distraction enough, and staring at her too long makes my dick feel like it's about to explode.
I pull some cash out of my wallet and exchange them for chips. Two thousand dollars.
There's one other guy playing at the table with the dealer, an older Asian guy in a suit. Delia watches excitedly next to me.
The first few hands are rotten. I'm down a couple hundred before I start to get pissed and focused. The SEAL instinct takes over, and I eye every card, remembering the card counting my old buddy Joe taught us on lazy nights at the barracks.
The guy in the suit loses big. I'm up, down, and even, but the trend starts to flip, and I'm ready to go all in.
“Come onnnn, big brother. You can do better than this,” Delia purrs. “Show them what you've got. Bet big. All or nothing. We'll drown ourselves in beer or hit the fanciest place in town tonight.”
It's a ridiculous idea. I'm not made of money like her father. I've always been responsible as hell growing up under my mom's slow motion self-destruct sequence.
I can't stand a challenge, though, especially when it's coming from my playful and dangerously fuckable stepsis. I look at the dealer and split my hands, pushing big bets on all of them.
The Asian man starts to sweat. He stares at me like I've lost my mind, and ups his own bet, while the dealer manages a friendly smile.
The first cards are aces, one in each hand. Fucking great. I take a quick survey and tap the table for another hit, never falling for the wishful thinking that Lady Luck might actually give a damn about me tonight.
Five more seconds. The dealer finishes up, ends with a queen and a seven. It's too good to be true.
The Asian guy goes bust, and the dealer comes up short.
I'm staring at a king and an ace in both hands. Perfect twenty-one.
Delia jumps out of her seat and lets out a yelp. The dealer frowns, grudgingly passes me my winnings, and I throw a chip back for a tip.
By some freak miracle, we've just hit it fucking big. The thousands that stack up in a neat pile when I cash in are almost like half a mission's hazard pay. I tuck it into my wallet and head to the ATM for a deposit. It's never good to carry too much excess in Vegas, especially when we're going out after dark on the streets.
“Holy shit, Chris, what're you going to do with all that money?”
“Give some back to my lucky charm,” I tell her with a wink. Maybe it's the casino's humidity, but there's a light, sexy glow to her underneath all the lights, a gentle halo of sweat along her brow.
I can't resist. It's a fairly lonely spot next to the cash machines, so I corner her, push her against the wall, and brush my lips over hers.
It's insane, it's wrong, and I can't fucking stop. She gasps pure pleasure when I grab her bare thigh. I dig my fingers into her flesh, all I can do to fight the burning urge to slide my hand up, find out what kind of panties she's wearing, how damned soaked they are.
I'll only feel them for a heartbeat before they're gone for the night, leaving her wide open for all the rowdy, savage things I want to do between her thighs.
“Chris...what the hell...” she's half drunk, but not so gone that she doesn't understand that look in my eyes.
“I was wrong about you, babe. Dead fucking wrong. I don't give a shit if you've never had a man between your legs or if our parents shacked up like idiots.” My voice turns into thunder as I drag my hand off, wrap both around her back, and cup her ass, pulling her to me. “I fucking need this. Pick a place for dinner, and load up. No more drinks. I want you sober, well fed, whatever you need to stay up all night and take my cock.”
She trembles so hard I can feel it. At first, I think she's going to flip, overwhelmed with my about face. Then she jerks forward, shoving her lips into mine.
I push back. Hard.
We kiss, wet and hot and wild, for the next few minutes while people walk behind me. I can't pretend with her anymore.
I need, need, need to fuck
I pull some cash out of my wallet and exchange them for chips. Two thousand dollars.
There's one other guy playing at the table with the dealer, an older Asian guy in a suit. Delia watches excitedly next to me.
The first few hands are rotten. I'm down a couple hundred before I start to get pissed and focused. The SEAL instinct takes over, and I eye every card, remembering the card counting my old buddy Joe taught us on lazy nights at the barracks.
The guy in the suit loses big. I'm up, down, and even, but the trend starts to flip, and I'm ready to go all in.
“Come onnnn, big brother. You can do better than this,” Delia purrs. “Show them what you've got. Bet big. All or nothing. We'll drown ourselves in beer or hit the fanciest place in town tonight.”
It's a ridiculous idea. I'm not made of money like her father. I've always been responsible as hell growing up under my mom's slow motion self-destruct sequence.
I can't stand a challenge, though, especially when it's coming from my playful and dangerously fuckable stepsis. I look at the dealer and split my hands, pushing big bets on all of them.
The Asian man starts to sweat. He stares at me like I've lost my mind, and ups his own bet, while the dealer manages a friendly smile.
The first cards are aces, one in each hand. Fucking great. I take a quick survey and tap the table for another hit, never falling for the wishful thinking that Lady Luck might actually give a damn about me tonight.
Five more seconds. The dealer finishes up, ends with a queen and a seven. It's too good to be true.
The Asian guy goes bust, and the dealer comes up short.
I'm staring at a king and an ace in both hands. Perfect twenty-one.
Delia jumps out of her seat and lets out a yelp. The dealer frowns, grudgingly passes me my winnings, and I throw a chip back for a tip.
By some freak miracle, we've just hit it fucking big. The thousands that stack up in a neat pile when I cash in are almost like half a mission's hazard pay. I tuck it into my wallet and head to the ATM for a deposit. It's never good to carry too much excess in Vegas, especially when we're going out after dark on the streets.
“Holy shit, Chris, what're you going to do with all that money?”
“Give some back to my lucky charm,” I tell her with a wink. Maybe it's the casino's humidity, but there's a light, sexy glow to her underneath all the lights, a gentle halo of sweat along her brow.
I can't resist. It's a fairly lonely spot next to the cash machines, so I corner her, push her against the wall, and brush my lips over hers.
It's insane, it's wrong, and I can't fucking stop. She gasps pure pleasure when I grab her bare thigh. I dig my fingers into her flesh, all I can do to fight the burning urge to slide my hand up, find out what kind of panties she's wearing, how damned soaked they are.
I'll only feel them for a heartbeat before they're gone for the night, leaving her wide open for all the rowdy, savage things I want to do between her thighs.
“Chris...what the hell...” she's half drunk, but not so gone that she doesn't understand that look in my eyes.
“I was wrong about you, babe. Dead fucking wrong. I don't give a shit if you've never had a man between your legs or if our parents shacked up like idiots.” My voice turns into thunder as I drag my hand off, wrap both around her back, and cup her ass, pulling her to me. “I fucking need this. Pick a place for dinner, and load up. No more drinks. I want you sober, well fed, whatever you need to stay up all night and take my cock.”
She trembles so hard I can feel it. At first, I think she's going to flip, overwhelmed with my about face. Then she jerks forward, shoving her lips into mine.
I push back. Hard.
We kiss, wet and hot and wild, for the next few minutes while people walk behind me. I can't pretend with her anymore.
I need, need, need to fuck
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