24. Chapter 24
I want to keep her.
An angel.
You may be thinking, Oh, Juliette would make a gorgeous angel with all that blonde hair and that pretty little face . But no. It's me. I’m the fucking angel. I chuckle at the mere thought of it.
The costume consists of white pants, vest, and tie, along with a matching sleeveless shirt, leaving my arms bare. My gold halo sits slightly crooked atop my dark hair, and a small pair of white feathery wings are strapped to my back.
“If only ESPN could see you now,” a man says from beside me at the bar. I recognize him as the guy who recognized me on the beach that day. He has a cheeky smile on his face, and I return it with a chagrined one of my own.
“I didn’t pick it out.”
He laughs loudly. “I’m assuming that’s Juliette’s work.”
“You assume correctly,” I say, signaling the bartender for another scotch on the rocks.
The resort’s nightclub, The Upside Down Club, is vibing with pounding dance music.
The decor is dark blue, making it easy to spot the servers, who are dressed in skimpy bright yellow outfits.
I’m doing my best to keep my gaze above the equator because the yellow hot pants on the males leave absolutely nothing to the imagination, and dong gazing is not my cup of tea.
“I’m sorry I forgot to introduce myself before. I was a little excited to meet my favorite hockey player. I’m Ryan.” He reaches out a hand, and I shake it as I take in his attire .
“Nice to meet you, Ryan. Or should I call you Batman?”
He laughs, a deep, rich sound, hinting at his good-naturedness. “My partner, Carlos, picked it out. He’s the one dressed as Robin.” Ryan nods toward the dance floor where a man dressed as Batman’s sidekick is dirty dancing with two women.
“Is Carlos bisexual?” I ask before wincing. “Sorry, that was invasive.”
Ryan elbows me. “Not a problem. We’re much more open here than we are back at home in Wyoming.
Yes, he’s bi, and I’m gay.” He takes a sip of his drink.
“Though I’m not attracted sexually to women, I’m attracted to them in every other way.
I have a deep appreciation for the female form and think they are the most beautiful creatures ever to grace this earth. ”
“I couldn’t agree more,” I say, my mind going to a certain blonde. Who should have been here by now , I think, glancing toward the door.
Ryan smiles over the rim of his cocktail glass. “I have a bit of a voyeurism kink and enjoy watching Carlos with a woman.” He takes a sip. “It’s not something we do often. We come here once or twice a year to scratch the itch.”
“It’s nice that you have a place where you feel safe to explore what you like,” I say, clinking glasses with him. “To be honest, I ended up at this resort accidentally and was a little apprehensive at first, but it’s actually pretty freeing to be here.”
“Agreed. We call this place our kinda secret Caribbean gem ,” he says with a chuckle. “By the way, where’s Juliette?”
“Getting ready with some of the other ladies. She told me she would meet me here.”
My attention is drawn to the door of the club, where a group of ladies is entering. They’re dressed as Wizard of Oz characters, their outfits short and sexy. I recognize Wendy as Dorothy, and my brow creases. She’s one of the women Juliette was getting dressed with. So where is she?
Then, like the parting of the Red Sea, the costumed ladies fan out to the side, leaving a statuesque blonde woman standing in the center.
And dear god in Heaven…
My mouth gapes open, and my grip tightens on the glass in my hand with so much force, I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter. Juliette is standing there looking fierce as fuck with her blonde hair down and full around her face. Her makeup is dark and dramatic, with lips the color of blood.
And her outfit? Mother of all fuckers. My cock thickens in my pants at the sight of her.
She’s wearing a strapless, one-piece, leotard thing that’s made of shiny leather in a deep red color.
The top of it is cut to resemble flames against her chest. Fishnet hose crisscross down her mile-long legs, ending with tall red rhinestone boots that sparkle in the flashing lights.
I can see black-and-red feathered wings peeking over her shoulders, and illuminated red devil horns sit atop her mass of blonde hair. She is sinfully stunning.
“Damn,” Ryan cackles. “Looks like you’re going to have your hands full tonight, buddy.” He slaps me on the shoulder and wanders off. At least I think he does because all I can see is her . My she-devil.
Juliette’s eyes meet mine, and her top teeth sink into her plump, glossy bottom lip. My feet move without me telling them to, and I hear titters from the other women as I pass them, my eyes taking in every sexy inch of my dream girl.
When I reach her, she dips her chin coyly and turns those bright eyes up to me, sooty lashes framing her gaze. My hands automatically find her slim waist, the slick leather softer than I expected.
“You look very… pure,” she purrs, running her hands up and down my bare arms.
“I’m feeling anything but,” I growl, pressing my hips forward so she can feel every inch of my impure-ness. “You look positively wicked, dream girl.”
“Maybe I’ll take wicked advantage of you later,” she says airily, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
“That’s what I’m counting on.”
And I’m damn well going to let her.
The karaoke party is in full swing, the drinks are flowing, and Juliette and I are happily tipsy. Actually, everyone in the bar is feeling pretty fine at this point.
Most of the singers are not great, but I think that’s the point. Juliette has been on stage three times already with various groups of women, the last one a very loud rendition of “It’s Raining Men.”
We’re standing near the backlit bar while Jane and Gaston sing “Islands in the Stream.” They’re dressed as Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers.
I cop a feel of Juliette’s ass. No one gives a fuck here. Everyone is all over each other. My eyes dart to a dark corner booth where a woman is straddling a man’s lap, and I lean down to whisper in Juliette’s ear. “Who is Marilyn Monroe with over there?”
She squints and then pops her eyes open wide. “Austin Powers, and I’m pretty sure they’re fucking.”
Sure enough, their rhythmic movements suggest some very naughty things are happening beneath Marilyn’s iconic white dress.
“Is that Victoria?” I ask, and Juliette nods.
“Yes, and Austin Powers is Chris, Inge’s husband. According to what Victoria told me yesterday, they’re swapping tonight. I saw Inge and Elvis kissing in the corridor when I went to the bathroom earlier.”
“I’m assuming Elvis is the one dressed as Elvis?” I ask sardonically, remembering the guy in a sparkly jumpsuit I’d seen on the dance floor earlier.
“That’s him,” Juliette giggles before leaning over the bar to get the bartender’s attention.
Of course he runs right over. And stares at her fucking chest while asking what she wants.
Not that I can blame him; her tits look amazing in this outfit.
“Another shot of Fireball, please,” my girl— mine —requests.
I step up behind her, plastering myself possessively against her back while cradling her curvy hips with my hands. “These boots are hot. I want you to wear them while I fuck your mouth later,” I whisper in a low, commanding voice in her ear.
She turns to face me, her eyes glinting with mischief. “The angel wants the she-devil to suck his big, hard cock?”
The cock in question swells against her belly. “More than I want to breathe,” I say, the words not much more than grunts because all the blood reserved for making my mouth work has migrated much farther south.
The bartender sets the shot glass on the bar behind Juliette, and I take it, holding it in front of her. Her glossy red lips part, and I press the glass to her lower one, tipping it up and pouring the contents into her mouth.
She winces only slightly before smacking her lips in satisfaction. “Thanks. I need some liquid courage. I’m about to go solo.”
“What are you singing?” I ask, still staring at the cherries of her lips, imagining all sorts of devilish thoughts.
“You’ll see,” she sings, flashing me a cheeky wink.
I’m vaguely aware of someone approaching, and then I hear Kat’s accented voice. “Okay, hot stuff. You’re up next.”
Hot stuff, indeed. This bombshell is fire personified.
“Be right there,” Juliette answers. Once Kat departs, the hot-as-fuck devil woman drops her hand to my crotch and gives me a soft squeeze that almost makes me come in my fucking angel pants.
Then, without another word, she saunters toward the round stage, her luscious ass swaying, while I’m left drooling like an infant with a new tooth.
That fucking woman…
She gives Jane and Gaston a high five as she takes their place on the stage, shimmying her shoulders as if to pump herself up for the song. I migrate to the front of the crowd and laugh when I hear the unmistakable sounds of a fiddle.
Juliette’s eyes meet mine, and she grins before launching into “The Devil Went Down to Georgia.” She’s not a great singer, but she’s surprisingly adept at hitting every single word with precision, despite her mildly drunken state.
I watch in fascination as the she-devil commands the stage, strutting from one side to the other, tossing out winks and pointing at people in the crowd while she sings. Everyone is eating it up.
As she nears the end of the song, Juliette plants herself in the center of the stage and cocks her hip, stomping one booted foot in time with the music. Everyone—including me—claps along and then cheers when she finishes with a flourishing, upraised arm.
My legs eat up the small space in front of the stage, and by the time she's handed off the microphone to the karaoke guy, I’m there. I lift her off the low stage by her waist and settle her on her feet.
“That was so fucking fantastic,” I praise. “You could be an international superstar, dream girl. You were like Taylor Swift up there.”