Hot in the City 2: Sin City (5 page)

She gave her head a coquettish tilt. “I guess it’s a good thing I got here
now
. Just think, if you’d gotten that job before I had occasion to travel to Vegas, we’d never have met. And so far…” The smile that formed on her lush red lips was filled with seduction. “I’m finding this a real pleasure, getting together outside of the office, off the phone.”

Her words were simple, but that sinful little smile said so much more. He wondered just how predatory he looked when he replied, “I am, too. But the night’s very young, sweetheart. We’re just getting started and I’ve got a whole lot more pleasure in store for you.”

“I can’t wait,” she cooed across the table.

His cock tightened a little more in his pants.
Neither can I, baby, neither can I.

* * * * *

The show, Diana learned when they arrived at the theater, was called “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun”. Although nearly as many well-dressed women as men were seated around them, she got the distinct impression from the pictures next to the box office that this was a gentleman’s show.

Apparently Marc got that idea, too, because once they were seated in their private booth facing the stage, he leaned over and said, “Uh, this might be a pretty racy show, sweetheart. I didn’t even ask my friend, Dan, what kind of show it was, but…I hope it won’t embarrass you or turn you off.”

Diana bit her lip. She’d never been to any sort of strip club or men’s show, and the truth was, she found herself curious. “No worries. I’m sure I’ll find it entertaining, whatever it turns out to be.”

His small smile said he liked her style, and the truth was, she
expected
a Vegas show to be racy.

When the lights went down and the curtain lifted, a dozen busty women appeared, decked out in short black vinyl dresses cut to reveal their breasts, all firm and round with pointed pink nipples. They began to dance in unison to hot, steamy music and before Diana knew it, many of them were stripping down to only black vinyl g-strings. Others disappeared from the stage and came back for the next number, this time decked out in shimmering transparent bodysuits and enormous feather boas, which they cleverly used to reveal tantalizing views of their breasts and crotches in time with the burlesque-type music that played.

Just sitting next to Marc as they both watched the sexy women on display for their viewing pleasure seemed intimate and sensual. Diana drank the wine Marc had ordered, leaned a little closer to him without quite planning it, and continued to enjoy the show.

The acts grew more erotic as the performance continued. One dance featured two of the curvy women stripping each other out of glittery costumes before caressing each other’s arms, hips, breasts. The two eventually mounted a small set of steps to climb into an enormous champagne glass filled with soapy water, where they moved sensually together, washing each other’s bodies in time to the music.

Diana had been aware of the arousal slowly escalating inside her, but this particularly hot number had her pussy pulsing in her panties and her breasts feeling heavy and hot. She found herself wishing she could reach inside her dress and caress her own breasts, tease her nipples.
You shouldn’t want this
, the good girl inside her warned. But she did. And as always, when desire found Diana, it took over, making it so little else mattered besides acting on her wants.

Since she couldn’t quite find the courage to fondle herself, despite the darkness of the room, she automatically leaned farther into Marc, lightly rubbing the side of her breast against his arm. He turned to gaze down at her in the low-lit room and she saw the same arousal swimming in his eyes. She licked her lip, looked up at him, and hoped he read the longing there.

Mmm, yes, he did. She knew because it was at that precise moment he slid his hand onto her thigh. Diana’s cunt burned for his touch as she watched the next act—six girls working stripper poles, each dressed in a hot getup she suspected you might find in a men’s club. One girl wore a white leather vest, a white thong, a cowboy hat, and little white boots. Another looked like a biker babe, with a black leather cap and jacket, and black fishnet stockings held up with a garter belt. A third wore the filmy costume of a harem girl.

As she might have predicted, each of the six sensual girls stripped down to tiny, barely there g-strings, all the while still spinning and shimmying around their pole. A few catcalls came from men in the audience as the dancing got steamier and steamier, a couple of the girls even beginning to touch themselves. The cowgirl, still in boots, hat, and g-string, molded her big breasts in her hands, twirling hard nipples between her fingers. The biker chick—fishnet still intact over a tiny black thong—even reached inside the stretchy fabric covering her pussy.

If Diana had wanted to touch herself a little while ago, it was nothing compared to now. Marc’s large hand caressed her inner thigh, but he’d been moving very slowly—not even to the top of her stocking yet. She didn’t want to be here anymore; she wanted to be someplace where she could rip his clothes off and have her way with him. She wanted his hands all over her, his cock inside her. She knew it was wrong, and wished like hell she didn’t feel that way, but to deny it would only be lying to herself.
Good girl, where are you?
Nowhere near the Vegas Strip, clearly. Her pussy felt so full of arousal that she wondered if it were possible to have some kind of spontaneous orgasm, without even being touched there.

As the action on the stage got hotter and hotter, the crowd reacted, as well. Around them, Diana heard more whistles, and a few men muttering things like, “Oh yeah,” and “Keep goin’, baby.” On the stage, two girls had taken to one pole now, and as they shimmied and swayed around it, they also ran their hands over each other’s hips and breasts, and engaged in painstakingly slow, sensual kisses.

The sight set Diana’s cunt even more ablaze. She’d had occasion to watch the occasional porn movie with past boyfriends, and she’d seen some girl-girl scenes, but witnessing these two lovely women just feet away from her, making out so tenderly, lips touching like butterfly wings, aroused something new in her, some untapped heat she’d never quite felt before. She had a split-second urge to be up there with them, getting naked, kissing and touching, having her aching breasts caressed by the lovely dancers. This was easily the most erotic thing she’d ever watched.

It was then that the tempo of the music suddenly changed—getting faster, taking on a driving beat. The showgirls responded accordingly, changing their slow, tantalizing dances into something faster, hotter, more demanding. The girls worked their poles harder, performing athletic moves and death-defying spins, until finally they each took their spot back behind their own pole and began moving in unison, thrusting their pelvises forward in time with the hard beat, effectively fucking the poles. Their breasts jiggled with each thrust and the whole room filled with hot, lashing sexual energy, raw and reckless.

Touch me
, Diana thought. It was all she could do not to drive her own pelvis forward into Marc’s hand, which now caressed her thigh in a hard, intense massage. God, sometimes it was hell being so bad.

As both of them watched the women on the stage pump against the thick, shiny poles, Diana thought she’d die of lust. For the women, and for Marc. And just when she thought his hand was easing closer to her soaking wet slit, the music stopped; the dancing came to a dramatic conclusion with one final thrust punctuated by all the girls letting out a well-timed groan, and the curtain closed.

Applause and whistles permeated the air as the lights slowly came up, seeming to transport them all back to reality. Marc gazed down into Diana’s eyes and she looked back, letting the heat she saw in his brown depths radiate through her chest and downward. His hand was gone from her thigh—he’d needed it to applaud—but suddenly, Diana didn’t mind. The show was over, and their limousine was only steps away. Out there, they wouldn’t have to stop
and
they wouldn’t have any interruptions.

His look grew tentative, however, as if he wanted to make sure they were on the same page. “So…what did you think? Too racy for you?”

She shook her head and boldly met his gaze. “Not at all. I
loved
it.”

Fresh new heat flared in his eyes.

“I do have a question, though,” she added as other patrons exited the theater around them.

He slid his arm comfortably around her shoulder. “What’s that, sweetheart?”

She bit her lip, cast him her sexiest look, and spoke just loudly enough for him to hear. “Why didn’t you touch me during the show?”

He raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised, which she liked. “I
did
. Because I couldn’t help myself. I was afraid you’d slap my hand away.”

She shook her head. “I meant…” She stopped, sighed, then spoke lower. “Why didn’t you touch my pussy?”

She watched him draw in his breath and hoped she wasn’t coming on too strong—but the bad girl in her was clearly alive and well and on vacation in Sin City.

“I was aching for you to touch it,” she went on, “and I kept thinking you would, but…” She let out a sigh, her body still wracked with frustration.

“Truth?” he asked with a smile.

“Of course.”

He leaned a little closer to her face. “I was
dying
to touch that sweet little pussy of yours, but…technically, we just met. I wasn’t sure you’d go for it here, in the theater. And I didn’t want to risk trying something you might not want. Didn’t want you to think I’m some kind of pushy asshole.”

His answer was earnest, and also moving, because it meant he really cared how she felt about him, but it still struck her a bit funny. “Marc, does something about me say prim? Have I ever done
anything
to make you think I wouldn’t welcome your advances?”

He gave his head a knowing tilt. “Well, you
are
dating another guy. Maybe that felt like a pretty big reason not to touch you, too. I feel bad enough just having put my hand on your leg.”

She let her eyes fall shut for a second at the unpleasant reminder. Talk about crushing her arousal. And she hadn’t planned to tell Marc this, since it could only encourage him and make her less and less likely to resist, but… “Actually, I sort of broke up with Bradley last night.”

He blinked. “Really?”

“I…don’t know that it’s totally over, he and I, but…I had a feeling I couldn’t come out here without wanting to get intimate with you. So I told him I was having doubts about our relationship, which is very true, and that I needed some time off from it.” The further truth was, right now she was sorry she’d ever met Bradley.

And she was also sorry that no matter what happened with Marc, she would probably still go back to Baltimore when this was over and continue trying to be the woman her family wanted her to be. Why couldn’t
this
guy live in Baltimore and have her parents’ blessing?

Finally, she lifted her gaze to his. “Tell me something. What kind of girl do you like exactly? Do you go for someone who’s prim and proper?”

He grinned. “You really have to ask, sweetheart? I’d think you’d have figured me out by now.”

She
did
suspect she knew the answer, but something in her had to make sure first, before she let go completely of that woman who dated Bradley and wore conservative dresses and repressed her sexual urges—let go of her just for tonight, anyway. “I just need you to tell me. I need to hear it.”

She watched as he took a deep breath, clearly not quite sure what she was after, what she wanted him to say. “Truth?” he asked again.

She nodded.

He let out a sigh of concession. “Okay. The truth is, the girls I
really
go for are the ones who aren’t afraid to shed their inhibitions. I love a girl who likes to get really, really wild.”

His words revived a little of the heat between her thighs as she flashed a sly smile up at him.

“Well?” he said, leaning slightly forward. “Did I give the right answer or the wrong one? In the big spectrum of females, where exactly do you fall, Diana Marsh?”

She tilted her head and told him
her
truth. The truth that felt so good on her tongue, and in her body. “In the big spectrum of females, I fall right where you want me to. So despite my best efforts to change my evil ways, it looks like this is going to be your lucky night.”

* * * * *

When they reached the street, the Las Vegas strip had become a neon jungle. Desert heat still scorched the air, driving them toward the comfort of the limo, but Diana stopped walking for a moment anyway, pulling back on Marc’s arm, just so she could look around for a moment and take it all in. Sensing her fascination with the place, he whispered in her ear, his voice smoky and hot. “Welcome to Vegas, baby.”

She cast a sexy smile, hoping he could read in it how very ready she was for some Sin City action. After the erotic show they’d just watched together, and given that, for the first time in months, she was spending the evening with a man who wanted her to get wild, she was relieved to have given up the attempt to be a good girl—for now anyway.

As she entered the limo, Marc told their driver to cruise the strip for awhile. “It’s the lady’s first visit here,” he explained. “I want her to see the strip in all its glory.” She hoped that really meant,
I want to have my way with her in the back of the limo
.

Once they were both closed inside the plush, cool car with the privacy window raised between them and the driver, Marc opened the mini-fridge, pulled out a bottle of wine, and uncorked it. After turning on some music and pouring two glasses of Chardonnay, they toasted. “To tonight,” he said, “and whatever it may hold.”