"Ugh... I would take you up on the offer, but I came here for a bachelorette. My best friend is getting married, and we are a party of six. I cannot simply ditch them." Naomi actually looked disappointed as she said it.
Free alcohol was free alcohol. She gave him a small shrug and started to walk away.
"Wait!"
Naomi turned. Dorian had taken a few steps after her.
"I think I can handle a party of six."
Her brows lifted. "A wild party of six?"
"Make that a wild party of seven."
Her gaze drifted slowly over his clothes again. "Exactly how rich are you?"
"Painfully."
Naomi narrowed her eyes. There was one other thing she needed cleared up. "You don’t expect me to sleep with you at the end of the night, do you?"
"No. You are not the only one with sorrows to drown."
"Come on, Painfully Rich."
The hours blurred after that.
Dorian had come to Vegas with his own friends. They were upstairs in the VIP section of the club. He had left them there.
They were being careful with him. Every conversation seemed to orbit around his divorce. Nobody wanted to make a joke about marriage because Dorian Heathcliffe had now failed at it three times.
Dorian had eventually gotten sick of it all and walked out. Her group was nothing like his. His name for the next hour was Painfully Rich. He was buying tequila, champagne, whiskey.
The truth was Naomi had a way of pulling people into her energy. She was the life of the party. She laughed loudly.
Talked with her hands.
He found himself laughing. He could not remember the last time he had had this much fun. There was something liberating about being around people who wanted nothing from him except another round.
His money interested her primarily because it kept drinks appearing. He liked that more than he should have.
As the night went on, their conversations changed. They started leaning closer.
Naomi’s hand kept finding his arm when she spoke. Dorian started noticing every time it happened.
The first few touches seemed accidental. Then much later, he was fairly certain they were not. Somewhere after the third round of tequila, harmless teasing turned into flirting.
Naomi had apparently lost whatever filter she usually possessed. Dorian was not doing much better. She leaned one elbow against the bar. "You know what I want to do?" she asked him.
"What?" Dorian lifted one brow, the tiny mole above it somehow making the expression even more unfairly attractive.
Naomi stared at him.
God.
That eyebrow.
That stupid little mole.
That face.
The man looked good enough to eat, which was an unfortunate thought to have after several drinks because Naomi’s brain immediately began supplying suggestions.
She leaned closer. "I’m curious what’s underneath all of that macho."
Dorian’s mouth curved. "So what will you do?" he asked, raising that eyebrow again like he knew perfectly well what it did to her. His shirt had been open at the collar for most of the night, sleeves pushed back enough to show his forearms, and those jeans had been annoying her for at least twenty minutes.
Maybe longer.
Alcohol had made time unreliable.
"I’d lay you flat on this bar, unzip those jeans and feel your cock."
Dorian glanced at the bar beneath them. "On the bar? I think they will ban us from the club."
"So you want me to feel your cock?"
"I’d be mad if I said no."
Naomi laughed softly and shifted on her stool. Then moved it closer to him. Her hand landed on his thigh.
Dorian’s gaze dropped. Naomi slowly ran her fingers upward. The muscle beneath his jeans tightened.
Her hand climbed higher. She slid her palm closer, trying to cup him through his jeans, but the fabric got in the way. She frowned at it. "These jeans are stupid."
Dorian laughed under his breath. "Would you prefer I had come to Vegas naked?" He leaned in until his mouth was close to her ear. "I’ll show you mine if you show me yours."
"I don’t usually do this, you know," she said. "But I am too drunk to care."
"So you are the make-love type of girl."
"Love?" She almost recoiled from the word. "No... no... not love. I don’t do love," she blabbed and took another drink. "Love is where people start doing stupid things and making excuses for their partners because feelings are involved. Then suddenly you are sacrificing everything, forgiving nonsense and explaining to your daughter that ’he’s actually a good person’ when clearly he is not."
Dorian’s hand moved to the side of her stool. "So what’s the problem, Miss?" He pulled her closer. "Can’t have a senseless night of sex?"
Naomi swallowed. "I don’t do senseless..."
"No?"
"I am a very careful woman. I do things the way they should be done. I mean, I plan things. My last boyfriend didn’t even see my underwear for, like, a year."
Dorian stared at her. "A year?"
"Approximately."
"Was he blind?"
Naomi burst out laughing. "No!"
"Religious?"
"No."
"Impotent?"
"Oh my God."
"I am trying to understand the timeline."
"He was patient."
Dorian looked genuinely skeptical. Naomi smacked his arm again. His fingers found the edge of her little black dress and slipped beneath the fabric.
Her knees instinctively parted. Dorian leaned closer, his mouth near her ear again.
"Still careful?"
She swallowed. "Very."
Then his fingers caressed her slit through her panties.
"God, that feels good..." Naomi sighed. "I can’t believe I am doing this. My best friend is right there. Oh my God... I am actually doing this."
"Anyone ever tell you that you talk too much?"
"I... don’t..." she started, then hesitated. "Well, I guess a few friends have mentioned it. I just think someone has to fill the silence, and sometimes people are uncomfortable when nobody is talking, so technically I’m doing everyone a favor and—" Her sentence broke apart into a long moan.
"Oooooh..."
Dorian had moved her panties aside. Her head tipped back. There was nothing in her brain except the feel of his fingers.
"Do you think anyone is watching? Oh God, what if my friends are watching? They are absolutely watching. I know them. and tomorrow they’re going to call me such a slut."