Daisy - Sex Stories

Daisy

... stare. There had been a lethal calmness in his eyes. Tension coiled in the pit of her stomach, and heat suffused her body. She feared her face, no matter how brown her skin, turned a scarlet red.

Suddenly, reality popped. Every sound that had been muted before now became amplified. Daisy returned her focus to the green-felted table with bets being dropped from all sides. The stickman moved the bets to the right position on the marked lines and then pushed the red cubes of dice down to the shooter. Daisy stole another glance. She wanted to see the magic happen. And from the looks of him, he made things happen. The stranger paused and again fixed her with an intense stare. A couple of others followed his gaze and focused on her. Did she break a rule? Was this a private table? Pete would be pissed if she got them thrown out because she was acting ‘country’ as he called it. Before slipping back, the man spoke.

“I need a little luck. Join me.”

There was an authoritative coolness in his voice that commanded her attention. It sent a tingle through her. Perhaps it was his height that made him seem so intimidating, or the hard brilliance of his evergreen eyes. No. It was none of those things. It had to be the slight cynical curl to his lips that made her uneasy. As if he’d been waiting for her. Now everyone at the table looked at her. Daisy couldn’t speak. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t believe that he singled her out.

“Um, I don’t have any money,” she mumbled, backing ...

... away. Others laughed. Daisy smiled, not sure if they were laughing with her or at her. The stranger with the green eyes didn’t. She wondered if he ever laughed. Did he survive on that sexy smirk alone?

“It’ll be painless. I promise,” he said.

A floor man stepped behind her. “This way, Miss.” He took her elbow, as if royalty had asked for her presence. She allowed it. She was hand-delivered to the tall man that smelled like money.

“What do I do?” asked Daisy.

He stepped behind her. She was warmed in the cool casino by his nearness. His palm opened in front of her while he placed his free hand to the bend of her hips and whispered darkly into her ear.

“Your name, sweetness?”

“D-Da-Daisy,” she swallowed.

“Daisy.” He rolled her name over his tongue as if savoring a fine wine. A chuckle at the base of his throat barely surfaced, but she heard it. His hand tightened to her hip, his fingers applying just enough pressure to make his presence known. It sent a current of his desire through her in a way no man had ever done before.

“Blow for me,” he said, in a sinfully thick accent.

Scottish? wondered Daisy. Her eyes dropped to the clear dice lying on the golden shamrock stenciled on the felt. Not Scottish. Irish. She looked back over her shoulder into his.

“C’mon lady! Blow on the damn dice! Let’s go already!” A portly man on the other side of the table grunted, snapping Daisy out of it. She realized what was expected of her and leaned forward to blow over ...