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Beautiful Bombshell by Christina Lauren Read Online (FREE)

Great. Random Vegas Dancer might already know my fucking name.

Inside the box was a black satin blindfold and a sliver of thick cardstock with the words Put this on written in black ink.

I was meant to put on a blindfold for a lap dance? What was the point of that? Just because I didn’t want one tonight didn’t mean I didn’t recall lap dances past. Unless the format had changed in the past few years, getting one meant looking, not touching. What the fuck was I supposed to do if I was blindfolded when she came in? I sure as shit wasn’t going to touch her.

I laid the slip of fabric on the chaise, ignoring it as I stared at the wall. Minutes ticked by, and with each one I grew more convinced there was no fucking way I was blindfolding myself in this room.

I could almost hear the sound of my own irritation building. It sounded like a roar, a wave, a flame crackling. Closing my eyes, I took three deep breaths and then looked more carefully at my surroundings. The walls were a soft gray, the chaise a dusky blue. The room looked more like a dressing room at a high-end store than a room where men got what I assumed amounted to a lot more than just a dance. I ran my hand over the supple leather of the chaise, and only then did I notice the second note that had been buried beneath the blindfold inside the box. Written in the same script on the heavy paper, it said,

Put on the fucking blindfold, Ben, don’t be a pussy.

 

Fucking Max. Would I really have to sit here, captive, until I put on the blindfold and got this over with? With a groan, I lifted the black fabric, slipping it over my head and hesitating just a heartbeat before pulling it across my eyes. I was already plotting how I would get back at Max. He’d known me longer than almost anyone in my life other than my family, and was aware of how much I valued fidelity and control. Asking me to come back to this room and cover my eyes without knowing what was coming? What a fucking dick.

I leaned back against the wall and waited in annoyed isolation, my ears picking up sounds I hadn’t noticed before: the dull pulse of the music in the other rooms, the sound of doors opening and closing with quiet, heavy clicks. And then I heard the sound of the handle to my room turning, the door opening with the gentle slide of wood across carpeting.

My heart began to thunder.

As soon as I got a whiff of the unfamiliar perfume, I felt my back go rigid with discomfort. Other than the scent of the stranger, I knew nothing about who was in here and I hated not being able to see what was coming at me. She did something against the wall: I heard rustling, a small click, and then quiet, rhythmic music filled the room.