Daisy - Sex Stories

Daisy

... motel. She figured they’d spend it in bed until they figured out what to do next. Maybe they had enough left to order a pizza or something.

The Shamrock had acclaim for being the grandest casino in Vegas. Daisy had to admit, something about the place got her juices flowing. The spinning globes over banks of slot machines announced million-dollar prizes. The sounds of dropping coins filled her with hope. She yearned deeply for a big win. She tossed the bucket on top of the stack of empties. The place was cold, too. Vegas held such extremes: blazing hot outside, frigid cold inside each casino. Daisy rubbed warmth over her goose bumps while she wandered. She checked out the game tables. She wondered why anyone played anything other than the slots. Roulette, for instance. It looked like a waste of money. It was obvious that the casino controlled where the ball dropped. And then there were the card tables, which all looked boring as hell. No pizzazz in it at all. A bunch of fat, sweaty guys hunched over, staring at cards and concentrating in silence. No thanks.

Where the hell did Pete go?

Daisy climbed the carpeted stairs, eyes searching the crowd. Then she heard peals of laughter followed by cheers. Her eyes scanned the tables for the source. There was only one. People were shoulder-to-shoulder, circling. Another cheer erupted like a blast of fireworks and confetti. Several men started digging in their pockets to remove bills to add to the game.

Now that looked ...

... promising.

Daisy walked the length of the table, rising on her toes to peek over shoulders. She found it impossible to get a good read on the source of the excitement. What she saw were clear red dice tumbling over casino chips. Then the stickman announced that Mr. Keane was hot on six. Finally there came a shift, a break in the line. Daisy seized the moment and pushed her way in. At the head of the crap table was a man, and not just an ordinary man. This one had the look of a movie star. He wasn’t pretty, or beautiful, but stunningly masculine. If she were a director, she’d cast him as a mafia boss or secret agent. Daisy couldn’t take her eyes off him. He looked smooth. There was such ease in the way he released the dice with a flick of his wrist. His dark suit, dark shirt and tie were impeccable—not a speck of lint. His wrist gleamed with a watch that had to be made of platinum and diamonds.

His physical charm had been just as striking. Daisy noticed how his coal black hair tapered around the ears was finger-combed from his face in deep waves. He had dark brows over a brooding forehead and a strong jaw line with a dimpled chin. Daisy bit her bottom lip when he moistened his in the most sensual way. Then his gaze lifted and locked in on her.

Maybe it had been her imagination. Maybe he wasn’t staring. She was wrong; he winked at her. Even as the other women by his side squealed for his attention, and the pit boss pushed a tall stack of his winnings toward him, he held her ...