When the show ends, my legs barely function. Pierce stands behind me, and I lean back against him heavily, so he’s practically holding me up. He leans in to nibble at my ear.
“You are exquisite, my little slut,” he whispers, as a pulse of desire throbs in my pussy.
We’re still standing, applauding, and before we even manage to turn around our chairs have been whisked out of the way, along with the tray where we set our drinks and plates. A different member of the waitstaff has appeared this time, holding our door open and announcing that our dinner is ready.
We follow him to a quiet restaurant, with only five or six other tables. It’s on a high floor of the hotel, somewhere near the penthouse, I think. The huge windows across one side of it overlook all of Las Vegas, and I spend a few minutes standing in front of them gaping at the skyline, until Pierce rests his hand on the small of my back and murmurs that our food has arrived.
We didn’t even need to order or anything. And it’s a full three-course meal, each one more deliciously mind-blowing than the last. Though none of them, I notice with amusement, are very heavy or hearty courses. Pierce was right. He wants to keep me hungry for later.
We finish with light, savory ice cream flavors, lemon and thyme and a lavender chocolate blend that makes me question everything I thought I knew about ice cream, that’s how damn good it is. We leave without even seeing a check, but I figure Pierce must have some kind of deal with management. They clearly all know him pretty well. Maybe he’s a common visitor here—a high roller or something. I hear the hotels in Vegas really pamper all their experienced gamblers, since those are the customers who always keep coming back for more.
Naturally, when we leave the restaurant, he pushes the penthouse floor on the elevator. It makes him swipe a keycard, which he does, even though last time I checked, we hadn’t checked into this hotel anywhere. He really must be a regular. I start to wonder about the site I found him on.
Was it Vegas-based? Maybe he lives here? Or maybe he’s a gambling addict, and the bid he put in for my virginity is just another gamble for him. Spend a ridiculous amount of money to see if you enjoy fucking some girl who has never fucked anyone else before, and has no idea what she’s doing. That does sound like a pretty big gamble to me.
I’m still trying to work out what’s going on here, why all these people are treating him the way they do—is this how fancy hotels treat all their rich guests? —when the elevator doors open.
We have the entire floor.
I step straight out of the elevator into majesty. Wraparound windows surround the suite, and we’re so high up that beyond the buildings I can see the faint curve of the horizon, the desert kissing it, and the full moon rising along the distant horizon. A few stars glitter overhead, though most of them are blocked out by the light pollution of the city at our feet.
The ceiling is glass too, clear as the night sky above.
In one corner of the open-plan suite, I spy a hot tub, deep enough to fit at least a small party of people, with jets along its sides. On the other side is a massive bed, larger than king size, I’d warrant, and spread with sheets and a fuzzy fur comforter so perfectly white that they match my dress tonight. In the center of the room is a brazier, already lit with a warm fire that glows in the hearth. There’s a kitchenette too, but it looks empty, unused. Nobody who stays on this floor cooks for themselves, of that much I’m certain.
Pierce takes my hand and leads me into the room.
“This place is insane,” I say, ready to ask him how the hell he found out about it, how he booked it. I knew Vegas was luxurious, but I had no idea.
When I look at him, however, his expression has gone serious and hungry again. His eyes devour my body, lingering on my curves. “Take off your dress,” he says, and I waste no time in grasping the hem and pulling it over my head. I drop it in a puddle on the floor beside me, still feeling sexy as hell in my lingerie and high heels. Not to mention horny as fuck from his ministrations all day long.
“Stand beside the bed.”
I make sure to swing my hips with each step as I sashay over to the bedside. I know I look great in this—I can tell from my reflection in all the windows, which at night seem to act like huge mirrors, reflecting us back at ourselves. I watch him in the reflection as he gazes after me, lust written on every inch of his tortured expression.