Chapter 29 Stetson #2
According to her, the underground club is sacred to Miami and has a no-tolerance policy for foul play. I took that as—folks with a bigger name than the average get in and only them, filtering out the wild drunks who can’t handle their alcohol.
But make it for the rich and famous, I suppose.
Club tables, bouncers, and shot girls surround the moody club, and while typically, I’d feel like an outsider in my full cowboy getup, at Venus, I don’t.
Glances veer in our direction, but no one interrupts as I lead us through the club.
Cove calls out directions while I steer, dodging couples left and right, all in search of the private door at the back of the club.
“Midnight,” Cove tells the bouncer, and he grins before sending me what I take as a nod of approval. “First time for everything, Ms. Davenport. Enjoy your night.”
“He’s here to stay, Chase. Remember his face.” She smiles wide and pride beats me in the goddamn chest. I’m staying. And Lord do I ever appreciate that reassurance I’ll never tire of hearing.
“Noted,” Chase tells her before lifting the velvet rope and letting us by.
Blackness surrounds us, more so than in the crowd of the club.
A staircase leads us to a private bar area where couches and high-top tables litter the space.
The difference down here can be felt from a mile away.
It’s secluded from the dancing throngs of people.
Actually, I’m pretty sure that’s Miguel Diaz in the corner booth, Miami’s starting quarterback.
Swanky music plays from the speakers, and the moment we fully enter, I let Cove take over. She grabs me by the hand, saying hello to barbacks and customers as she guides me to a closed door in the corner of the room. How far does this place go?
A heavy gunmetal door stands before us with a keypad to the left for secure entry. Cove enters a handful of numbers, and it beeps, the locking structure giving way for us to enter. “Fancy,” I murmur, unsure of where we’re going, but it’s not like it matters. I’ll go anywhere with her.
“Definitely not in Texas anymore, Toto.” Cove giggles.
It’s not often I’m at a loss for words, but right now, I’m stunned. Desperate to see where this trip to Venus Vault will take us. The stage and pole in front of me, my fast track to a frantic mind and hardened cock. “Baby, baby, baby,” I practically groan. “What do we have here?”
Cove lets go of my hand and steps onto the stage, her casual outfit making her no less criminal in my thoughts. Fantasies. Whatever you want to call it. “Lock the door, Stetson,” she commands, and I make quick work of obeying. I know how much she likes to trade off power.
“Is this my gift? I’ve gotta say, I was looking forward to fucking you in front of my party guests, but you took off too soon.”
Cove pulls a key from her pocket and unlocks another small door to the side of the stage, tossing her purse inside. A stack of paper appears in her hands, my curiosity even more piqued. But I wait for her initiation.
There are so many doors in this place. The stage is black velvet with soft yellow spotlights. One chair sits across from it in what would typically be the audience section. But that pole…
Her hot naked body better be wrapped around it before we leave here.
I command it.
The Midnight theme makes sense. The ambiance and sex music. It’s so fucking erotic. My cock throbs against the seam of my jeans.
Whatever this is…I want it. Now.
“Go sit.” She nods to the chair, and like the lovestruck fool I am, I do it. My eyes trace the stack of papers resting in her grip, the all too familiar words across the front of it.
My Forbes interview. She must have taken one from the room before she left Texas.
“Take off your shirt.” I lift my cowboy hat from my head and place it on the chair.
Removing my shirt takes mere seconds, leaving me in nothing but Wrangler jeans and boots.
I replace my hat, eyes trained on the way Cove’s body all but falls into itself, watching me strip.
She leans against the cold metal pole with her brown eyes filled to the brim with lust. “That’s enough,” she whispers just as I’m about to loosen my belt.
Okay, baby girl. Lead the way.
She draws her bottom lip into her mouth as I take a seat, my legs spread comfortably, leaning back in the chair. It’s her show, I’m just here to watch. Prowl. Pant on my knees for a goddamn slip of a tit and her warm pussy to sink into.
“Do I finally get to fuck you, Cove? Or have I earned myself a show first?”
“I figured we could have a little celebration. And since you’re in Miami, what better place to do that than Venus? We have the whole room to ourselves, birthday boy.”
I smirk, reveling in need but also really fucking hating how comfortable she is here. “You bring all your boyfriends here?”
“Only the old cowboys.” Cove winks, taking a leisurely step forward and lifting her shirt.
No bra. Jesus fuck, I love Miami. Is this a thing with South Beach women? Braless weekdays? I really hope so.
Cove’s tasteful movements align with the music serenading us both.
I’m not up to date on trending songs, but the lyrics are fitting.
The sway of her hips and soft falling of her tits with every step she takes.
“What song is this?” I mumble, absentmindedly rubbing my fingers against the scruff of my beard while I imagine tracing her nipple rings with my tongue.
“‘Wildflowers & Wine’ by Marcus King. You like?”
“Mmmm. I do.” If she doesn’t get over here fast, I’m grabbing her. It’s been too long.
She reaches the edge of the stage and sits, setting the magazine beside her. It’s when her legs lift just enough to slip her leggings free that a low rumble breaks free from my throat. “Fuck.” No panties, either.
Cove knows what she’s doing. So much so that her legs spread wide, revealing her swollen cunt in all its majesty. I’m so close, I can practically taste her. Smell her. Fucking see her cum dripping from the slit of her center. My groan is untamable, ready to break free and charge at her.
But she holds still, propping her spread legs along the edge of the stage and leaning back against her palms. Her head falls back, and I take in the untouchable power she holds over me.
The only word adequate enough to describe my thrill for her is worship. I want to worship at the throne of her beauty for all of my days. The silkiness of her pale skin, perfectly trimmed pussy, and nipple rings that buzz across the tip of my cock as I fuck her with it.
She’s divine.
“I want to touch you so badly,” my voice cries out on a plea, gaze drifting from the slope of her neck and back to her core.
“I can see that,” she tells me with beautiful confidence, eyes tracing the bulge of my cock. “You get to watch me touch myself instead.”
“I’d like that, my love. May I direct you?”
The softest whimper breaks free. “Please.” But before I can say the word, she flips open the magazine beside her and opens the page to my article.
“You may want nothing to do with this, but I do. I want to fuck myself while I look at you.” She nods to the headline with my staged headshot plastered beside it: Multimillion Dollar Texas Cowboy, Stetson Cole, Seeks Love. But Will He Find It?
Cove grins wide, and one hand reaches for her tit, drawing the silver ring between her fingertips.
“The you before me,” she elaborates and then looks my way.
“And the you with me. Both my favorite versions. One a man full of yearning, and the other a man full of love…and undeniable sex appeal. Seems fitting I fuck myself to both of them, wouldn’t you agree? ”
How hasn’t anyone snatched her up and run by now? She’s the whole damn package.
“Yearning?” I mutter breathlessly. “Not sure I ever stopped. Hope I never do.”
“Then yearn for me some more, Stetson. Ache to touch me. Ache to be inside me, knowing you can’t just yet.”
“You get to come first. Always.” My hands find the metal base of the chair, the only stability within reach to keep me from ending this here.
I’m conflicted because I want to watch her, but I also want to throw her against that fucking wall and make her scream my name.
“Run your hand down the slope of your stomach. Slowly. Not too fast. Pretend it’s my hand touching you.
You’re so soft, Cove. Tell me what you feel. ”
“I feel chills.” Her voice quakes, hand passing where her hips meet the dip of her thigh. “And warmth. Like my skin is on fire. But I want closer. I need to touch my pussy, Stetson. It aches so bad.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Hallelujah fuck.
“We’ve been apart for too long,” I mumble assertively, hating the fact that we could have been together all along.
“Touch your clit. Carefully, as if it’s my tongue rolling across it.
I wouldn’t be able to help myself.” Her finger meets the swollen bud, and a spasm wracks through her entire body, a strangled moan vibrating off the walls of the room.
“Stetson,” she calls out.
“That’s it, my love. You’re doing so well.
Almost too well.” I watch in fascination as Cove shows just as much attention to one tit as she does to her clit.
I love the way her body comes alive at the smallest touch.
The way her knees turn in just slightly, wrestling with the overwhelming sensations.
But she leads herself with fierce pride, knowing she’s in control of her own pleasure.
My voice, however? I want that to be the thing that makes her fall apart.
“Slip your middle finger inside.”
“Like this?” she whispers, eyes never leaving mine. I feel the combination of love and passion stirring between our bodies, although from an unbearable distance. I lower my gaze and follow the way her finger soaks itself in her cum, needing no preparation before sinking inside.
“You're perfect,” I tell her, my grip on the chair strengthening. “In and out, okay? Curl that finger deep when the ache builds up. It’ll feel so fucking good.”