“But you’d be crossing a line,” I murmur, my last-ditch attempt to dissuade him. To see reason and lead both of us out of temptation. “You don’t ever do that.”

“That’s true,” he replies, his voice rough with ire obviously pointed solely at himself. “But I think I’d be willing to make an exception just once.”

“Just once?” I ask.

“Scratch an itch for me,” he replies with a shrug. “Market research for you.”

Crap. He’s totally trying to justify this so we can both get our rocks off. And I’m seriously considering it.

Just once.

“Make the choice, Miss Robbins,” he clips out, and I jump at the command within it. “Leave… or walk to that empty chaise.”

He says the latter while pointing at a low, plush divan not ten feet from us.

Once more, I glance around the room, and I realize… I want in on the magic that seems to permeate the air. I want to feel Declan Blackwood within me while the entire room watches because I know… way down deep in my girly parts… it will be the most pleasurable experience of my life.

Decision made, I turn away from Declan and walk to the chaise, a thrill running through me knowing he’s going to follow.



Fucking hell.

She didn’t leave, so now I have to decide… am I really going to cross this line?

My eyes narrow as Bailey walks with a graceful stride to the chaise I’d pointed out, coming to a stop beside it. She takes hold of her hair, then pulls it to the side to drape over one shoulder. It reveals the zipper at the back of her neck on the geometric block pattern dress I’d picked out that’s professional, for sure, but hugs her body in all the right ways. She’d probably kick me in the balls if she knew I’d picked out all her clothes knowing exactly how they’d fit her.

She plucks at the zipper. My balls start to throb when she lowers it as far as she can manage without my help. Her arms fall to her sides. As she stares over her shoulder, it’s obvious she knows precisely what she’s offering to me.

Fucking hell.

There’s not even a moment where I consider not taking her. I knew exactly what could happen—would probably happen—by bringing her tonight. Not many can walk the halls of this sex club and not get swept away in the sexual temptation presented.

I knew this would force me to cross the line with her, and while deep down, I know it’s wrong, I know I fucking want this too much to ever say no.

I move toward her and as I get close, her gaze moves away from me and back out over the crowd. I’m glad because I don’t want her to get cold feet. I want her to watch the fornication and listen to the screams of release, so she continues to want the same things.

I come up behind Bailey, put one hand to her hip and with the other, I take the zipper between thumb and forefinger. When I tug it, the creamy expanse of her back is revealed as I lower it.

I’m pleased when I recognize the lace of one of the bras I’d chosen… a pure, virginal white that glows in the dim light against her tanned skin. I pause a moment, turn my hand, and graze my knuckle just above the strap. Bailey shivers, and it’s the first indication she’s overly sensitized. I can’t fucking imagine how she’ll react when I reach her clit.

Dragging the zipper down as far as it goes, I consider giving her one more chance to change her mind, but I decide against it. She might come to her senses, and that’s unacceptable to me at this point. I won’t accept anything less now than being balls deep inside her tight cunt.

“Arms up, Miss Robbins,” I order.

There’s no hesitation as she holds them up. Grasping the fabric at her hips, I lift the dress up her body, finally pulling it over her head. When I drop it unceremoniously on the curved back of the chaise, she lets out a sensual sigh.

I lean back just a bit so I can take in her backside, the matching white lace thong nestled through the crack of her ass hugging dark depths I wouldn’t mind playing with tonight. I wonder if she’d be up for it.

I take a step in, bring the front of my body to her backside, and press my palms to her flat stomach. Her ass settles against me, and the hard length of my cock nestles against her lower back. Sliding one hand down, I slip my fingertips into the waistband of the lace below her navel.

Bailey moans as they glide through her curls, find the slit of her pussy, and rub through the slick wetness I find there. Bringing my other hand up, I wrap it around the front of her throat, forcing her to tip her head sideways, baring her neck.

Tags: Sawyer Bennett The Wicked Horse Vegas Billionaire Romance
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