The Principal's Office (27 page)

“This is fancy,” she whispered. “How did a mere high school principal hear about it?”

“Ask the Internet,” he said, “and ye shall receive.”

“That’s scary.” The Internet was a whole lot of trouble for a mother of teenagers these days. But she wasn’t a mother right now. She was a seductive lady on a very sexy man’s arm.

The door was opened by a man in a flashy tuxedo, this one looking less like a bouncer and more like a maître d’. He eyed
Rachel’s nipples appreciatively, then ushered them into a carpeted hallway with dark wood paneling and several ornate doors up and down its length.

Without a word, Rand handed him the card, the man read it, then returned it with a smile. “Welcome to The Bordello. What room may I show you to?”

“We’d like The Saloon.”

“Excellent choice, sir. Right this way.” The man turned, crooking his finger for them to follow, his shoes soundless on the carpet. Slender but tall, his dark hair was cut short, and his tuxedo and grooming added to the ambiance.

The Bordello was housed along the top of the shops and therefore was much larger than Rachel had first imagined. She counted six doors spaced fairly far apart along either side of the hall. Their host led them to the third door along and opened it, the noise overwhelming as he ushered them inside.

“Sit anywhere you like,” he said, leaning close to be heard.

Rachel clung to Rand’s arm after the man left. “I can’t believe you don’t even hear all this out there.” There were so many indistinct voices, the cries of gamblers winning, laughter, and music like something out of an Old West movie. The noise wasn’t earsplitting, just surprising after the quiet of the outer hallway.

The large room was set up like an old-fashioned saloon, with an intricately carved wooden bar, card tables, roulette wheel, and a craps table. At least she thought the dice game was called craps. The waitresses wended their way through the tables. Dressed like saloon girls, they wore bustiers tied tightly to push up their breasts and short skirts with stiff crinolines that held them almost straight out to the sides, like a ballerina outfit. A wide wooden stage ran down the center, with several poles for the dancers. Bar stools ringed it, the girls just out of reach. The dancers weren’t scantily clad, dressed instead in elaborate saloon-singer costumes, albeit with slits high up their thighs and deeply plunging
necklines. They dipped and twirled on the poles, their sequined dresses sparkling in overhead lamps, which were shaped like vintage gaslights.

The dress code was upper-crust, Rand being one of the few men in the crowd without a tie. The women primarily were adorned in evening gowns, very few as revealing as the blouse Rachel wore.

Despite the noise level, it was not so crowded they couldn’t find a spot. Rand led them to a wide curved bench of red leather with a small table at one end for drinks. Just as he’d said, it was a couples’ club, and there were very few single males drooling over the pole dancers on the center stage.

They’d been seated less than a minute when a waitress stopped by to take their drink orders. She didn’t dip at the knees but leaned down to ask what they’d like, and Rachel feared her nipples might pop right out of the bustier. She was young, pretty, and stacked—almost anyone would be in that outfit—but Rand simply turned to Rachel. “What would you like?”

“A chardonnay,” she said.

The girl began listing the different chardonnays, and Rand said, “She’ll have the Cakebread. I’ll have a Campari and soda.”

Smiling, the girl straightened, saucily flipped her little crinolined skirt, and headed back to the bar without writing anything down.

“This place is kind of fun,” Rachel said.

Before Rand could answer, there was a burst of applause center stage. The four dancers wore identical dresses in different colors: green, red, blue, and gold. Twirling in unison, they kicked high, wrapped around their poles, then with a flourish, they each tore off a layer of sequined skirt, revealing a shorter skirt beneath. The crowd around the stage hollered as the girls tossed the material high, each managing to land it on a man’s head.

She grabbed Rand’s arm, pulled him close. “We should be sitting over there.”

Rand shook his head. “I like the view better here.” He glanced down to her breasts beneath the lace. “So do some other men.” His gaze traveled around the room.

Sure enough, she noticed several pairs of eyes focused on her lacy peekaboo top.

“You’re the show tonight, sweetheart.” In the guise of caressing her thigh, he eased the skirt up. “Cross your legs for the men.”

She suddenly understood his plan. They were seated on a bench with the small drink table to one side.

The next time she crossed her legs the opposite way, she’d be giving her audience a shot à la Sharon Stone in
Basic Instinct
. Sharon hadn’t been wearing panties either.

SHE WASN’T THE YOUNGEST WOMAN HERE TONIGHT, NOT EVEN
the prettiest, but she was the hottest. Rachel was a MILF. Every man wanted a MILF, a mom all dressed up and ready to fuck. Rand wanted her badly, but he also hoped for a little sexy fun with her first. Just like in the cab, touching her in front of the driver. It made him rock solid in his pants.

He loved showing her off, teasing other men. That blouse had been an inspiration. He’d taken a trip to the lingerie shop at the mall, where the saleslady offered silky negligees and high-cut panties. He’d spied the see-through blouse and known immediately it was perfect. The whole idea came to him while imagining her in it. Imagining other men watching her. She’d drive them crazy.

The waitress brought their drinks and despite the wiggle and the preponderance of breast pressed almost into his face, all he could think of was the next show he’d make sweet Rachel give.

“Do you like the club?” he asked conversationally, so when he offered up a new command, he’d take her by surprise.

“It’s actually quite classy.”

Hell yes. He’d done an exhaustive Internet search for just the right venue. It was pricy and exclusive with a higher caliber of patron than a peep show or a downtown strip club. He hadn’t wanted sleazy; he’d wanted elegant. Just like her.

The pole dancers ripped off another layer of dress and tossed it into the revelers around the stage. They were down to bustiers, ruffled bottoms, and fishnet stockings.

He arranged Rachel’s hair, which smelled of some flowery shampoo. Then he leaned down. “Cross your legs again.”

In the midst of all the whooping over the dancers, Rachel recrossed her legs slowly, parting her thighs a tiny bit more than necessary. Most watched the stage, but a select group watched Rachel. And she liked it. Her breasts rose and fell, and beneath the lace, her nipples were tighter.

“Do you like your wine?” He leaned across her to retrieve the glass and handed it to her.

“Mmm,” she said after a long swallow. “That’s delicious.”

She
was delicious. He wanted her tipsy and willing, and liked that she didn’t slouch, at ease with the see-through nature of her blouse.

He kissed her ear, then licked her lobe, blowing a breath against the moist flesh. She squirmed on the seat. “Stop that,” she whispered, and batted at him ineffectually. “You’re getting me all wet.”

He ran a hand up her thigh, raising the skirt a little more. “I want you very wet.”

She laughed. “I meant my ear.”

He knew exactly what she meant. He knew exactly what she wanted. Holding her chin for a quick kiss, he then trailed a finger down her throat and straight across her nipple.

“You’re very bad.” But she didn’t push him away.

He tested her limits, palming her breast. She’d allowed him a
few liberties in the cab, but they’d had only one witness. Here, they had a whole audience.

Her nipple was hard, her lips tantalizingly red, her eyes a smoky hot hazel as she held his gaze. Then, dropping her voice, she said, “Pinch me. I want to make sure this is real.”

Most people would take that to mean their arm. Rand understood it was another step. Her nipple was already peaked beneath the delicate lace. He gathered the bud between his thumb and forefinger, giving her a hard tweak.

She pressed her lips together, smoothing her lipstick. Her eyes shuttered, then she let out a whispered, “Oh.”

The sex wasn’t overt. While some of The Bordello’s rooms displayed rampant sexual activity, he hadn’t chosen that for Rachel. He’d planned something milder, a taste of being naughty that would delight and mesmerize her, and have her begging for more. That whispered
Oh
was exactly what he’d hoped for.

She opened her eyes, smiled directly into his before her gaze flitted around the room to determine who had been watching. “Filthy man,” she said, pushing his hand away and raising her arms to fluff her hair. The move drew her breasts high and displayed her beaded nipples.

Oh yeah, she liked the brazenness of it. Vegas gave her freedom.

The piano rose to a crescendo, and the girls onstage kicked high and twirled, then slid down to do amazing splits. After a hearty round of applause, the piano player began a series of old-time melodies, and the dancers gracefully stepped down from the stage to prowl the room in their tight bustiers.

The brunette in blue trailed her fingers over a man’s shoulder, leaned down to murmur in his ear. He slid his hand across the ruffled bottom of her lingerie, then slipped a bill beneath the lace edging of the bustier right over her breast. His hand lingered a moment, tracing her flesh just above her nipple. Pushing his
straight back chair away from the small table at which he was seated, he helped her climb aboard his lap. Spreading her legs over him, she snuggled close, wriggling, laughing, her hands on his shoulders, her hair cascading down the back lacings of the bustier.

The other girls were searching for lap dances as well.

They’d arrived relatively early, and the action would get rowdier. How much sexier, Rand wasn’t sure.

Rachel leaned in, her scent surrounding him. “Pay one of them to give you a lap dance.”

Now, that wasn’t something he’d expected. He’d taken her for a woman who wouldn’t share. Perhaps, though, her confidence in her own charms was growing; she’d let him have the dance, but knew he’d be back to her for the real thing.

“Which one?”

“The gold one.”

The girl was tall, her blond hair matching the gold of her bustier. Just as Rachel spoke, she found a willing victim, an older gentleman with graying hair. After receiving her tip in the top of her stocking, she climbed on top of him.

“We’ll watch how good she is, then decide if she’s the one,” he said. But he mused about something even better.

There were three centers of attention, the gambling—even sexy play on the dance-hall floor didn’t distract a gambler—the girls giving their lap dances, and Rachel. Yes, several male gazes surveyed her reaction to the dancers as they did a sexy bump-and-grind with their partners.

Rachel leaned against Rand’s shoulder, her hand on his chest, caressing him, teasing his nipples lightly. She laughed, whispered naughty things in his ear, sending shivers down his spine with her warm breath. His balls began to ache with need as she clung to him. He didn’t think she had any clue that it wasn’t the girls but her proximity that made him hard.

The piano player banged out a jaunty tune as the gold girl gave her man a hell of a wild ride. She rolled on his lap as if he were a bucking bronco trying hard to throw her off. Her heels on the floor, her thighs tight around him, she rocked and rolled, thrusting her breasts into his face.

“He’s either licking her or she’s suffocating him,” Rachel said.

“Whichever it is, he’s enjoying it.” Rand stroked her knee, the skirt rising ever higher.

The man raised his head, holding the girl’s breasts in his hands, squeezing them as she bounced on his lap. The four girls were giving their paying partners equal opportunities. The red girl with black hair did a slow and sinuous dance on the lap of a guy in his midthirties. His face flushed, he wore suit and tie, his brown hair cut short, a young executive type.

Rand nudged Rachel. “Look at that one.” The exec’s hand was between the red girl’s legs. He could have been playing her, or stroking himself. Either way, they were both glassy-eyed.

“I didn’t think they’d get to put their hands down there even during a lap dance.”

Rand laughed. “I’d wager at least one of them will come from the ride.”

“Oh my God, look at her.” Rachel’s voice was hushed and seductive against his ear as she pointed with her chin.

He followed the line of her gaze. The green girl. Her chestnut brown hair flowed over the man’s hands as he held her breasts. Rand couldn’t see his face or determine his age; the girl’s torso was in the way. She sat backward in his lap, facing the stage and all the people watching. She rode him as if she were fucking him, her legs spread wide over his lap, her hands braced on his knees.

Rand thought of Rachel the night he’d taken the video of her, fucking him, legs wide for the camera.

“Does that remind you of anything?” he asked. A hand on her knee, he suddenly pulled her leg over his, spreading her, and let
his hand wander up and down her thigh, the stocking silky against his palm.

Her sweet pussy visible to anyone who chose to look, Rachel was so close, her tremble shimmied through his body. “The video,” she murmured.

“You never showed it to me. I need to see it. I want to watch you doing that to me. It was so fucking hot.”

“I want you to do it to me while we watch.” Her voice was breathy, excited. Damn, he wished they’d thought to bring the video card with them.

Even over the music, the laughter, the shouts at the craps table as someone won big, he heard the man grunt as the girl rode him. The guy was in climax, his body jerking, and he wasn’t even inside her.

“Maybe you need
her
,” Rachel said.

He turned then, grabbed her chin, held her for a long moment until finally he spoke, softly, almost deadly. “Is that what you really want? For another woman to make me come while you watch?”

“I—” She blinked, swallowed.