Vegas Cuervo: Drink it Down, Live it Up

Another couple comes and takes seats right next to us.

They're all decked out, best of everything, but it comes together in a rather austere way. The woman glances at us, disdainfully drags her eyes up and down us both then turns back to her husband. She says something to him-I can't hear what-but he looks us over then, too. I think Miguel's aware of it, because he leans closer to me and his grin fades.

I can smell him, and it pulls my attention back to him. Reaching up, he brushes the hair off my shoulder and locks me in a smoldering look for a couple seconds. I'm about ready to fall completely into him, willing to let him overwhelm me.

Then the guy speaks. "Good evening," he says, and I know he's talking to us. So I look over and nod at him with a half-smile.

"Hi, how are you?"

"We are doing quite well," he says.

"Glad to hear it," Miguel answers.

"Are you out here on vacation?" the woman asks.

"Oh, um, I am, yeah. He lives here," I say, pointing to Miguel.

"Are you staying here?"

"Yeah, I am."

"Really?" She says it in a manner that if it were written on a page I'd actually be able to see the disbelief and disdain dripping off it. "Hmm. We always stay here-we stay in a suite, they're just wonderful. It's expensive, but if you could afford it, it would be worth it." She sniffs and shakes her wrist. It's weighed down with a fantastic sparkling diamond bracelet.

I see Vince roll his eyes behind the bar.

"It looks like you got some sun today," she says to me.

"Oh, yeah, it's finally warming up out here."

"We were outside-they gave us a cabana at the pool, wasn't that nice of them? But I tried to stay out of the sun. Besides, he…" She waves to her man next to her. "…was busy playing in the high-roller area so I figured I'd go out shopping." She scrunches her nose at me, making what I can only assume is a face she thinks is cute. "Then I went to the salon here. Have you been in there yet?"

I shake my head. "Nope, haven't checked it out."

"You should go," she says, shaking the bracelet on her wrist. "I bet they could do something with that hair of yours." She looks past me and at Miguel, gives him a wink.

"That's a very nice bracelet," I tell her to change the subject.

"Tiffany's at the Bellagio," she says. "My wonderful husband here just bought it for me today."

"That's great. Good for you," I say politely.

"I deserve it." She laughs.

Her husband grins and looks at Miguel. "Fine women will have fine things, I'm just lucky to be the one keeping her in the diamonds she deserves." He laughs.

Miguel leans close and whispers in my ear. "Hear that, huh? Bet that was one hell of a blowjob she gave to get that. Wonder if he jacked up his Porsche on the sidewalk as she finished him off."

Choking back a laugh, I elbow him lightly. The guy, her husband, he speaks up now. "So, are you winning?"

"Oh, doing okay. No diamonds from Tiffany, but having fun," I say, hoping he'll pay attention to his wife and let me fall back into Miguel.

"Well, that's nice," he says. "It doesn't look like that's your style anyway."

"No, I guess not. Not really down with the bling," I say.

"I see that. Why is that, exactly?"

I shake my head slowly. "Don't know, really-don't really care for it."

"But you have tattoos-isn't that like jewelry?"

"Yeah, well, sort of, I guess you're right," I say, hoping he'll give it up.

He doesn't. Instead, he looks directly at me, briefly at my face then lets his gaze wander down and linger for a time on my boobs.

I knew they looked good in this shirt.

He lingers too long, though, so I turn my body slightly toward Miguel. I know he's noticed all this, because he's staring at the guy, not a hint of humor in his expression. His jaw clenches as he speaks up.

"Yeah, you know, beautiful as she is, she don't need anything to show off."

Not believing he just said that, I look up at him and he gives me a wink. Not breaking his gaze into my eyes, he lightly traces his thumb over my shoulder, outlining the pattern of my tattoo, following it down across my back, giving me a tiny shiver up my spine. Then he lazily rests his hand against my back, warm but subtle. He leans over and kisses me on the temple. It's so sweet and hot all at once I just want to climb all over him right there.

But the guy is relentless. He keeps at it.

"So what is it you don't like about jewelry, exactly?" he persists. "I see you wear a ring at least."

I look over at them, annoyed. She's sitting upright, board-up-her-ass posture, looking smug and proper and classy and oh-so bottled blonde. She drips of money but there's obviously something missing because she's not satisfied with her diamonds, she's satisfied with showing off her diamonds. I almost feel sorry for the pathetic pampered little priss.

Because her husband next to her, he's not leaning into her the way Miguel's leaning into me. Instead he's looking past her and at my boobs.

Most aggravating, they're distracting me from Miguel. From the heat of his body only inches from mine, from the feel of his warm hand on my back, from his dark eyes and crooked grin.

As I think of him, I soften up, decide I'm being too touchy. Then I glance back over at them, and the woman is looking at Miguel. She's looking past me, diamond-clad arm perched beneath her chin, and her eyes are locked on Miguel. She licks her lips.

So I tell him what I don't like about jewelry. "Well, I don't wear gold, because it's pretty ghetto. And I don't wear diamonds because the slave labor and civil war in Sierra Leone is tragic and I can't bear the thought of people living in hell and dying in bloodbaths just so I can exploit them and have a high-priced piece of shiny fossilized coal to wear."

Miguel smirks just as I get a guilty pang. Maybe I was too harsh, maybe they really didn't mean to be acting snotty and be putting us down and I just insulted them for no reason. Maybe I'm just an insecure bitch.

The lady speaks up again. "Yes, well, I don't know about that, but I do think it's nice when people know their limits and are content within them. You know, instead of wanting more, things they know they can't have. That would be a horrible feeling."

Okay. So. They are snotty skinny arrogant bitches.

Her husband laughs really loud. "Luckily, we don't have that problem," he says. "But it's true. Most people are suited for what they have anyhow. Like you two." He nods at us. "So I take it you two aren't married, then?"

"No," I say. "We'd like to get married, but his wife is against that."

Temple visibly throbbing, Miguel waves Vince over, "Couple shots right here," he says and turns to me.
"What do you want?"

I hate the stuff, but I know it's his drink of choice, so, "Cuervo," I answer him.

"You two want a shot or something?" he offers to the couple.

"Tequila?" The guy says. "I think we can do better than that." He orders a bottle of their best champagne from Vince, who proceeds to finish pouring our shots first then starts filling a bucket with ice.

"See, that's how Vegas has changed," the guy announces.

"Oh, my, yes," his wife agrees as she clicks open a gold cigarette case, probably Cartier, and lights up a long, skinny cigarette. "It used to be a different breed out here. Champagne, tuxedoes and cocktail dresses all the time. It's different now, though."

Her husband signs the tab as she inhales and rakes her eyes over Miguel again, fixating momentarily on his arm, his hand on my back. Miguel nudges into me, nods at our shots.

We raise them and down them. It's an instant burn, a path of liquid lightning going straight from my throat to my gut. I have to concentrate to not gag or cough. Sucking in a breath, I look over at Miguel, who's got one eye squinted shut as he drags off his smoke. Grinning, he rubs his hand up and down my back, saying,

"You all right?"

The husband distracts me again. He says, "See, smooth," as he swirls his champagne around in the glass.

Locking eyes with Miguel, he continues, "When you can afford the finer things in life you acquire the taste for them. People are like diamonds in that way. Some of them are just rough, need to be polished up a bit. But some will just always be rough and uneven, some are just coal."

He's staring at Miguel, and I know Miguel's not breaking the eye-fuck, and I can only imagine how intimidating his glare could be, so I watch the guy. Before long, he chuckles and takes a sip of his champagne.

Pussy.

I turn back to Miguel-he's still staring at the guy, but with a look of passive calm. The only tell I can pick out is his clenched jaw. He might be a little drunk right now, and he might be dumb enough to be hanging out with me, but it doesn't take Freud to figure out when you're being insulted.

It really pisses me off. I've seen it before at the tables. I've seen how some of these rich bastards come and just love giving a hard time to the dealers. Miguel probably puts up with that shit every day at work, and now he's gotta deal with it here when he's trying to have fun. And worst of all, it's most likely all my fault.

If he was somewhere else, this wouldn't have happened. Or even if he was here with someone else, it wouldn't have happened. First I make him fuck up his car, now this. Yeah, he's got to be grateful he met me right about now.

"Sorry," I whisper to him.

"Ain't your fault," he mumbles, turns to whisper in my ear. "Sorta funny, in fact. They are insulting us and hitting on us at the same time, right?"

His breath and voice send a delighted chill down my back, and the actual words strike me as really funny.

"Yeah," I answer. "That's pretty much it."

He whispers again, "Thought so. Just makin' sure."

Next thing I hear is the couple next to us saying goodnight. He scoops up the ice bucket, and she rises fluidly and glides away next to him.

Miguel asks me, "Ready to have some fun?"

"Always."

"Good," he says and stands up.

Grabbing my hand, he pulls me along as he follows the couple over to the elevator bay. I follow him easily, know he's up to something. I don't know him all that well yet, but I'm trusting he's not going to beat the shit out of the guy.

We're standing only a foot away from the other couple, Miguel close behind me, waiting for a bell to ding and the doors to open and take us up. I wonder what the hell he's doing, basically wanting to just stay the hell away from them. My gaze wanders around, admiring the dark green reflective walls, the gilded elevator doors. Frank Sinatra croons all around us.

Miguel's hands rest on my shoulders, tingling my hot skin, making it sear where the cool air can't reach. He leans down and starts sucking on my neck. I lean into it with a grin and a giggle, shyly eyeing the other couple then looking back down. He's breathing hotly in my ear, sending spikes of pleasure through my whole body, warming me even more.

My head tilts back as I lean into him, he's starting to mumble some words. "Beautiful" I hear as his teeth graze my lobe and work it back and forth a few times. One hand keeps massaging my shoulder, moving lower, stroking up and down my naked arm as the other moves to the front of my neck. He slides it up and down my throat, lightly across the top of my chest.

I want to moan as the tingles from his hands and mouth work through my whole body. Slightly drunk, being rubbed and kissed, feeling so relaxed. But I remember where I am and open my eyes, glancing into the reflective walls again. I see our reflection, darkened but crisp, staring back at me. I'm stretched out in front of him, his hand is roaming up and down my arm that's dropped at my side. His naked shoulders are hunched into me, his mouth is buried against my neck. He's streamlined edges, straight and angular. I'm full curves, lush and rounded.

I see him look up, still kissing my neck but eyes meeting mine in the reflection, both of us so dark and seeming to sparkle. I think we look stunning together.

Then I notice his hand, still lightly stroking across the top of my chest, and underneath it, my breasts rising and falling with my already heavy breathing, my nipples, darkening and hard, poking at the thin cotton material of my shirt. Out of the corner of my vision I see the other couple, he in a crisp suit, her in black silk knee-length dress. Her shoulders are bare too, and her man stands behind her, hand on her waist.

They're so neat, so squeaky clean. They're thin-lipped and blonde, tight and groomed and proper.

And they're watching me.

Demurely, suddenly feeling so very trashy, I look down, bite on my lower lip. I catch Miguel's glance and try to take a step away, start to raise my arms to cover my full chest as I slouch down. His hands quickly grasp my wrists and bring them back down to my sides, and he whispers one word in my ear: "Don't."

His chest presses into my back. It makes me straighten up and pushes my chest up and out again. My cheeks burn hot as my stomach tightens, but his hands sliding up and down my arms soothe me as he whispers again.

"You're fuckin gorgeous, baby," he says and licks again at my neck.

A tiny ding sounds, and the golden doors of the elevator open up. He tugs on my hand as he moves from behind me, walking into the car behind the other couple. I see him wait for them to press a button marked PH, then he reaches over and hits a few more, a lot more, acting like his hand slipped. He pulls me close to him again and claims my mouth before the door even closes. His tongue slips out and a sudden pulse surges through me. Remembering myself, I pull back, trying to stay cool and discourage him.

He moves right back in, urging me with his mouth, his hand squeezing mine. His other hand skims over my shoulder again, sparking my hot skin in the cool air. My eyes close as his jaw opens wide and he lays into my mouth and tongues me deep. I feel him turning me around, dizzying my head as my body lurches with the sudden upward movement of the elevator.

I loop my fingers around his belt on each side to steady myself. His hands graze over my neck and shoulders again as he turns me more, gently pushing me back against the cool mirrored glass wall. It's an enjoyable shock contrasting my fevered skin. He's still tonguing me, just the right hint of teeth, and I give in to it. Fuck it, why not make out in an elevator, I figure, surrendering to his demanding strokes.

Miguel's hand on my shoulder starts rubbing, and he moves from my mouth back to my ear. He whispers in Spanish to me, then English, rolling the words off his tongue.

"You're my girl, do this for me," he says. He pushes at the thin strap of my top, moving it off my shoulder, still leaning close against me, shielding me, pressing me into the chilly green reflective wall. He tells me to relax while his hand works the strap lower down my arm.

I shrug into him, tucking my head down and bashfully curling up, arm rising to cover myself. He catches my wrist and pulls it back down, places it against his side. The edge of my shirt pulls against the top of my breast, strap pulled taut across my biceps, but he's kissing me, breathing in my mouth, my ear, his hand possessively stroking my naked shoulder.

The elevator stops at the first meaningless number Miguel had punched. No one's waiting to get on, and I faintly hope he'll drag me out and end this, or that the other couple will get off, just take another elevator.

I'm breathing hard, fully turned on from his attentions, the heat from my skin deepening and mixing with the liquor throughout my body. The elevator door closes again, no luck at being alone. He pushes the strap lower, all the way to my elbow. Then his fingers stroke across my collarbone, all the while he keeps kissing me, sucking on my tongue, biting my lips.

His fingers dance lower, nails teasing under the line of tight fabric, rubbing back and forth, pulling down. Miguel tugs at it and slides it over my breast, rolling it all the way down as I shiver in response. He shifts his weight and moves slightly to the side, leaving me completely exposed. I can feel it, the cool air hitting me without the protection of his body, his fingers whispering over my naked nipple, hard and sensitive to his touch. It feels so tingly good, but I'm suddenly hyper aware. Inside, I'm thrumming with excitement and dying of embarrassment, half-naked for the whole world to see.

He whispers to me again. "Touch me," he commands. Swallowing hard, I reach down, blindly following his lead. Thinking, Madone, it won't be so bad if it's him, too. I inhale at his neck, breathing him in as I stroke his thigh, find nothing there. Smoothing my hand higher, I find his erection pressing against the fly of his pants. I stroke him, biting on my own lower lip. I steal a glance at Miguel's face. He's not watching me, he's leering over at him. His hand cups my breast, his thumb strokes lightly over my nipple.

Too late. It's gone too far to push him away, to try and stop him. To stop this. The damage has been done anyhow. My eyes dart to the mirrored wall in front of us and I catch another reflection-him pressed close to me but standing to the side, my shirt off my shoulder, large, round tit fully exposed, dark nipple hard, his hand proudly setting it off.

It's hot to me. Oh, Lord, it looks so sexy, him possessing me and smugly showing me off while I rub up against him. But my eyes flit over and catch them, the other couple, the proper, frosty ones. They're standing stiff, trying not to look but unable to stop looking-she's stealing disgusted glances, still longing on Miguel, though, and he's outright gaping through upraised eyes as his fists squeeze around the ice bucket.

And Miguel's wickedly watching him. Miguel's watching him watch me. My face blushes hard and hot. I bury my face in Miguel's neck and shoulder, finding safety there, hiding my shame and my lust. But he moves, exposing me again. He bends down to kiss my neck, and-oh, fuck, no, don't do it, I think, and shiver.

But he does. He leans lower and runs his tongue across the swell of my breast. Lower. Licks right across my hard, exposed nipple. My mouth drops open and I suck in a deep breath, squeezing my eyes shut and turning to the mirrors to escape because it sends a mild volt through me.

Now his teeth are on it, rubbing it between them, and I fight off a moan, strangle it in my throat, won't allow that embarrassment. Then his lips are circling, tightly, tighter, drawing it in. And then he sucks. Hard. The sensation shoots straight to my crotch, rocking me against my will.

Sucking in a breath, I force my eyes open as the elevator crawls to another halt. Praying they'll leave, I squirm involuntarily as Miguel sucks deep once more. I watch them, just standing there, the woman's bracelet sparkling in the golden lights, both of them stiff and unyielding. They're not going to leave. They're staying because they're enjoying this. They're enjoying the show, but more than my body, more than Miguel working on it, I know they're reveling in watching me struggle. They're stealing glances to see how far I'll go, how much I can try to fight off. How this is killing me, because they know I'm truly turned on. That I can't fight him off because I don't want to.

I know they won't admit it, either. I know Miguel knows that, too. They'll finally leave at some point, and me and Miguel will haunt them. They'll talk down about us, never admitting to each other, or even themselves, how much they loved watching it all. Fuck them. Fuck them, their bracelet and their champagne, I think as the elevator doors close again and Miguel takes another drag on me, pulling me deep, shooting the sensation right to my throbbing crotch.

I want to shift my legs but I fight it off, trying to give up, give in as little as possible. I'm pulsing, though, burning with heat, can feel my own juices dripping and seeping through my panties. Almost like a mind reader, Miguel snakes a hand up my thigh. I swallow hard, knowing how ripe and hot I already am. His hand moves higher, so I squeeze my thighs together to shut him out and I silently beg him to stop as the elevator lurches up.

He rises up, whispers that it's okay, tells me to give in. I see him eye them briefly, then look back to me.

"Unzip my pants, take me out," he instructs. He kisses my neck as I reach for his belt and swiftly undo it. He helps me get his pants open and I reach in for him immediately. He's hot and hard as can be, twitching in my hand already. I can't stop it, it's out of control, I'm long gone. Obviously, so is he. Then Miguel reaches under my skirt with both hands and clamps them around my panties. I can feel his fists work against my lower stomach as he uses all his strength to tear them off. And then, oh, dear, sweet Jesus, the guy, the other guy, actually drops the ice bucket and bottle onto the floor.

I can't bear it. That final indignity, I'm sure it'll kill me on the spot if I come. Worse, I know I'm going to. I'm one big, raw, excited nerve now. Miguel's breathing shallow in my ear, dying for me, making me higher. And me, my head's spinning, my whole body's rushing and flushed and I'm itching, throbbing, dripping wet. I know it, as soon as he touches me there I'm going to come. I'm going to shudder and blush, and they're going to know, I won't be able to hide it, the pleasure and humiliation all at once. I try to figure out how I let this go so far so fucking fast, so much want and lust and, yes, goddamn need for it now.

Miguel dips down slightly, I bury my face in his shoulder and raise my leg around his waist. Still holding his cock, I feel him twitch again as I line him up, start to guide him into me. Then I let go and hold on to his neck. He wraps his arms around my waist.

Swift, strong, he shoves up and back, slamming me into the glass wall, lifting me off my feet and entering me deep. We both gasp and I start to die.

I explode immediately, come so hard it nearly hurts. Pleasure and heat bolt through me. My face is tucked in his neck, his down in mine. My legs clamp around his waist. My back arches. He powers into me a few more times, making me shudder intensely, suddenly coming harder. Waves thunder through me, I choke back a scream. I feel him dig his fingers into my sides as he squeezes me. I spasm again, blood rushing hard. He shoves again, sending another shock through me. He grunts, loud, right by my ear, goes stone stiff in my arms. Gripping him tight, I can feel him coming in me, hot, wet spurts. He shudders violently, right along with the volts running through me.

Slowing, aftershocks still going through me, him still deep inside, I start to breathe again. I hear a hollow, distant ding as the elevator lurches to a stop. Miguel pants against my neck, his grip around me loosening, his stance slumping. Swimming back to coherence, still shivering, I ease my grip on him and look up to see the elevator doors open, the couple walking away. There's another guy on the landing, gaping in at what he sees. He just stands there, staring at me, not daring to get on.

Then the doors push closed.

"Ooh, shit," Miguel says, catching his breath. "That was a good one, huh?" Then he starts to laugh, still holding me up.

"You're such an asshole," I tell him. He laughs harder, slouching into me, shaking me with it. "Such a fucking asshole," I repeat and laugh with him.

"Suits my taste," he says in a mock voice, laughing again as I slide down off of him, legs weak and quivering. "White folk," he says simply, as if that explains it all.

I shift as he reaches between my legs and wipes at the stickiness on my thighs with my torn underwear, his hand gentle and smooth. Wordlessly, I watch as he quickly wipes himself off with them and then zips back up. As I feel the elevator slowing, I reach down and straighten my skirt, pull my shirt back up and arrange the shoulder strap.

"Asshole," I say. "I can't go back and sit at the bar in just this short skirt."

"C'mon, I got an idea," he says and grabs my hand, pulling me along again, this time out of the elevator. I flash the peace sign to the camera as we exit.

He's smirking as he weaves through the casino, past rows and tables of slots and out into the white marble hallway. We walk up a long line of shops, and I wonder what he's doing but just follow his lead, happy to have my boobs tucked back in my shirt.

When we reach a sundry shop, he ducks inside, pulling me along after him, looking around. He weaves through the clothes racks until he gets to one with underwear on it. He looks it up and down, then cracks another wide smile as he plucks a pair up and waves 'em at me. They're white, but they've got sequined dice on the front, and they read "Viva Las Vegas" across the ass.

"Oh, Jesus," I sigh as he flips them on the counter and pulls out a couple bills, asks for a box. The clerk looks at him oddly as he asks if they have changing rooms and points them out to him. Still just following his lead, I let him push me into the room. He flips the panties out of the box and hands them to me.

"Christ, Miguel, if your tastes suit you then I am one trashy chick," I say, pulling them on.

"Hey, viva, baby! Viva Las Fuckin' Vegas! Ain't diamonds from Tiffany's but it's somethin' sparkly," he says and slaps my ass with a wink. Then he pulls my sticky ripped ones out of his pocket, drops them in the box and pulls me out, striding out the door and dragging me back to the front bar again.

Back there, he waves Vince over and says, "Know those two who ordered champagne? They charge it to their room?"

Vince nods.

"Any chance we could get their name and room number off that receipt?"

Vince goes over to his drawer and pulls out the receipt, walks back over to us. He waves it around a second and says, "I really can't give you information like that, wouldn't be right." He waves the receipt again until it slips out of his hand and floats onto the bar. "Shit, could you hand me that?" he asks Miguel.

Miguel picks it up and reads as he hands it back. "Thanks, I owe you one," he says, then quickly pulls me away again and heads back to the store.

Confidently, he struts up to the counter, tosses the box holding my ripped panties onto it.

"Yo," he says to the clerk. "Yeah, we, uh, we just bought this, and we don't wanna carry it around. Can you, like, um, have this sent up to our room?"

I feel my eyes go wide and I choke back a laugh as he reels off their name and room number to the clerk.

Then I'm being pulled along again, back toward the casino, following willingly.

He slows down at a line of half-full tables, pauses at an empty one, digs in his pocket, pulls out a smoke and lights it up. He nods for me to sit down and so I do, not having a clue what I'm doing and wondering if he does either. I turn and look at the dealer, a sweet-looking older lady who shakes her head slightly.
Miguel digs in his other pocket and pulls out a wad of bills and throws them down. My eyes go wide as I stare at the pile, my throat clenches tight. My heart flutters nervously as I hear the dealer.

"You don't want to play me one-on-one," she says.

"Oh, no?" Miguel says. "Deal her."

I watch him as the dealer sorts through the bills, trying to hold on to my cool. I consider scooping the pile up and running off, certain by the time he catches me he'll realize what a bad idea this really is.

"Changing seventeen-fifty," the dealer says loudly. She places the bills over a slot, uses a thin silver card to shove them down, and just like that, I watch all Miguel's money disappear. The dealer's fingers walk across a few chips; she scoops them up, taps them on the table once and slides them across to Miguel. She does it again then adds one more of a different color.

I watch with horror as Miguel slides the whole pile in front of me in the play area and coolly takes another drag on the cigarette wedged between his teeth.

Things move in slow motion around me. The Sinatra sounds recede, the clinking and whirring of machines dulls. My peripheral vision falls away as I take another look at Miguel. He seems confident-relaxed, even. I swallow hard and think my feet are numb. I blink and shift my gaze. The woman, the dealer, is sliding her hand down the stack of cards. One sticks to her finger, and she slides it over in front me turned face up. My heart thuds in my ear, once, as another card gets slid in front of me. It's dead silent around me as I blink again and force myself to look down. My whole world tunnels down onto the two cards laid in front of me there. I don't know the count, I don't know what's been played, I'm lost on this table.

But I know this.

"Blackjack," the dealer says, and the silence shatters. Coins clink into trays, Miguel's hand is warm on my back and I'm staring down at an ace and a jack, both hearts. "Congratulations, Miss," the dealer says and begins sliding more chips my way.

"Whoa," I laugh and grin over at Miguel. I want to ask him how he did that as he starts picking up the chips. It was like a magic trick. He meets my gaze, Marlboro dangling from his lips, and winks at me.

"What do you wanna do now?" he asks me

"Anything," I say, still mildly shocked but more than happy to oblige.

"You want a bottle o' champagne?"

I smile at him. "No, I think I'm starting to like Cuervo," I say.

END EXCERPT

This excerpt comes from the scintillating erotic novel 24/7. For more, visit the website of the author, Susan Diplacido.