Carter's Cuffs (2 page)

For the first time, it occurred to her that maybe this assignment was the wrong one for a girl who didn’t get a lot of action between the sheets. It had been six months since she’d last gotten laid—by a nice guy she’d met at the Mandalay Bay blackjack tables during a girl’s night out. A nice guy, but she’d known immediately there was no risk of her heart getting involved, so it had been safe to have a short affair with him—four dates, three of them ending in his bed. Now lust for Carter Brooks hammered at her, and every sensitive part of her body was encased by snug fabric that created an utterly delicious and agonizing friction with each move she made. And sure, she had a vibrator and she knew how to use it, but it just wasn’t the same as a real man.

Just then, a slow-moving sedan beeped, making her look up. Inside were four guys around her age who had bachelor party written all over them. They waved, and she winked, as sexy as she could, then sensually licked her upper lip. The guys appeared transfixed—but then passed on by, and she was glad. Each time she made a vice bust it saddened her on some level—wondering if the guy was married and cheating, or just so lonely and desperate that he was willing to pay for it. Of course, in this town, she knew hiring a hooker was sometimes about the thrill of it, the forbidden allure, but sex
that
casual,
that
meaningless, just didn’t turn her on no matter how she looked at it.

Unless…Carter had been in that car. If she were really a hooker, and Carter wanted to pay for her services…well, she didn’t like to admit it, but
that
would turn her on. Completely.

She sighed, imagining him pulling up to the curb, asking her how much—telling her she was worth any amount, priceless. She envisioned her breasts in his large, work-roughened hands, how she would arch them deeper into his palms, wanting him to push the fabric aside so that they’d be flesh to flesh—her bared breasts, his warm touch.

Oh God, if her pussy had been hot before, now it was on fire. And the sad truth was, she suddenly didn’t know how she was going to stand here all night, feeling sexual, looking sexual, acting sexual, without
being
sexual.

Glancing toward Danny, she hiked a thumb over her shoulder toward the bar. The signal meant she had to use the restroom and was going in. He hated that, because it was dangerous for her to be out of sight, especially in a dive like this, masquerading as a streetwalker—so she tried to avoid it. But this, right now, wasn’t really about going to the bathroom, and it wasn’t something she could avoid. It was a need that had come on fast and furious.

Pushing through the door, she felt the eyes fall on her—men of all ages glancing up from the bar or from the pool table in the corner, all devouring her with their hungry stares. She ignored the whistle that echoed over the loud rock music and—God help her—enjoyed the attention, enjoyed being wanted in such a dirty way. She could have sworn her nipples got harder and her cunt flooded heavier with each step she took through the shadowy room. Her thighs ached, and her pussy felt huge, swollen with excitement.

When finally she reached the door marked Ladies, she wasted no time going in, locking it tight, then turning to lean back against it. Finally, privacy. She didn’t hesitate to lift her hands to the roundness of her breasts, squeezing, molding. And pretending. That they were Carter’s hands.

She shut her eyes, imagining he was there with her, all tall and broad and commanding. She wondered how big his cock was, and imagined it pressing rock-hard at the front of her mound. Trying like hell to be quiet—she was wearing a wire and didn’t want the guys on the street to know she was doing anything besides peeing—she sighed as she dipped one hand under the sinfully short skirt and between her legs.

She’d worn a thin, red mesh thong—no one would see it, of course, but if she was going to dress the part, she was going to go all the way. Now she was glad for the choice, because it was cool and light and clingy and let her feel her own touch better than if she’d selected cotton.

Oh God, she was wet—just as wet as she’d suspected. She ran three fingers deep through the furrow of her cunt. She’d been right about how swollen she was—her pussy felt enormous, and she released a small moan.
Shit, be quiet.
Reaching down to the sink next to the door, she turned on the faucet so the sound would cover any other noises she couldn’t hold in.

Next, she stroked her middle fingertip over her clit. Not gently, but hard and rhythmic, as her body dictated. She spread her legs as wide as she could, still leaning against the door. Her other hand still massaged one breast. The guys outside were totally forgotten, that quickly.
Touch me, Carter, touch me.

She’d never done anything like this before—never masturbated outside her own home. She’d never needed to. But her lust for Carter was clearly driving her to new highs—or lows, depending on how she looked at it. Either way, it was overwhelming.

Needing freer access to her clit, she found herself lifting one red platform shoe up on the old porcelain sink. Then she rubbed harder through the red mesh.
God, yes. Touch me, baby.

That’s when she caught sight of herself in the old pockmarked mirror.

Jesus, she made an obscene vision. And under normal circumstances, that might have bothered her, but right now it only added to her wild arousal. Carter wasn’t the only one who could go to sexual extremes.

What would he think if he could see her like this—touching herself, thinking of him? She bit her lip, knowing the answer instinctively. He would
love
it. She didn’t know him well, but she already understood him on a sexual level, and she
knew
he would go instantly hard if he could see her now.

Feeling even bolder and more hedonistic, Erin pulled her mesh thong aside until she saw her pussy in the mirror—pink and open and glistening wetly. Oh Lord. She didn’t hesitate to stroke her fingers through the moisture, thinking,
God, Carter, I want you
. She wanted him in any way she could have him—watching her, touching her, she didn’t even care. She just needed to connect with him in some carnal fashion.

She whimpered softly as she refocused her touches on her clit, rubbing in deep circles at first and then moving her first two fingers over it more frantically, frenetically, more like a vibrator would. God. Oh God.

She looked in the mirror, at her body on display—her pussy revealed—but she imagined that it was her man watching her as she edged closer, closer, to blessed release. What she saw she pretended
he
saw. He watched her work her own pussy. He saw how badly she needed to come. He saw what a dirty, dirty girl she could be.

And then it happened—the orgasm rocking her almost violently. She had to let go of her breast to grip the sink and keep from falling down.
Yes, yes, yes!

Oh God.

She couldn’t remember ever coming so very hard.

And she was in the bathroom of a seedy bar. By herself. On the job.

Sheesh. Not exactly her usual way of getting off.

Letting out a deep, calming breath, Erin put her clothes back in place and washed her hands in the already streaming water. How long had that taken? Two minutes? Ten? She had no idea how long she’d been inside. God, she hoped Danny or one of the other two guys didn’t come storming in thinking something bad had happened.

With that in mind, she hurried from the bathroom, this time ignoring the stares of the patrons as she made her way back out into the warm Vegas night. She found Danny still sitting in the car and waved. Seeing his sigh of relief, she was sorry she’d worried him. And thankful he apparently had no idea
why
she’d worried him.

Taking her spot back by the lamppost, Erin’s thoughts returned to Carter. More specifically, to what Carter had just made her do.

The fact was, it
had
been dangerous to go into that bar by herself without really needing to. Stupid, in fact.

This is what happens when you don’t stay focused, when you lose your edge.
It was a minor mistake, but a mistake just the same. A feeling of cold dread washed over her as she thought of her dad.

Clearly, she was going to have to do something to fix this situation, get back in control of herself.

“Woohoo!” The catcall came from a passing limo—more bachelor party boys—but they drove on by.

Yet even now, their attention made her breasts feel heavy, still needy—or needy
again
. Already? She was already aroused after just coming? This was getting ridiculous.

I’m gonna have to have sex with Carter.

She didn’t see any way around it, any other way to slake her needs.

And yet…she wasn’t ready to surrender to him
completely
. Far from it.

Letting herself fall for the guy—which she already knew could happen very easily—would be just as bad as her present situation, just as dangerous.

So maybe she could find a way to make it seem…totally impersonal, just like naughty fun, nothing more.

It shouldn’t be difficult. After all, his come-ons were all about sex. And given what she knew about that three-way he’d had with Diana and Marc, he was obviously into wild, no-strings-attached bed sports. In fact, for all she knew, that was all
he
wanted, too—just sex.

What if…

What if…she orchestrated her own dirty little ménage a trois? What if…she took precautions, safeguards, to ensure she’d be in complete control of the whole event? What if she even devised a way to make sure she could make a clean getaway afterward, so that he’d know this was just about fucking and not about seeing each other or dating or getting emotionally involved?

She released a small sigh, then looked up as a late model Porsche slowly trolled the boulevard, approaching the Desert Oasis.

Maybe she could do it, she thought, her pussy tingling softly once more. Maybe she could arrange one wild, no-holds-barred night of hedonistic sex with Carter—and they’d both be satisfied once and for all.

Just then, the silver Porsche eased to the curb. The electric window descended smoothly and a handsome, older man in an expensive-looking suit leaned across the passenger seat. “How much for an hour, honey? And I want it all.”

“
All
? Sweetie, you gotta be more specific.” She had to make him indicate it was definitely sex they were negotiating.

“A blowjob and a fuck. Nothing too kinky,” he added with a wink.

“Three hundred,” she said. She normally pretended to work cheaper given that she wasn’t exactly painting herself as a high-class call girl here, but she knew this guy could afford it and it might seem suspicious if she didn’t demand a decent amount.

“Get in.”

“Do we have a deal?” She had to get him to agree before she could make a bust. She knew to go by the book or this rich guy’s lawyer might be able to weasel him out of it.

“Sure, honey,” he replied. “Now come on, I don’t have all night.”

That was it. Car doors opened, and the “bum” across the street jumped to his feet, all of them closing in quickly, reaching for their badges. Erin whipped her own from the waistband of her skirt, flipping it open. “Sure you do. I’m afraid you’re under arrest.”