A Match Made in Vegas Read Online Crystal Kaswell

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I should say no, but I don't. I say, "What are the rules?"

"As many songs as it takes. You lose if you touch me here." She motions to her breasts and pulls her dress back in place. "I lose if I bring your hands here."

A fair game.

"What do you think? Are you in? Or are you scared?"

Chapter Seventeen

Daphne

Alcohol 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.


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