A Match Made in Vegas Read Online Crystal Kaswell

Categories Genre: Alpha Male Tags Authors: Crystal Kaswell Advertisement1

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"Now, all mouth. But since your lady says you're generous, you're probably used to that." The bartender winks.

Fun.

That's all this is.

For a quick moment, I take in the sight of Daphne's long body stretched over the surface. The messy hair, the bare shoulders, the long line of her stomach, the undone button of her shorts, and those legs—

They're too fucking sexy. I want them on my palms, wrapped around my waist, pressed against my cheeks.

This is a taste.

Not even a taste.

And it's happening. Here goes nothing.

I lean down, bringing my mouth to her torso. I wrap my lips around the glass, then suck just enough to hold it there.

In one swift motion, I rise and slam the shot back.

The drink is even worse than I imagined. Like rubbing alcohol and artificial flavoring. But knowing it's on Daphne's lips sends more blood south.

I swallow hard, and I ditch the glass.

The bartender claps. "Let me know when you're ready for the next round."

"Later." Daphne reaches for my hand. When I offer it, she pulls herself up and slides off the bar. "We've got dinner plans. We're here for a bachelor party."

"We're here when you need us." She winks.

Daphne pulls two twenties from her pocket and presses them into the bartender's palm.

She beams. "Thanks, hon. Hope you two have a fun night. If you're looking for someplace with a little more action—" She also brandishes a business card and presses it into Daphne's hand.

Only this one isn't for a nightclub.

It's a sex club.

Daphne shows it to me. "Too fun for you?"

I should say yes, of course, but I don't. I say, "Is that a challenge?"

"Not yet." She smiles. "But maybe later."

"It is your turn."

She nods I know. "We don't have time. We have to get to dinner."

That's true.

"But that will give me awhile to think of the perfect dare."

That is, if my brother doesn't beat her to it.

Our dinner reservation at the steakhouse at the Paris is only a few casinos away, but the scorching heat makes the trip feel slow.

It's too loud for real conversation. Not that I know what to say. My thoughts refuse to get in line. They keep screaming take off Daphne's clothes, now.

I barely see the MGM Grand, Coke World, the M&M building. I barely notice a thing until a guy in an all-black rash guard shoves a postcard into my hands.

No, this isn't a postcard. It's an advertisement for an escort. One with a picture. A tan blonde with fake breasts in a bright pink thong, her nipples just covered by clip-art stars.

Do I look like a guy who goes for this kind of thing, or do these assholes hand everyone cheap R-rated trading cards?

Daphne shares none of my irritation. She studies the image with pure intellectual curiosity. I can almost see the wheels turning in her mind. Is this some sort of prototypical sex worker? Do these lightly censored images get the best results? What would make someone call the number on one of these cards?

Her eyes flit to mine. Her curiosity turns to me.

She's asking herself if I'd call the number, pay for sex, spend a night with an escort, go for this sort of woman.

Something like that.

But there's no judgment in her expression. There almost never is. That's a remarkable trait. How the hell does she do it?

She raises a brow interesting, slips the postcard into her back pocket, and continues our trek to the Paris.

Finally, we pass the fake hot air balloon and move into the casino.

Ah, sweet air-conditioning.

So much for linen keeping me cool. Not that I can fault the fabric. With her right here, I'm not sure anything could keep me cool.

As we move through the carpeted casino, she removes the flyer from her pocket. "Do you know where we're going?"

This is another place my coworker liked. It was hard to find, but I remember where it's hiding. "Yeah."

"You lead then." She holds up the flyer. "There's a lot to consider here."

"Is there?"

I take her hand.

She follows me through the casino, past rows of slot machines and blackjack tables. "Is this your type?"

"For sale?"

She laughs. "That's darker than I meant it." She studies the escort's tan skin. "She's got that California meets Las Vegas thing going."

"Throw that away."

"No way. It's a keepsake." She slides it into her purse. "And an interesting study. Why do men find thin blondes with huge breasts attractive?"

"Porn," I say.

She raises a brow. "You watch porn?"

Not a smart subject. "I've watched it."

"But you don't watch it now." She shoots me that same coy expression. Really, you expect me to believe that?

She's not wrong, exactly. She's just not right either. I like the tease in her eyes. I like it too much. I try to find some way to respond without saying how about we make a video together, but I can't. I want her too much.


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