Screwed In Sin City

That's what has my attention. I've done this show a million times, and not once have I not been able to make it through every gyration and hip roll and seductive and lewd movement without wanting to fuck any of the women I've grinded my cock against for the sake of an hour's entertainment.

It's supposed to be all fun and games, nothing more than getting felt up and mauled by a room full of women with only the intention of escaping from the mundane everyday lives that Las Vegas allows them to disappear from.

Hell, escaping is the only reason most of us guys do this show in the first place.

So, why in the hell am I standing here, letting the music pound incessantly around me, staring blankly into the eyes of a woman I've never met, but suddenly am willing to do anything to know?

3

Josie

One minute I'm watching these ridiculously muscled, ridiculously gorgeous men in skin-tight white t-shirts and jeans as they dance and shake and dry hump their way around the stage and into the crowd, oozing with more feverish sexuality and unbelievable physical skill than any man—let alone a group of them—should ever be allowed to humanly possess.

The next, one of those men is suddenly shirtless, with those perfectly fitting jeans unbuckled, and he's got me pinned under every rock hard, chiseled muscle of his body.

I could feel everything. Every taut muscle that bunched and clenched with the exertion of his rhythmic movements. Every hot, damp breath against my ear and the flushed skin of my face. And the very evident hardness that he rocked toward me in time to the beat of the dance music that blasted from the speakers on all sides of me.

Good God, was that really what was supposed to happen at these kinds of shows?

I could hear Beth and our other friends gasping and laughing and cheering this dancer on, but their voices had suddenly seemed so far away. The distance of what I could hear only seemed to become blatantly obvious the moment that what I could see and feel went into overdrive.

Derek.

That was his name.

And until he'd whispered it into my ear with such seductive playfulness, I wasn't sure I'd ever really known what it was like to hear a voice I'd never heard before, but had unconsciously yearned to hear without ever realizing that the yearning even existed.

And if his lewd physical gestures and sexy voice weren't enough, he had to lock eyes with me. It was like everything around me just stopped. For a split-second, at least. I didn't understand then what was going on, and I sure as hell don't understand now, but something happened. He looked at me in a way that no other man has ever looked at me before. It was like he wasn't looking at me, but into me. And while I was mortified by him shoving his bare abs and barely contained cock into my face at eye level, I was just as humiliated by the way he stopped moving completely, staring at me like I was something he'd never seen before.

Because he was something I'd never seen before. Or experienced.

Now, as I make my way out into the hallway of the resort I'm staying at, I feel even more embarrassed and childish than I had last night. In the bright light of the day, my reaction to Sexy-Dance Derek—as Beth had dubbed him after the show—and his far too fit physique was irrational, and downright silly. He was a half-naked dancer—a stripper, if you wanted to be truthful about the matter, and he'd honed in on my obvious disquiet about being there, using my uncertainty as to how to react as a prop for his sexy, over-the-top show. He'd used me, and the mischievous little grin he wore while he did it had indicated just how much he was enjoying it.

“Screw him,” I mumble under my breath as I shove the key card to my hotel room into the book bag I'm lugging toward the outdoor pool that is the central focal point, and the area the entire hotel is built around.

I've only been here two nights, and the palm trees and lounge chairs that are scattered around the fenced-in pool area have quickly become the one thing that I've enjoyed immensely since stepping off the plane in Las Vegas and making my way to the Bermuda Resort.

I’m the only one that booked all four nights at this place, while Beth and my other friends had chosen to book their stay at the Bellagio, wanting to be in the thick of the excitement, bright lights, and fun that the Las Vegas Strip was so well known for. I, on the other hand, chose the Bermuda because it isn't on the Strip, and therefore harbors a level of quiet and relaxation that no place on the Strip could ever match.

I meant it when I said that the bright lights and dark secrets of a city like Las Vegas aren't for me.

Therefore, I choose to hide out at the Bermuda for as long as I can each day, at least until Beth tracks me down with constant phone calls or, like last night before the Thunder And Lightning show, showing up and banging on my hotel door until I relent and let her in. I’d had every intention of attending that show last night anyway, but Beth, knowing me so well, knew that there might be a chance I would attempt to get out of it.

Now, after the whole Derek incident, I'm wishing I’d gone with my gut and stayed hidden within the depths of my Bermuda hotel room, ordering room service and cuddling into the oversized king bed with the copy of Michael Connelly's new book I brought with me.

I sigh, knowing I need to just let last night's events go. I need to stop letting it eat me up the way it is. And as I settle into one of the vacant lounge chairs beside the beautiful stone water fountain that's beside the pool, I can hear Beth's words echoing in my head just as vividly as they had last night on the way back from the dance show.

Like a good friend, she

’d accompanied me back to my hotel even though she wasn't staying here, knowing that I was upset. The difference between Beth knowing that I was angry and me knowing that I was angry, was that Beth believed I was angry for an inaccurate reason. She knows me and my timid demeanor, and immediately assumed I was pissed off because Sexy-Dance Derek had decided to publicly violate me for the sake of his stupid show.

And now that I think of it, I guess I am a little pissed off about that.

However, the real reason I'm as angry as I am is because I enjoyed it.

It genuinely pains me to admit it, but I loved every minute of having Derek's eyes on me, staring into me like he understood me the way no one else possibly could. I had immediately succumbed to the blissful heat of his fingers and the arousing promise of the hardness I found myself leaning toward in the hopes of him rubbing it up against me.

I had no qualms about going along with Beth's belief that I was pissed off at Derek for doing what he did, because it was much easier to agree with that than admit that I wasn't angry with him at all. It was me that I was angry at, and no one else. I shouldn't have wanted him, and I shouldn't have let him continue with his sexy little dance number.