KING: Las Vegas Bad Boys(5)
Landon slides an arm across my back, smoothly guides me to our table where I grab my clutch, then expertly holds the door for me as we walk to the bank of elevators.
I don’t know how these hook-ups work. But from the looks of it, Landon is a player, a bad boy, who knows exactly how they operate.
If I’m going to have sex for the first time in an embarrassingly long time ... I’m actually very glad it’s with someone like him.
Someone who’s not a man I’d ever bring home, not a man I’d ever sleep with twice. Not a man I’d give more than one hour, one time.
Chapter Three
Landon
“Are you nervous?” I ask, tossing my suit coat on a chair in the corner. Claire bites her lip, seemingly very out of her element.
We’re standing in my suite. I’ve gotten myself a permanent space here, set up courtesy of Ace. Considering what I spend a month at the casino, the room rate is a joke. Being able to call myself a serious blackjack player—which is an oxymoron in and of itself—is a perk of being the son of a diamond tycoon.
“I just ... I haven’t done this in a while.”
“Done what?” I ask, my brows furrowing as I pop the cork on a bottle of champagne. It’s all she drank tonight, and the moment I let her in my room, it was clear she needs to loosen up some more.
Pouring a glass, I hand it to her, and she looks up at me with those piercing green eyes.
“It’s been a while.” She shrugs, dropping her eyes to the floor.
“Ahh.” This is quite shocking, actually; Claire is confident and drips sex appeal. She’s classic and smart—and hell, her legs in those fishnets she wears around the casino each day ... there’s no way men aren’t shagging her left and right.
“I don’t know why I told you that. That was stupid. I want to do this. With you. I need to do this. I never do anything for myself. And so, I shouldn’t be weird about it. Or nervous. Right?”
Rambling women usually give me a headache, but Claire’s rambling reveals a softer side to her that I’ve never seen before. It’s actually quite precious.
“Claire, relax. It’s me. I’m not a stranger. And this is just sex. At least for me it is. Is that the problem? You want this to be ... more?”
“Oh, God no,” she says, so emphatically I actually start to laugh. My ego is impossible to bruise—but I do, however, appreciate her honesty. “This is for one hour. Only.”
“Got it, one hour,” I say. “And if you’re apprehensive about your ... err, skills ... I can take control of the situation.”
Claire swallows a sip of champagne and nods eagerly. “Yes, just—please, Landon, don’t make me feel like a idiot.”
“Never.”
I take the flute from her hand and set it on the table. Then I wrap my arms around her and find the zipper of her dress. I slide it down, inch by inch, and feel my cock grow in desire as the dress gives way and falls to the floor.
Claire takes a sharp indrawn breath, suddenly naked save for the strapless bra and tiny thong crossing her soft skin.
“You are divine,” I tell her.
“Shut up.”
“You are. Now don’t be coy with me.”
Her hands reach to the collar of my dress shirt and she slowly eases off my tie. It falls between her fingers as she drops it to the floor. Button by button, she moves her fingers down my chest. I tug off the shirt once she’s finished.
“Now the trousers,” I direct.
A soft smile plays on her face; she tugs on my belt, whipping it from the loops. It hits the floor, and she quickly unbuttons my pants. I know she’ll get wet when she sees what I have for her.
My cock is thick and massive, the kind a girl like Claire, who hasn’t been properly fucked in far too long, is going to love.
My trousers fall to the floor and my hard rod has sprung to life under my boxers.
“This is really happening,” Claire says, her voice full of soft surprise.
“Do you want it to happen?”
“Badly.”
I unclasp her bra and her perfect tits fall out. They are full and round, with faded stretch marks on the sides, reminding me that Claire is a fucking woman. Her breast are gorgeous and her hard little nipples beg me to lean in, kiss her skin.
She inhales as my lips reach her breast; her flat stomach pulls in as she holds her breath.
“It’s okay, Claire. You’re perfect.”
The tiniest hint of insecurity flashes over her body. Her hips pivot; her head turns away for a moment. I cup my hands on her face, reflexively, holding her still. Not wanting her to look away. I want to fuck her, sure. But I also want her to know it’s perfectly okay to enjoy it.