Kayla Cumsalot 1844-33-CANDY ext 357
We’d been playing for a while. Years even, we’re well-matched and as spicy as calls can get for us; it wasn’t enough. He’d be at the Casino/hotel in Boston and casually invited me to join him. Even though I clarified that that kind of thing wasn’t allowed, he was hopeful I wouldn’t resist.
I wore a tight cocktail dress and tall heels the day I was supposed to join him. He’d often mentioned that he doesn’t play the slots and makes all his money at the poker tables. Carefully, I wandered through the casino floor, looking for my Chef. Finally, our eyes locked, and I knew it was him. A small smile played on my lips as I moved in alongside him. His arm opened for me, and I pressed my body against his. My right hand smoothed over his dress shirt and down to his hip. Tucked just under his blazer. The floor was loud as dealers and clients yelled, so I nudged my nose to his ear, my voice thick with lust; I whispered, “I think you’ve won enough; let’s take this up to your room.”