Cruising the Strip (20 page)

“You’ll have to put shaving cream all over me with your fingers.”

“Uh-huh,” Randy managed. Just when she thought she couldn’t get wound up much tighter, Jeannie pushed her hand a little deeper inside Randy’s boxers and took a hold of her clit. She thought the top of her head might come off, but she forced herself to be cool. Jeannie’s birthday, Jeannie’s call. Except, oh God, Jeannie wasn’t doing anything with her clit, just gripping it between her fingers. Hard. It felt so good she wanted to cry.

“And you’d have to cover my clit with your fingers so, you know, you didn’t hurt me.”

“Uh-huh.” Randy pressed her fingers on the clit in question, and Jeannie caught her lower lip between her teeth. One of the girls in the movie started to pant and moan.

Jeannie glanced over at the screen. “She’s getting her clit licked. She’s all swollen and wet. I don’t think she’s faking.”

Randy pumped her hips; she couldn’t help it. If Jeannie didn’t do something soon, squeeze her or stroke her or just fucking move her fingers a fraction of an inch, she was going to break down and blubber like a baby.

“I bet if you were licking her she would have come already.”

“Oh fuck,” Randy groaned. She wasn’t watching the movie, she was watching Jeannie get excited watching the movie, and the sound of a woman in the middle of a screaming orgasm was definitely having an effect. Jeannie squirmed and pushed Randy’s fingers down until they were just at her opening. At the same time, she started that wonderful, miraculous, up-and-down sliding motion on Randy’s clit that always made her come.

“Do you think you could fuck me?” Jeannie breathed, guiding Randy’s fingers inside her. “Just a little?”

“Just a little?”

Jeannie nodded vigorously, her lips parted, her neck and upper chest pink with pre-orgasmic flush. “Don’t make me come yet.”

Randy eased just her fingertips inside and cupped her palm over Jeannie’s clit, rubbing softly. “Good?”

“Uh-huh,” Jeannie panted, working Randy’s clit faster as the second woman and then the third started to come. Jeannie gripped Randy’s hand between her legs and started to ride. “Oh, lover, I think I’m going to come soon. But I don’t want to!”

“Watch the movie, baby,” Randy whispered and glided all the way inside her. She knew Jeannie was going to come. She could see it in her face, the way her body quivered, the way her breath came out in tiny sobs. And the closer Jeannie got, the faster her hand moved between Randy’s legs.

Jeannie whimpered. Randy shot another look at the screen and saw the redhead writhing on the bed while the blonde pumped her fist between her legs. Jeannie gushed around her fingers, and Randy gave it up. “Oh fuuck!”

“Me too!” Jeannie cried, slamming her hand down over Randy’s, pushing Randy as deep inside as she could. “Oh, lover, I’m coming so hard.”

Jeannie slumped against Randy, her thighs clamped tightly around Randy’s hand, hers still between her legs holding Randy inside. “God, they’re not even my type.”

Randy started to laugh. “Jesus, I’m glad to hear that, because I don’t look anything like them.”

“Believe me, lover, if I saw one of them in the bar, I wouldn’t look twice.” She kissed the side of Randy’s neck. “I think it was mostly us watching it together that got me so horny.”

“I liked watching you watch them,” Randy confessed.

“Yeah?” Jeannie nibbled on Randy’s earlobe. “I liked watching. Do you think that’s weird?”

“Fuck, no. I think it’s incredibly sexy.”

Jeannie toyed with Randy’s clit. “Did you see that big sign in the lobby about the Escort organization that’s meeting here?”

“Uh-huh. Baby, cut that out or you’re going to make me come again.”

“And that would be bad, why?”

“Never mind. Shortage of blood to my brain.”

“It’s still my birthday, right? And you did say I could plan all our activities.”

Randy nodded, a few seconds away from blast off.

“Movies are fun, but I think I’d rather see a live show.” Jeannie obviously didn’t expect an answer, which was good, because Randy was in the middle of a mind-melting orgasm. “Maybe I could hire an escort…or two.”

“You’re in my seat, I think.” Kitty showed her ticket stub to the elegantly turned out woman whose mink and large Gucci bag took up her own seat, therefore requiring her to sit in Kitty’s.

With a disapproving sniff, the woman somehow managed to get her stuck up butt into her assigned seat on Kitty’s left. Like it was a hardship, Kitty thought. The closed-circuit room seating was a series of wide, comfortable cushioned chairs, suitable for anyone’s living room, and tiered to give every seat a prime view of the enormous flat screen TV.

She sank down into the cushions, aware that she’d already been checked out by the three frat boys seated behind her. Infinitely more pleasing was the nod of greeting from the brunette on her right. “Hi, you.”

Wahine gave her a pleased look. “Glad you made it. How did those Prada shoes work out for you?”

“Haven’t tried them yet. This weekend is vacation.” She settled comfortably into her seat. After shopping together on Thursday, she’d lost track of Wahine, but had relaxed knowing they’d meet again tonight. They were the same age; they both lived in the L.A. area, and were in the business for the same reason: money for college. UCLA and USC weren’t cheap. “Did you go to any of the sessions on cyber opportunities?”

“I did. It’s a lot of investment.”

“But it’s safe. Safer.”

“Yeah, that’s true. The best piece of advice was probably forming a partnership and sharing bandwidth.”

Kitty nodded, and would have asked if Wahine was making a proposal—they lived about thirty minutes apart—but the broadcast began with a splash of music.

“Can I get you a drink?” Kitty rose quickly, wanting to be settled before the competition actually got underway.

“I’d love a rum and Coke. I’ll get the next one.” Wahine smiled her thanks and Kitty had the tantalizing thought that her lush form was as ripe as a peach in August, curving in all the right places. The moment they’d met, Kitty had thought the wide, red-lipped mouth was very, very kissable.

At least when she looked at Wahine her tongue wasn’t actually hanging out of her mouth and she didn’t rub her genitals either. The three frat boys, sprawled over their chairs with legs propped up on the arms, were giving her that kind of look. She wanted to plant the toe of her sedate sling backs right on Mr. Stanford’s balls. She didn’t think anything about her attire announced her part-time profession, but he was so certain of his animal charm that he looked at her boldly, like he’d already paid and there was no way Kitty could say no.

He didn’t even bother to get out of his chair. “Hey, babe, can I get that drink for you?”

Kitty made a show of looking around, like she couldn’t figure out who he could possibly be speaking to. The bartender gave her his attention and she ordered two rum and Cokes. She ignored a similar outburst on her way back to her seat.

The uptight woman with the mink gave her a look like she couldn’t figure out how Kitty could afford to be in the same room with her. What was with the mink coat? It was August in Las Vegas, and four zillion degrees outside. Kitty returned the look with a sweet smile, thinking that she’d saved up for this treat of a trip, and worked extra hours at her job at the warehouse store, so when she found a cheap last minute ticket for something fun, she’d grabbed it. Money from her escort services went one hundred percent for tuition.

Just loud enough, she said, “Do you know what some people paid to get into this broadcast?”

“Way more than we did—that scalper was desperate.” Wahine accepted the drink with a smiled thank you. “There’s a full open bar and buffet in the Titanium room. For us, however, I have brought some peanuts.”

“That’s more my budget.” Kitty curled into her seat, glad of her comfortable jeans. “This sort of feels like going to a ball game, doesn’t it?”

“I know just what you mean.” Wahine toasted her with the glass, sipped, and Kitty didn’t linger too terribly long on the sight of those wonderful lips closed around the delicate straw.

The announcers began their patter, predicting the fates of the finalists in the Seven-Card Stud Tournament. Two of the players were women, Kitty was happy to see, and the dark-eyed Texan was immediately her favorite. She leaned toward Wahine. “She’s yummy.”

Wahine made a noise of agreement, but to Kitty’s surprise the stuck-up woman on her left said, “Yes, she is.”

Kitty gave her a look of amusement and entertained herself with visions of the Texan helping Ms. Mink with that stick up her ass. Her mother would have slapped her for having such a base and hateful thought, but it was exactly the kind of sass Kitty had learned eavesdropping on her mother and the other church ladies.

The poker got very interesting, very tense, very quickly. She and Wahine made their way through the bag of peanuts in short order, crack-peel-munch, crack-peel-munch. The motion of chips sliding across the green tables, the heavy snick as they stacked, it was mesmerizing. The stakes went higher, the bluffs got bigger, and by the halfway point, both the women had been eliminated. It broke Kitty’s heart to see the Texan go.

She was telling Wahine as much when Ms. Mink collected her belongings and flounced out of the room. Maybe she’d had a big bet and lost it all.

“Maybe she’s going to console the loser.” Wahine drained the last of her drink.

“I don’t know. She seemed too uptight to think of anyone but herself.”

“Tightly wound women can be a lot of fun when they unwind. I wouldn’t mind being a fly on the wall later.” Wahine shifted her hips suggestively in her seat and Kitty had a wonderful moment fantasizing about getting down on her knees to see how much more she could make those hips move.

When the broadcast went to intermission, Kitty found she was stiff. “That was really intense.”

“I’ll get the drinks this time,” Wahine said. She pushed her long black hair over her shoulder and the light sparkled off the large gold hoops that graced her ears. Earlobes, Kitty thought, are the softest part of a woman’s body.

Kitty watched her get to her feet. Goodness, the woman filled out those slacks. “I’ll go to the gift shop and see if I can get us some more snacks.”

They walked together to the door of the viewing room to find that Mr. Balls-in-Need-of-Squashing was blocking their way. “Surely you ladies could use a drink.”

“No, thank you,” Kitty said primly.

“C’mon, we’re generous guys.”

Kitty said sharply, “We’re quite able to take care of ourselves. We don’t need your…generosity.”

He was too drunk to let it go, not with two buddies egging him on. “Didn’t I see you going into one of the sessions for the escorts? What do you
ladies
talk about?”

Wahine sounded philosophical as she said, “How to fake it. That was a good class.”

“Excuse me,” Kitty said firmly. “I have already acquired this lovely woman’s services as an escort for the evening, so you’re going to have to find someone else. If you can.”

She put a possessive hand on Wahine’s back and arched her crotch suggestively. “Come on, baby, I need to relieve some stress before the game starts up again.”

Wahine was still laughing when they reached the nearest of the hotel bars. “I’ll get the drinks here to avoid those losers.”

“Don’t go back inside without me.”

Kitty headed for the lobby gift shop, but her nose was tickled by a familiar aroma and she followed it to the convention hall. To her delight, there was a party underway for—she glanced around, checked out the sensible shoes—the librarians. Cash was being exchanged for hot dogs, popcorn, and pizza by the slice, so she got in line. From where she stood, she watched some very elegant women hurrying to the grand ballroom where some kind of awards event already appeared to be underway. For the romance writers or the surgeons, she wondered.

Hot dogs acquired, she scooted back to the upper floor where the sporting events were broadcast. Loud cheers were issuing from one room—sounded like boxing. Wahine was waiting outside their room, a drink in each hand.

“I have manna from heaven,” Kitty said. She waved the hot dogs.

“Oh, you are an amazing woman.”

“Why, thank you. Oh, wait.” She stayed Wahine with a gesture. “You can’t go in there looking like that.”

“Like what?”

Holding the hot dogs with one hand, Kitty quickly mussed her own hair and undid the top button of her blouse with the other.

Wahine laughed again—Kitty thought the sound of women laughing was one of the best things in the world—and kept giggling while Kitty mussed her hair too, and made similar adjustments to her shirt. “Do we look like we’ve been up to no good now?”

“Not quite,” Kitty said. “You still have too much lipstick on.”

Wahine was passive until the moment Kitty’s lips touched hers, then she made a little noise and opened her mouth to Kitty’s eager exploration. When Kitty finally stepped back, she felt more than a little drunk. Those lips were just as soft and inviting as she thought they’d be. She wanted in the worst way to run her tongue over the coffee-with-cream skin.