Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Daphne
A lcohol is known as a situation-specific drug. People who drink whiskey alone as they stare at the fireplace expect to feel lonely, so they do. People who drink hard seltzer at a backyard barbecue expect to feel relaxed, so they do.
People who drink blow jobs at bachelor parties expect to feel wild, crazy, horny—
So they do.
Add the lights, the stage, the naked women, and, well, there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for the desire racing through my veins.
The heat in my core. The warmth of my skin. The absolutely absurd request on my lips.
Only I know it's not the cheap wine or the tacky shots.
It's him.
It's all him.
Jackson looks up at me with equal parts surprise and awe. His green eyes fill with the perfect mix of control and release.
It's like he lets go by taking control.
No, it's not like that. It's exactly what he does.
And I can do the reverse. I can take control by letting go.
Something in him shifts. He stands a little taller, studies me a little closer, breathes a little heavier.
He's the guy he is in my head. Only he's real. He's here. He's in person with me.
The man I trust and the man who fills my fantasies.
All that awe, yes, and a desire to win and a drive to take care of me.
"What are the stakes?" he asks with a sure, steady voice. He knows this role. He knows how to slip into it.
And just like in my imagination, I know how to slip into mine. How to give into my desire.
A million things race through my mind. If I lose, you take over spankings. If you lose, I sit on your face. Whatever happens, you tie me to your bed, and or I ride you like a pony.
One.
Then the other.
I want all of it. Everything. Now.
My body is buzzing with want and need and satisfaction.
I can't believe I'm here, in the back room at a shady strip club, after three songs with a dancer, after showing my tits to the entire room, playing with a stripper, letting her play with me—
Letting her spank me—
And instead of feeling awkward, I feel horny as hell.
I want more.
I want to drop to my knees and beg for Jackson's cock.
What the fuck has gotten into me, and why don't I care?
Will we get kicked out of the club and arrested as sex offenders?
Or maybe management appreciates a free show.
Probably not. Las Vegas is a tightly regulated city. That's the only way sin actually works these days.
Maybe Jackson has it right. Rigidity somewhere leaves room for freedom elsewhere.
That's what we're doing here.
Rules are fun sometimes.
"The winner gets three minutes to do whatever they want with the loser," I say.
"Fuck," he answers under his breath. "Daph—"
"Is that a yes?" There's no hesitation in my voice. No shyness. I know what I want, and I'm taking it.
"Yes," he breathes.
Perfect. But then, how the hell does this go?
A dancer walks into the room with a client in tow. She glances at us, but she doesn't protest. She shrugs do your thing .
There are two other groups in the corner. A dancer and an older man. And a bachelor party. Three guys. Three dancers. All receiving lap dances in a row.
In my short, tight dress, with the low lights, I blend into the room.
I could be a stripper, and Jackson could be a customer.
A role play. I've tried it a few times, but I never got into it. Either the setting felt off or the partner did.
But this is all right.
And it's not just a role play. Right now, I'm a dancer, and he's my client, and he's paying in his own way.
I wait for the song to shift to the next, and I slide onto his lap. I cop Mercy's move. I settle onto his lap as I bring his hand to the strap of my dress.
"Help me with that." My voice drops to a tone I don't recognize. Somehow, it's demanding and submissive at the same time.
He hears it too. His pupils dilate. His lips part.
Jackson pushes one strap off my shoulder.
Then the other.
Slowly, he rolls my dress to my waist.
I'm on his lap, with my breasts on display to the entire room, playing a game to see who gives in first. This is the start of something dangerous. No, this is well past the start.
This is the middle of something dangerous. The thought sends a thrill through my veins.
My heart beats faster.
My breath hitches.
My body buzzes with need.
I bring my hands to his shoulders, and I use him for leverage as I rise onto my knees, bringing my chest inches from his mouth.
He looks up at me with all that need and attention and desire, but he doesn't break. He doesn't come close.
I lower and raise myself a few more times, then I settle onto his lap, and I look down at him as I roll slow circles over him.
He's hard, beneath me. I can feel him through my panties and his slacks. I want more of that. His hardness against my softness. My body yielding to his. The two of us joined together, in perfect harmony.
Or like this. In some other, even more dangerous game.
The friction sends pleasure through my body. My nipples ping. My sex clenches. For a moment, my eyes flutter closed. I try to contain all the bliss.
But that's not what I'm doing here.
I blink my eyes open and look at him. We agreed to a dance. That's the only rule.
I don't have to play fair.
I don't know why I want to win so badly. Maybe because he's always in control. Maybe because I never win anything. Or maybe because I want to tease him.
All of the above, probably.
I stand and roll my dress all the way off my hips.
His eyes go wide as the fabric falls to the floor.
I step out of it, and I move between his legs. I place my hands on his thighs, I push his legs apart, and I drop to my knees between him.
Fuck, this is a nice spot.
A perfect view, really. I'm six inches from his cock. His slacks are in the way, yes, but I can see the bulge fighting the fabric. The shape. The size.
Thick but not too thick. Long but not too long.
Just right.
I don't touch him there, but I do bring my cheek to his inner thigh. The right. Then the left.
His eyes go to the mirror behind us.
Mine go to the one above.
Fuck, if we were really doing this—
My sex clenches. My skin tingles. My body whines more, more, more .
His hand goes to the back of my head. A reflex. He presses his palm against me gently, then he catches himself and stops.
But he doesn't move his hand. He keeps it there.
I run my cheek over his thigh again, then I rise.
He drops the hand.
I turn and shift onto his lap backward.
My eyes go to the mirror. His follow. We both watch as I roll circles around him, my ass pressed against his crotch, my hands just outside his thighs.
He lifts his arms. He almost breaks. But he catches himself in time again. He places his hand on my waist instead.
I let his cock settle against my ass. Not the spot I usually pick.
Right now, I want to offer him everything. I want to experience everything with him.
Maybe it's the alcohol talking, but I don't feel tipsy. Only drunk on anticipation.
I grind against him for half a song. I take his hand, and I bring it to just below my breasts.
He groans as I release his wrist.
He wants to win, but he wants to touch me too.
It's strange to watch my movements, but it feels good too. I tease him until I can't take it anymore, then I turn around, and I find the angle I need.
I roll my hips, grinding against him in just the right spot.
He looks up at me as I toy with him.
I keep one hand on his shoulder. I let the other curl around his neck.
"Fuck, baby." Jackson's voice drops to a demanding tone. "Are you using me to come?"
"If I am?"
"Bad girl," he purrs. It's the same inflection as the dancer, but it's all different on him.
It's a compliment and a command and a dare, and I want all of it.
I look down at him.
I let my eyes flutter closed.
I bring my lips to his lips. After all, we only bet on him touching my chest. Not on kissing.
We can kiss.
My tongue slips into his mouth and dances with his.
He kisses back a little harder, like he's claiming some part of me.
We move like that as I roll over him again and again, the tension in my sex winding tighter and tighter.
Until I'm there.
Fuck.
I rock through my orgasm, groaning against his lips, using him exactly how I need him.
I pull back with a sigh.
He looks up at me for a long second, then he presses his palm to my mid-back, and he brings my chest to his mouth.
He takes my nipple between his lips, and he toys with me. Soft suction. Then harder.
A slow flick.
A faster one.
Up and down again and again.
Only his mouth.
No hands.
I squirm in his lap, rocking against him, trying to contain the bliss. There. I’m already close again. And he’s still there, hard in my lap.
I rock against him.
His hand goes to my chest.
My entire body sings with bliss.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “Daph.”
“I win.”
He nods. “We should get out of here before we get kicked out.”
“Are you going to do something to get us kicked out?”
“Yes.” His voice drops to that same stern tone.
“What’s that?”
“Fuck you.”
“That’s what I was going to demand as my prize.” I run my hands around his neck. “You. Inside me.”