Adrianna's Undies (6 page)

She watched as Tristan made sensual work of eating the fruit—he curled his tongue around it in a way that made her imagine the strawberry was a huge clitoris. Then he finally took a slow, thoughtful bite, chewing carefully, closing his eyes, and she envisioned the salty moisture of her pussy mingling with the sweet, natural juices of the strawberry in his mouth as he swallowed.

She only realized that she’d automatically kept her legs wide apart when Tristan reached down to rake yet another strawberry through her open flesh. Slow again, but deeper this time, thorough, as if trying to soak up the moisture from every crevice. She sighed sharply at the sensation and waited, ready to watch him eat it—only to have him lift it to
her
mouth this time instead.

The move surprised her so much her heart lurched in her chest, but she didn’t hesitate to part her lips and let him slip the strawberry inside. He kept hold of the green stem as she bit into the fruit and felt the juices surge in her mouth. And—oh God—she tasted it, really tasted it. Just like she’d imagined—her wetness blended with the flavor of the strawberry yet was distinctly discernible, salty, sexual, female.

“Aren’t you delicious?” Tristan asked, his eyes glimmering wickedly.

Adrianna enjoyed other women but frankly had never found the taste of pussy juices as appealing as a man’s come. And yet, for some reason, she heard herself answer softly, “Yes,” because the whole situation was so hot, because tasting what
he
tasted somehow
made
it good, and because he
wanted
her to like the taste of herself.

Her chest constricted at the realization. What he wanted she suddenly wanted too. Just because he wanted it.

“Good girl,” he told her. “Now eat some more fondue, but keep your legs spread, as far apart as you can.”

“All right.” She’d answered without thought or hesitation, every cell in her body plunging downward into a deeper, more profound sort of arousal. Maybe this was what came from being turned-on over and over again for a couple of hours without acting on it—she wasn’t sure because she was a woman accustomed to acting on her desires, even if only by herself, with her sex toys or her fingers.

Whatever the reason, though, in this moment, she no longer cared about winning the submission game—she simply followed what her body told her.

And what her body told her was that it felt good, naughty, dirty, to sit there with her legs spread so wide apart under the table in a fancy restaurant, the cool air whooshing over her damp cunt. Her body told her that the very act of eating—another marshmallow dipped in chocolate, then a chunk of pineapple—had become an utterly sensual act. The very feel of taking the gooey chocolate into her mouth, the warmth of it spreading down her throat, inside her body, added to her excitement. Her body told her everything felt good right now,
everything
—every touch of her hand to the smooth, cool wineglass, the way her fingers curled about the fondue skewer, the way her breasts heaved of their own accord against the corsetry beneath her dress.

“Turn your body just a little,” Tristan said then, “to let those guys see your pussy.”

The four men at the other table. He’d noticed them too. And though she’d gotten caught up in what was happening at
her
table, a quick glance revealed that they were indeed watching—discreetly but certainly.

Again, she didn’t hesitate. She followed Tristan’s command without thought, without surprise, without question. She shifted her ass on the black leather booth to turn toward them in a way that surely put her cunt on display, even trapped as it was in a “frame” of leather. It pulsed with the move and her breasts tingled hotly.

“Good girl. Now look at them,” Tristan said.

A woman less sexually experienced might have been cowed by this, but not Adrianna. In this moment, she took pleasure in lifting her gaze to the men at the table. She made eye contact with one of them—a tall, dark and handsome type—and that drew the more direct attention of the rest. As they looked, their eyes between her legs but then rising upward to see what kind of woman did such a thing, she moved her gaze from one to the next, as if to say,
This kind of woman
.

Knowing that the angle allowed only the men at the opposite table to see, she didn’t bother resituating when the waiter returned with the check. “How was the fondue?” he asked.

“I would say it surpassed all our expectations,” Tristan smoothly replied, and Adrianna worked to stifle a smile.

A moment later, Tristan placed two hundred dollar bills in the check binder, then said to her, “Let your dress ride high enough to give them another good look at that pretty pussy when you get up.”

“All right,” she said, the very flesh in question thrilling even more at the demand. Again, she didn’t think or consider her answer, and even though she normally wouldn’t have done it, she suddenly didn’t mind if that’s what Tristan wanted.

So as they rose to go, her dress barely covering her ass due to the way she’d been sitting, she didn’t rush to pull it down. In fact, as she stood next to the table waiting for Tristan to scoot free from the booth, she purposely faced her lusty-eyed admirers and subtly let her fingers curl around the dress’s hem just enough to lift it another inch or so. When a barely audible groan echoed from one of the men, she knew she’d achieved Tristan’s goal.

A second later, she swiftly readjusted the dress, and as they left the restaurant and walked back through the busy casino, the slot machines all clicking and clanging around them, Adrianna felt the flesh-on-flesh rub of her pussy with each move she made. Her breasts bounced slightly and every step she took made the tops of her boots rub against the sensitive skin of her thighs. Amazing, she thought. Tristan hadn’t so much as touched her, but he’d still managed to arouse the hell out of her.

As they walked through the gaming area between a row of blackjack tables and roulette wheels, gamblers stopped to look at her and she enjoyed stealing away their attention, distracting them from their bets. Her cunt oozed with readiness and she wondered if her wetness could possibly roll down her legs.

She was dying for sex, dying to be with Tristan, ready for anything.
Please. Please let him fuck me now. Please let him touch me, lick me, make me come. And then please let him ram that big, beautiful cock into me where I feel so empty right now.

But as they exited the Luxor, a cool night breeze swept over her and somehow cleared her head a bit. As they got into the car—the sexy blond driver again subtly looking her over as he held the door—Adrianna got hold of herself
. Stop it. This is not you. This is wine. And champagne. And Ultimate Pleasure Panties. And the rush from flashing strange men.

At the demand of your lover
, she couldn’t help adding in her mind. A bitter truth.

Face it. It turned you on. To do it not because you wanted to, but because he bade it.

God, that was unsettling. She let out a sigh, her breasts sinking heavily against the half-cups of her corset.

She had really, truly begun to take pleasure in following his commands, doing his will.

And it had to stop
now
.

* * * * *

Tristan was hard as a rock. Although he’d participated in a three-way or two, and he’d played a few light bondage games with willing partners over the years, he’d never before asked a woman to share herself with other men in the way he’d just demanded of Adrianna. It had mostly been an impulse he’d followed—but why had he done it? To enforce his control on her, certainly—yet he supposed it also excited him, or his ego perhaps, to show those other guys what he had, what he got to take home with him tonight. Not just her delectably bare pussy, but a woman who was that wild, that hedonistic. Maybe it was an odd way to feel since she hadn’t
technically
chosen to be that hedonistic—but he’d known how aroused she was, how it had thrilled her to show them. It had practically seeped from her pores out into the air around them.

Now, as the limo departed the Luxor, it was all he could do to keep his hands off her. That body just begged to be touched. And there was more to it than simple lust. It was about the past too.
Where did we go wrong, Adrianna? How did we get
here
—together yet still so far apart?

But he couldn’t start going soft on her—his job tonight was to tame her, or at least try. He’d actually wondered if someone as strong-willed as Adrianna
could
be tamed, but after her response to his commands in the restaurant, he was beginning to feel confident.

“Did you like showing those men your cunt?” he asked.

He expected her to reply with the same lush, raspy
Yes
she’d given him in response to other recent questions. So it surprised the hell out of him to find her looking bored and aloof next to him. “It was fine.”

His chest tightened and, without planning it, his next questions came out a bit sharper. “Did you like pleasing me? Did you like doing what I wanted you to do?”
Don’t piss me off here, Adrianna.

But she continued to appear just as taciturn. “Like I said, it was fine.”

All of Tristan’s contentment with her flew out the window and he heard himself making
tsk
ing noises. “And here you were being such a good little girl in the restaurant.”

She looked up, met his gaze too boldly. “Are you implying I’m being bad now?”

“Your attitude was much more…enthusiastically obedient before. As it
should
be.”

She crossed her arms, looking belligerent. “I told you, I’m doing the best I can.”

“Except now I know that your best is better than I’m getting at the moment. So you need to do better, Adrianna—understand?”

“Maybe my best fluctuates from minute to minute.”

“Maybe my
patience
fluctuates just as much. Are you forgetting what’s at stake here?”

Her expression changed then—clearly she
had
forgotten and now had just remembered.

She lowered her eyes. And his cock got a little harder.

Next to him, she bit her lip uncertainly, then without meeting his gaze said softly, “Can I ask you a question?”

“All right.”

“Where are we going now?”

She must have noticed that they’d turned in a direction that led away from the Bellagio, not toward it. “You’ll see,” he told her.

And he could almost feel her distress, how she wanted to protest, to demand to know the answer to a simple question—but she held it inside. Smartly. Because Tristan had long since forgotten those soft, brief feelings about their past together—all he could think about now was disciplining her.

And after this disappointing change in attitude between the restaurant and the car—well, he
had
been planning some playful, rewarding treats for little miss Adrianna at their next stop, but now, now she would have to be punished.

* * * * *

Inside, she seethed with anger. Mostly at herself, for falling prey to her lust, for taking real pleasure in
anything
he asked of her. But, then, the entire situation renewed her anger at him too. How dare he use her sexually to save her company? It was archaic. Had he turned into a caveman?

Of course, she’d agreed to it. It had seemed so much simpler than wading through legal mire and possibly coming out on the losing end anyway. She supposed that, deep down, she’d thought this would be easier. She’d never dreamed she could honestly be turned-on by submitting to a man’s will.

So she stayed quiet as the limo traveled the outskirts of Las Vegas—but where the hell was he taking her? What did he have planned?

A memory popped to mind. Fucking Tristan in the desert. They’d been driving along, returning from a research trip to a ghost town for some paper Tristan needed to write for a class—and it had been hot, and they had been wanting each other, talking about getting back to the dorms so they could do it, and without warning, Tristan had turned off on some side road and led them deeper into seclusion. And she’d experienced the feral joy of letting her knees dig into the hard ground, having the sun beat down on their bare skin as Tristan plunged his glorious cock into her from behind. They’d fucked like animals that day. Afterward, they’d lain naked on the desert floor in broad daylight, talking, kissing, just enjoying the hedonistic freedom of it.

She sighed at the too-fond memory. Could he be taking her out into the desert again?

Just then, though, the limo turned into a crowded parking lot and through the tinted windows she caught the words Gentleman’s Club in pink neon.

She almost laughed. At the very idea that Tristan had been doing something that could border on sentimental here. At the notion of calling guys who frequent strip clubs “gentlemen”.

When the driver opened the door, Adrianna stepped out boldly, undaunted. She hated to break it to Tristan, but going to a strip club didn’t scare her. Given that she enjoyed women, this wasn’t her first trip to such an establishment.

Tristan said nothing upon exiting the limo behind her—he simply placed his hand on her ass and ushered her to the door. Despite herself, the touch burned through her, making her skin sizzle. And those damn pleasure panties weren’t helping anything, either. Every time she got up after sitting for a while, she was surprised—jarred—by the intense stimulation they delivered. Not enough to make her come, it seemed, but enough to frustrate the hell out of her.

She felt the burly doorman’s eyes on her as Tristan paid, and as they stepped into a large room featuring multiple stages and swirling red and pink lights, other men looked at her too. Even with women dancing in various stages of undress all around them, she managed to draw the customers’ gazes. She found herself hoping Tristan saw, and hoping he regretted losing her all those years ago. A childish, useless thought perhaps, but at the moment she didn’t care. They were playing games tonight—she could play her
own
games too, if it made her feel better about all this.

With his hand still on her ass, and her clit and anus still being rubbed with every step she took, Tristan directed her to a small, empty table before the main stage. They sat in two plush chairs, and Adrianna focused on the stage where a young woman with long red hair twirled around the pole wearing only sparkly devil horns and a sparkly red g-string complete with a pointed devil’s tail. Her large breasts looked fake but attractive and her red fuck-me stripper shoes added to the whole effect. Given Adrianna’s already intense state of arousal, the sight only added to her frustration, her nipples growing so hard she could feel them rubbing against the fabric of her dress. Like back at the restaurant, every move she made felt sensual somehow—her very limbs felt heavy and burned to touch, to feel, to experience something.