Chapter One
What Doesn't Happen in Vegas
We'd flown into Tampa a couple days early in order to be rested for the conference. Lana and I were there to represent our regional office. We'd worked together before but weren't currently. I was there as a budget analyst and she as a project lead.
Our last flight was delayed and we were late getting in, so I was in no mood for the for the River Street Marriott of all fucking properties to tell me I didn't have a room. Lana could see my frustration. "Let me handle this, Brad, I know the manager a little and you know I just had to take that fucking corporate negotiation class in Montreal." Her humor and offer of assistance mollified me and I went to get a drink at the lobby bar.
I took my time with a double scotch on rocks. Still, I was just finishing it by the time Lana got there, holding up two keycards. She wasn't smiling triumphantly but she wasn't unhappy either. She slid me one of the keycards. Room 902. Top floor but one. OK.
"Good news. We've both got a room!"
"Bad news," I prompted.
"Drinks first," she suggested.
"I just..."
"Order another, we need to talk," she suggested.
I ordered a single, neat, with water on the side. She ordered a Pinot. Both arrived promptly. I took a short sip of mine and Lana took a healthy pull of hers.
"So..." I prompted.
She flipped her card over on the table. Room 902.
"Shit," I protested. "No. HR will lose their fucking minds!"
"HR doesn't need to know. I got Martin to fudge the receipts so we're both paying for separate single rooms."
"It's a suite then?"
"It's what they call a
junior
suite."
"Two baths?"
"One."
"Two beds at least, yeah?"
"One. But I have a plan."
"C'mon, Lana, I'm not sharing a bathroom and dossing on a couch for a friggin' week!"
"It's just til Tuesday when your room opens up," she said, "and I think it doesn't even have to come to that. Lets, go have a look, yeah?"
"Ok," I assented and tossed back my drink. Lana finished hers in a couple swallows and we set off for the elevators.
"Bags are up there already," she said noticing my glance at the front desk.
"So," I asked "What's your plan?"
"It's a big bed."
"Lana, no! Just the fucking optics..."
"Brad," she stopped me, "I'm a happily married woman. We're both adults. We're not attracted to each other. We're both responsible professionals. Just wait till you see it," she assured me.
It was the
not attracted
part that got my attention. The casual way she'd said it. The fact that she'd said it at all. I mean, I'd never stopped to consider it. Now I did. I glanced over at her as the elevator dinged. She got out first and damned if I wasn't staring at her ass and legs and considering it as she led the short way down the hall to our suite.
OK. The bed was huge. Like handball court huge. Where they got the fucking sheets for the thing I couldn't guess. Sail-maker's maybe. Still. Other than that, the room was still a room, not a true suite. It had a generous sitting area with a couch, two armchairs, a roll-top desk, and a balcony. Big whoop. Still one room.
"I'll take the couch."
"Nonsense," Lana said, tipping the porter generously. "Look how big it is. We'll never see each other, let alone come into physical contact," she assured me.
"I roll around in my sleep," I said.
"I know karate," she said with Keaneau Reeves' intonations and a vague hand waving gesture.
Her humor won me over. "Okay," I agreed. Then, "I need to shower and hit the rack. How's that gonna work?"
"You shower, put on one of these huge plush robes, have a seat in that comfy chair there. Once I'm in the shower, you slip into your pajamas, then have a nightcap while I shower and get into bed. Then you turn out the lights, get in on your side of the south forty here and we both get a good night's sleep."
"Sounds great. I didn't pack pajamas."
"Me neither," Lana said, then added gratuitously, "I sleep in the raw, too."
I let the assumption pass, tried to put a sudden mental image of Lana naked out of my mind, and focused on the problem. "So how..."
"Lights off," she said; "out of sight, out of mind. And when we get up - the bathrobes here are practically tents. Big, soft, comfy. opaque tents."
Finally, too tired to continue to argue, I fished my toiletry bag out of my kit and said, "I get the shower first."
"Fine," Lana said, "that's all part of the plan."
"And you're paying for the minibar bill," I added just before closing the bathroom door.
I cleaned up quickly and felt almost human after a quick but deliciously hot shower. My ablutions done, I donned a robe as thick, opaque and generously cut as Lana had promised, and opened the door far enough to call out, "I'm done. You decent?"
"I'm dressed, if that's what you mean," Lana quipped.
I stepped out of the bath carrying my toilet kit. I plonked it down on top of my suitcase and wandered over to the minibar to grab a drink. I was intent on following Lana's plan to the letter at least in that respect. I spied a favorite single malt on display and grabbed two mini's. Fuck it: Lana's paying, I told myself.
Then I spied Lana headed to the bathroom, barefoot but wrapped in a thick robe; the twin of mine. I saw a flash of gold charm bracelet around one ankle but scarcely gave it a thought.
Sometimes jewelry is just jewelry
, I told myself.
I was still nursing my double nightcap neat when Lana emerged from the bathroom. I kept my eyes chastely on the book I'd been reading on my Kindle app.
"See," Lana said, "These robes are so big and thick you can't see anything."
"Mmm-Hmm," I agreed without looking up. I took what was likely the penultimate sip of my drink and skipped back a couple of sentences to catch what I'd missed.
"I mean, with such thick, baggy robes like these, you'd be hard pressed to even imagine what my tits and hard nipples look like, let alone my cute ass and pussy."
That second-to-last sip went right up my fucking nose!
I sputtered. When I looked up, the robe - if it could even be called such - that Lana was wearing was
definitely
not anything from the Marriott laundry.
She stood in front of the balcony door, silhouetted by a floor lamp. What she wore was vaguely white in color. That's where any resemblance to the Marriott robes ended. It barely covered the top half of her ass. It barely covered anything, so sheer was it. Lana's nipples stood out firm and clearly defined where they pressed the flimsy fabric. And between her brazenly spread thighs, I could clearly make out the silhouette of a thick but neatly-coiffed pubic bush and the swell of prominent and nicely shaped outer labia. Below the robe, her shapely thighs and legs stretched all the way to the floor. That ankle bracelet glittered above one perfectly pedicured foot, the toes done in dark red lacquer. The woman I'd never thought about sexually, even in passing stood before me nearly naked and prompting my cock to fill up to full, stiff, throbbing erection.
Having gotten my attention, Lana slowly marched towards me. "And the belts. They're so thick and tie so snugly... There's almost no chance they'd slip and slide open." As she neared me, Lana helped her own garment to do just that, tugging the simple knot of its ties and letting it fall open. The collar fell away and both sides caught on and hung from her hard nipples. The curls of her thick, well-trimmed bush were moist and the auburn pubes cast a ruddy glow above thick, smoothly-shaved labia. She was displayed for me to see in all of her glory.
"So if there's no chance that
mine
would come undone, then there's even less fear that you'd get aroused and find yourself with your stiff cock peeking out of your robe. And even if you did get an erection for one reason or another, there's no chance I'd ever notice. I mean, these robes are so thick and well tied, you'd
never
