easy. Leaning down to her ear, my words roll off my tongue. "Do you have a better idea, little Lucy? We just met, and I have no idea where you like to unwind after work. You pick, I'll follow."
"The Sex in the City slot machine," she says without hesitation, spinning around to face me.
I lift a brow. "Say what?"
She shrugs, her pink lips twisting like she knows what she's playing at. "It's my favorite slot machine. You said I could pick." She smiles, surely knowing a man like me wouldn't want to play some frou-frou game that eats your quarters.
"You don't want to go to another bar?" I ask, hoping she'll bite.
She shakes her head. "Nope. I don't like bars and I don't go home with men. Ever. So, either we play my game, or we don't play at all."
I bite my bottom lip, turned on by her spunk. "In that case, lead the way."
Fifteen minutes later she's changed out of her LBD uniform and she's leading me to a corner of the casino floor. She's back in her skirt and sweater, and she's let down her long hair so it once again swishes as she walks. It looks like a fucking waterfall of seduction and I'm about to jump off the cliff. Dive in head first. Take the mother fucking plunge as soon as she lets me.
It's crowded, and I place my hand on the small of her back as we walk. I move closer to her, not wanting to be separated for a moment. She looks over her shoulder, so our eyes meet, and she slows her pace.
She wants me close to her as badly as I do.
"You know how badly I want you out of that skirt?" I whisper in her ear as we walk through the crowds surrounding a roulette table, past the blackjack tables where high rolling guests are hooting and hollering over their bets.
Side by side now, she looks over at me. "I don't usually let men talk to me that way."
"And why's that?" I ask, memorizing her profile.
"Because I'm a lady, that's why."
Her cute upturned nose, exposed collarbone, her ample cleavage -- it’s all too damn much. She's walking like she owns the place, and yet she has no damn clue that heads are turning as she moves. I keep my hand on her back, not letting go of this perfect little thing.
The top button on her sweater is undone and I'd like to unbutton the rest, see her pretty little tits exposed. I'd pull down the lacy cups of her bra and let those big globes fall out. I'd suck her hard little nipples until she was running her fingers through my hair, begging me for more. Oh, I'd give her more. In fact, I'd give her plenty.
Goddammit, I need to stop thinking this way or I'm gonna find myself in big trouble.
"We're here," she says, and I stop staring at her long enough to see where she's pointing. There are two big slot machines, a pair of chairs in front of massive screens claiming jackpots and big wins, but the only thing prize I want is her.
"That we are." I watch as she slips into a chair and reaches into her tote bag. She looks over at me, then pats the chair beside her, telling me to sit.
I do as she says, hoping like hell my brother and his crew don't see me sitting in front of a machine based on a show about some dating-advice columnist in NYC who wears fancy ass shit and sleeps around.
I pull out my wallet the same time she pulls out hers. I shake my head, slipping a crisp one-hundred-dollar bill into her machine.
"Thanks," she says. "But you're playing too, right?"
I groan. "Do I have to?"
She nods. "You have to."
Shaking my head, I add a hundred bones to my machine as a waitress swings by.
"A glass of champagne for me and an old-fashioned for him," Lucy orders for us as I put my wallet in my back pocket.
"Why this machine?" I ask as she explains what to bet and we both spin the wheel.
"It's silly right?" She kicks off her shoes and tucks her feet underneath her as she sits cross-legged on her chair. The skirt rides up her thighs and damn, I wanna run my hand under the fabric, feel her little cunt, make her squirm in this chair; make her pant in desire. I don't though; it's clear she wants to be treated