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“Then tell me: what happened last night?”
Damn it, he’s got me there. But I still scramble for something to scream at him. I don’t like giving up a fight that easily.
I shake my head and pound my fist into his chest in frustration.
“Ahhh!” I scream.
“Exactly. Now get the fuck inside. Maybe then you’ll remember why I’ve taken you here.”
He releases me from his hold, and I straighten myself, walking ahead of him into the Royale. I pretend to be unfazed by everything that’s happened. But as the air conditioning hits me in the face, it does nothing to cool my rising feelings toward him.
It’s a confusing mix of anger, frustration, and arousal—and I’m beginning to think there’s no way to exhaust it. At least for now.
I look around at the floor in front of me, and, for a Saturday afternoon, the crowd seems to be pretty on par. Even though I can’t say I’m a regular at the casino in the middle of the day.
I jerk my head over to see Brendon now standing at my side, but we both don’t say anything. For what feels like an hour, we just stand there in silence, taking in the scene around us. But, mainly, I’m trying to figure out his reasoning for taking me here.
There are flocks of old people swarming the slot machines, with their walkers and canes hanging on the back of their seats. They’re all engrossed in the spinning symbols in front of them, occasionally muttering under their breath when there’s no match.
Scattered at the middle of the room are the high-rollers, each one of them looking like they haven’t showered in weeks, with greasy hair and clothing hanging off them.
Their cards shake in their hands, immediately signaling their addiction. I wonder how long they’ve actually been here.
“Excuse me, ma’am!” Some random middle-aged man with a fanny pack runs into me, pushing me into Brendon.
A few others follow behind, all of them matching the man’s attire—cargo shorts, open-toed sandals, and more fanny packs. There’s no mistaking them; they’re tourists.
I lean into Brendon’s shoulder and lower my voice, wanting only him to hear me.
“Okay, so we got old people, gambling addicts, and tourists. Why in the hell would I have been here? I don’t belong here.”
He chuckles and lets out a big sigh.
“You don’t remember anything?” He turns toward me and tilts his head.
“Like I said, I can’t imagine why we’d be here. And, if we were in fact here, I can’t image what we’d even be doing.”
“What in the hell were you on?”
“If I knew that, we wouldn’t be standing here now, would we?” I tease.
“Good point,” he says with a laugh.
“So, did I fuck one of those old men? Or did I lure a tourist into paying off my gambling debts?”
“Maybe not an old man.” He winks at me. “And there are no gambling debts of yours. That I’m aware of.”
“Okay, I get it. We fucked.”
My body sinks into defeat. None of this is making sense, and if anything, he’s making me feel shittier about what we’ve done. Or what I’ve been told we’ve done.
“Oh, we fucked, alright.” A wicked smile spreads across his face, and he turns to me, his eyes flickering with desire.
“Stop thinking about it, perv!” I playfully push his shoulder, and he stumbles back briefly.
When he comes back, his arms wrap around my waist and pulls me into him.
“Babe, you can’t control my thoughts. I will think whatever dirty thing I want. Without your permission.” The tone of his voice is low and sensual, and my pussy comes back to life, throbbing for his attention.
