefer if you call me Antonio.” Even more so when I get my tongue inside your sweet little cunt. “But if you want to call me daddy, by all means go ahead.”

I move one of my hands off the chair next to her and place it on the back of hers, caging her in a little. Her long blonde curls brush against my knuckle, and I can’t stop myself from wrapping my finger around one of them lightly, unbeknownst to her.

“I’m Peaches,” she says, reaching out and placing one of her hands on the inside of my suit, running her hand up and down my chest. Her fingers wrap around my tie, and she licks her lips. “And I’m hungry. You can take me to that fancy steakhouse you’ve got. I could use a nice piece of meat.”

“Hold her chips for her at the cage, Mr. Roberts,” I say to the dealer, my eyes still trained on her. “After you, Sweet Cream.” I make no move to step back, still crowding her.

She slides from the chair, her body rubbing against mine. Her eyebrows rise when she comes into contact with my painfully hard cock. It’s been that way since she strolled her sweet round ass into my life.

No amount of cold showers or taking myself in hand lessens the need. I’m not sure anything would. I don’t even think getting her beneath me will do it, no matter how many times I take her. I’d even thought if I made her mine and got my ring on her finger, that could cool my lust, but that thought only made me harder. Thinking of her in nothing but the ring I put on her, laid out in a bed that smelled of sex and her every night… Fuck. I’ve come to the realization this will probably just be my natural state for the rest of my life. I’ll just make sure it’ll be a sweet kind of pain. One I can try and sate with her.

“Was it that daddy comment that got you all worked up?” she teases, pushing into me a little more. I hadn’t noticed how much shorter she was, even in her ridiculous high heels.

“You could recite the pledge of allegiance and it would make me hard. It’s you.”

For the first time, I get a reaction out of her. I hear a little catch in her breath.

“Well don’t just stand there. I got these curves for a reason. Are you going to feed them?”

I finally take a step back as she slides past me, grabbing my arm as she does and locking hers around it. I can’t imagine what we look like together. I don’t mean our age either. Rich men walk around with young women on their arms everywhere in Vegas. I mean she looks like this sweet little southern belle who wouldn’t be seen wrapping herself around someone like me. My businesses might be clean, but there’s a whole lot of dirt on the way to the top, and everyone knows it.

It’s then I look around and see a good chunk of people on the casino floor staring at us. Most likely because I don’t walk around with a woman hanging onto me. Maybe when I was younger, but most definitely not in a place I owned or worked at.

They were probably thinking the same thing I am. Who is Miss Peaches? The closer I get to her, the deeper and deeper she seems. I will find my way to the bottom of her and latch on so hard she’ll never be free of me. I know while she might be wrapped round me now, she could easily drop me and be out the door.

When we make it to the steakhouse not far from the blackjack table, I hold up two fingers to the hostess, who quickly grabs some menus and leads us to a booth in the back of the restaurant.

“Don’t sit anyone at these tables.” I motion to the tables that might be within hearing distance of us. She hesitates for a moment, probably wanting to tell me about a list of reservations a mile long but stops herself.

“Of course, sir,” she finally says, handing us both a menu. “Wine menu.” She holds up the extra menu for us, and I go to grab it.