Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 46695 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 233(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46695 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 233(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
It’s as if she’s the real reason I’m here. Investment be damned.
Suddenly, things are looking up in more ways than one.
And as I feel my heart rate quicken, my instantly throbbing dick’s telling my brain it needs draining in a way that has nothing to do with too much club soda.
Jesus, she’s fucking perfect.
My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth as I try to swallow. I hear a low groan come from somewhere as my hostess asks if everything’s alright. Letting me know my drink’s on its way.
But I’m not thirsty.
I’m suddenly very hungry for the one thing I can see standing just feet away.
Studying her from behind, I venture a step closer. I lock my eyes on her baby blues as she looks up at me in the mirrored wall.
Her body turns as I hear a glass break, her breasts and all her curves straining through her uniform.
Thick, pebbled nipples through white fabric peek out from the lapels of her waistcoat, letting my body know they’re glad to see me at least.
But her eyes are wide, almost frightened, with an air of loneliness I’ve only ever seen in my own reflection every morning.
She’s hurt. Don’t just stand there, Ethan. Do something, you moron.
My view from almost seven feet up gives me more of a vantage point than most people realize.
And apart from being able to take in all of her stunning body from up here, I can see she’s shattered the glass she’s been holding.
The blood-red color flowing from her finger is like a cue for me to be closer to her instantly and one I’d be a fool to miss.
I take her tiny hand in mine, and fighting the urge to do more than just help her with her cut, I let it be known I’ve found the hostess I’d prefer for my evening’s entertainment.
Krissy.
Her name on my lips is a good start, but the longer I stand here holding her little hand, the bigger the need for more of her begins to swell at the front of my four-thousand-dollar suit pants.
That’s a scene in itself, but the supervisor and my soon-to-be ex-hostess are quick to remind me of the rules.
Quick to try and usher me back to my seat, away from the bar.
Away from Krissy.
But I’m not budging until I know she’s with me from now on.
“Chad, isn’t it?” I ask the supervisor, only turning my head to look down at him.
Pulling Krissy close enough to me to feel her soft warmth pressing against the growing hardness I have for her.
“How about you call Mr. Levenson? You can explain how you treat his guests to the owner, and I can tell him that maybe I don’t feel like buying half of his casino because of you. How ‘bout we do that, Chad?” I growl.
I’m eyeballing him so hard it’s almost funny to watch how quickly he changes his tune.
How quickly I’m allowed back to my seat with the only thing that’s worth anything in this place, Krissy.
And she’s right where she belongs from now on.
By my side, and with her cut finger bandaged and some color back in her sweet, round cheeks.
But only after Chad’s given her quite an earful of instructions as I watch him scramble to make sure the other gamblers are all happy.
He adjusts the earpiece that connects him to the network of hidden casino security, and he looks like a machine that’s been plugged back into the right socket. His demeanor finally changes to the supervisor again.
Asshole Chad and the world has been set right again.
Reasserting my position in a room clearly full of losers, I feel like I’ve won the jackpot with Krissy next to me.
I feel more at ease now about the whole trip out here, and settling myself back into my chair, I casually adjust myself.
I can now give Krissy an eyeful of my now aching hard-on if she looks down at my lap.
If she’s even that kind of girl. Maybe she already has a boyfriend?
Does her boyfriend have what I have, what I can give her?
I fucking doubt it.
Some rules still apply, and it’s clear that apart from Krissy seeming so shy, anything past small talk about the gambling between hostess and guest isn’t encouraged.
But I’m swift to get one thing settled, and I ask Krissy point-blank if she’s single.
My croupier clicks his tongue quietly, and I even hear the piano stop for a moment.
The question makes her flush a deep red, and with only the stale and very bored-looking croupier to overhear us, I urge her with a commanding look.
But it only seems to upset her somehow, and I instantly regret being so damned forward.
“Sorry,” I murmur, screaming in my mind to hold up and go slow with her.
“Just seeing a girl like you working on a Friday night. You should be out getting spoiled by someone,” I add.