Addicted Ch. 22

Lizzy walked down the jetway a couple steps ahead of me, giving me a chance to ogle her butt. Her pale blue leggings were a second skin; the ass underneath was round, firm, and flawless.

Not even sure how I noticed, but the guy walking next to me was ogling her butt, too. I traded a glance with him and we both grinned.

Yeah, this would be a good Vegas getaway.

Question was: now that we were here, what did we do?

One possibility was the business card curled in my pocket: the one that the stewardess had pushed into my hand. All it had was a name and a phone number. She'd squeezed my hand around it, and I still wasn't sure what that meant. Please call her? Call her, but not right away? Call her, but just me, not as a couple? What did the squeeze mean?

Forgive me: this kinda thing happens from time to time, but there's no guide book. Every time somebody does something that's supposed to mean something special, "it" (whatever "it" is) actually means something different to every person.

There are times I'd trade my abs for being psychic. Then again, if I did, I wouldn't have girls pressing their business cards into my hand.

A step ahead, Lizzy peeled off, weaving out of the foot traffic from the plane. She stopped and stared out the big, panoramic windows towards... Vegas. There it was. I stared with her for a second. Wow, yeah. You could see the Strip from here.

Just up the terminal, there was a kiosk filled with brochures. All the touristy stuff. Even at a distance, a couple things caught my eye.

Lizzy glanced at me. "We're here! What should we do?"

Maybe the kiosk caught her eye, too? "I was wondering the same thing."

"You suggested Vegas," she laughed.

"Explore," I shrugged. "I've never been here."

"You've never been to Vegas?!"

"I've been to Kandahar, I've been to Cairo, I've been to Mumbai, but no, I've never been to Las Vegas. You've been here, from the sound it. What's there to do here?"

Lizzy took a sharp breath, like she was going to fill me in, then she just sorta deflated. She shrugged. "I've been here three times. All of them with the girls. Every time, it's the same: we drive like maniacs up from L.A., get a room on the strip, drink, gamble, dance, flirt, eat, nap, throw up, drink, gamble a little more until the buzz wears off, then drive back to L.A. with a million other people."

"Dancing sounds good, but never been a huge gambler. Flirting, yes, eating... good food here?"

"You'll be amazed."

"Throwing up?"

"More the alcohol than the bulimia," she clarified.

"That's... nice."

"You know what?" she asked.

"No. What?"

"I've always wanted to catch a show."

"Okay, that's a start..."

Aren't most shows at night? I checked my watch: 1400 hrs. Return flight was at 1800, tomorrow, so we've got 28ish hours to jam as much as we possibly can. I glanced out the window, checking the sun, and got my bearings. Okay, yeah, early afternoon, but early fall. Sunset would be at...? Who cares. I'm on vacation. Show times. Shows? What shows do they have out here?

Lizzy was staring at me.

"What?"

"You've got that look."

"What look?"

"Like you're planning an attack."

"Sorta. Vegas was my idea..." I felt that business card in my pocket. Clearly the gal wanted me to call. She was hot. If I didn't have a girlfriend, I'd text her right now. Then again... my weirdo girlfriend would want me to text her. If she wants to meet, that could change our plans. "Okay, let me check a couple things. You..."

Lizzy stood like she was awaiting orders.

"Uh, mill about smartly."

She squinted at me. "Huh?"

"I don't know. Go look hot or something. Oh, wait: you already are..."

She smiled at me and turned around, pulling out her phone.

Okay, first things first: I checked the business card and texted the stew. < Hi! This is James, from the LA-Vegas flight. You helped me and my girlfriend not get arrested! LOL! >

And... send. Next? Right: show.

So, like an hour ago, we'd just made boarding, and were in line right behind a long haired, bearded hippie-looking dude named Jesus. Pretty sure Lizzy scandalized him her slutty-girlfriend talk, but he smiled and boarded ahead of us. Last words? "All you need is love."

Maybe it was Jesus, for real. Or George Harrison.

The Beatles had been going through my head ever since. Check the Vegas shows, and... wavelength. Book two tickets? I felt the business card. Three? Two? Three? Two. Booked. Be at the Mirage by 1845. This would be a nice surprise.

Text. The Stewardess! That was quick. < Hi! I'm going through to New York tonight, but I'll be back in LA on Wednesday. Do you two want to meet up? >

Us two? Oh, thank God. That takes the guesswork out of it. Also, lucky call on the two tickets instead of three. < Yeah, definitely. Meet somewhere? Want us to pick you up at the airport? >

< Pickup would be great. Will reach out tomorrow! >

< Cool! >

I glanced over my shoulder. Lizzy was holding up her phone, just so. Right, selfie.

So, what now? Drinking, gambling, dancing... all that seemed like nighttime stuff. I glanced back at the kiosk and saw a picture of a helicopter over the Vegas skyline. Tour flights. Perfect. Time for a little recon. Tickets booked for... now.

Shit. Gotta move.

#

Mad dash to the far side of the airport.

We left our roll-ons in the Maverick office and trotted across the helicopter pad. The turbine was whining, the blades were spinning up, the rotor wash starting to blow.

One of the ground crew held the front starboard door open.

A guy in khakis, blue shirt and a head-set shouted over the noise from the cockpit. "Hey, I'm Steve, I'll be your pilot!"

Lizzy climbed into the helicopter. Naturally, ground crew guy and I both stared at her ass she climbed in. There was definitely a damp patch between her pale blue thighs. I think I left part of that there during our last flight.

Ground Crew shot me a look and a grin. We traded a fist-bump as I realized this chopper actually had two guest seats in front, and no co-pilot. Okay, cool. I climbed in after her.

Steve handed us headsets. "Hey, welcome to Vegas. This your first flight?"

"YEAH!" Lizzy was stoked.

I looked around the cockpit. One Airbus to another. "First flight in one of these."

Steve gave me a second look. "You look more like a Sikorsky guy."

"Yeah," I laughed. "Regular passenger, at least."

We lifted off, pressing us back into the seats. Steve's voice came over the headsets. "Welcome to the lap of luxury, my friends..."

We circled, climbing, and it felt like he was giving the stick a little extra. "Okay, to your left..."

From the air, a big radome-looking thing ("The Sphere," apparently), the fountains of the Bellagio (which looked impressive from the air, so that would have to be a stop), and the Formula 1 Pit Building. Then there was the High Roller ferris wheel thingy, though we were well above it. Then there was the Strat... and some crazy fucker jumping off of it.

Lizzy's eyes went wide as saucers.

"That's..." I leaned in. "That doesn't quite look like bungie jumping."

Steve shook his head. "They used to have bungie at Circus-Circus, but no more. Stratosphere comes pretty close, though."

Lizzy glanced at me, then right back out at toward whoever had just jumped. She always had big eyes, but right now... Jesus. "That's insane!"

I shrugged. "Depends on who's running it."

"I couldn't..." she shook her head.

Suddenly, I knew what we were doing next. Should probably get a room somewhere first, though.

Going on 15 minutes, the helicopter was headed back to the Maverick pad. Lizzy's nipples could've doubled as navigation lights, so it was nice to know she'd enjoyed our first stop.

I looked up and down the strip: hotel-hotel-hotel-hotel... I needed help, so I leaned around to address the pilot while gesturing toward my girlfriend. "So, Lizzy here is a world-class artist. Pretty sure her stuff is gonna be in a gallery, soon. What's the best hotel for a painter like her?"

Captain Steve glanced at her, then separately at her B-cup high-beams, then tried to look away. He considered it a second longer and finally nodded. "Well, for sculpture, I'd say the Bellagio or the Venetian. For her, though, best place might be the Artisan..."

#

Outside the helipad, a taxi pulled up as we stepped out. Overweight cabbie climbed out of the Prius, adjusted his suspenders, and pointed at the roll-ons with his unlit cigar. Thick New York accent. "Headed to a hotel?"

"Yes, Cap'n O., how'd you know?"

He was staring at Lizzy's bod. "Lemme guess: some place with a nice pool! Am I right?"

I shook my head. "We did not fly to the desert to go swimming."

Lizzy was giggling as she hopped into the back seat.

"The Artisan..."

The cabbie popped open rear hatch and glanced around as he hefted the roll-ons. "Hoo! Robbin' the cradle, buddy!"

"Really? Do I really look that old?"

"Nah," he waved me off. "I'm just fuckin' witch ya. Artisan?"

"Yep."

"It's da Lexi, now."

"Da what?"

"Fuggedaboud it. I'll get ya theh."

#

We got an accidental ground-level tour as we headed up the main drag. We went past the big black pyramid, and I could not imagine how they got away with that giant, bright light right next to the airport.

MGM Grand to the right, the Aria to left. Beautiful buildings, and it was wild to see this stuff in person after seeing it in pictures, and commercials and movies, and hearing stories.

I felt like a rube tourist... and I kinda liked it.

The Bellagio, off to the left. The fountains were amazing, even more so from the ground. The Venetian to the right. Wait, was that water? Like an actual canal? Actual gondolas?

When you live in the desert, and you want to show off, what tells people you're rich? Water. It made sense now.

I glanced at Lizzy, then back at the boats. It did look romantic. I wondered if the gondoliers sang. Maybe we'd hit it and find out.

Hang a left at the Sahara, and towering over us, just ahead...? The Strat. My evil plans would soon be realized...

#

The Lexi was definitely a boutique hotel, emphasizing the art. A bit kitschy in spots, but it did have a ton of paintings.

"Oh, Cezanne!" Lizzy shrieked.

"Bless you."

"No, it's a..." She saw my look. "Funny."

"I'll grab a room."

She wandered through the lobby and deeper toward the lounge. "Chagall!" she called out.

I stepped up to the counter. "Two. Just tonight."

I could still hear her cooing. "...Rembrandt."

The desk clerk leaned over, peering toward Lizzy. "I'm sorry, this is an adults-only resort, sir."

"She's 24," I laughed.

"She looks 18."

"She'd love you for saying that."

The clerk took a deep breath and my credit card. A minute later: "Would you like help with your bags, sir?"

Our pair of roll-ons? Are you kidd... My brain finally parsed out that this was a hospitality thing. I felt brilliant, for a second.

A second later, a million more 'hospitality" ideas popped into my head, like watching my hot girlfriend blow a bellhop. "How about a more... 'personal' tip?"

Yeah, total porn cliche, but we were in an adults-only hotel. And hey, we were in Vegas and that probably actually happens here.

"Forget the tip, I'll give you the whole thing!"

Except not at the Lexi. Adults-only, sure, but not THAT kind of adults-only. Right?

Right...?

I shook my head, coming back to reality.

"I think we got it. Thank you," I nodded.

Not to say I didn't want to watch Lizzy blow a bellhop, that would be kinky as fuck, but I had other ideas, first.

I found her down a ways, staring into some deep blue painting.

"Van Gogh," she instructed.

"That was the guy with the ear, right?"

"One of them, yes," she smiled. "This is a really good reproduction!"

#

The 4th-floor hallway air was thick with the distinctive smell of burning rope. Yeah, 420-friendly here, but it was legal back in California, too. That's part of what made this place "adults only."

Not that I smoked, anyway. I didn't have anything against it, but with the amount of cardio I do, smoke wasn't my thing. Now, find me an edible that doesn't suck, and we'll talk...

The room was nothing special: seen one hotel room, you've seen them all.

Lizzy stopped in the hallway and took a deep breath. "Is this, like, the Cheech and Chong floor?"

"Yeah. They mentioned that at check-in."

She sniffed one direction, then the other. "I wonder how much it takes for a contact buzz?"

"Knock on a door. I'm sure somebody'll shotgun."

"You'd like to see that, wouldn't you?" she giggled. "I do get horny when I'm high."

When she's high? "How do you tell the difference from the normal horny?"

"I..." She stepped into the room, thinking about it. "I don't know. It's not like 'drunk horny,' but it is different. Like I'm more ready to just go with the flow."

"I've always wondered what you'd be like if you weren't so uptight."

She chuckled as she stepped on tippy-toes to whisper: "If I wasn't so inhibited, I'd admit how bad I want you to watch me suck a dick!"

"Naughty little slut!" as I swatted her on that perfect ass. Being honest, though, I wanted to watch as much as she wanted to show off. "The day is young and we're in Vegas."

She looked around the room. "Okay, besides drinking, what's first? Gambling? Dancing?"

"Why not both?"

She pursed her lips, thinking about it. "Like, drinking while dancing on a roulette table?"

"I would pay to see that." I checked my watch as I rolled my bag out of the way. "Okay, don't get too comfortable, I wanna--"

She was already naked, with a pair of nozzled bottles in her hands. "Lemme freshen up, then we'll head out!"

Bottles? Oh...

"Okay." Like I'm going to say "no" to the nude cute chick?

I heard the shower running, then her in it, then the toilet flush, then her back in the shower... ten minutes later, the door swung open. She was still nude, but she sparkled. "Okay, let's go!"

"I love your outfit."

"Details," she scoffed.

She pulled fresh panties and a pair of booty shorts out from her bag and started to pull them on. I stopped her, and pushed her over the bed.

She bounced on her side and landed on her back. I landed on top of her. "Oh!"

I sniffed around her ear, tickling her into the giggles, and nibbled down her neck. I gave a bite to both of those pert, perky B-cups. My tongue circled her belly button, and flicked her belly ring. I kissed my way down to her mound.

Yeah, she was field-of-daisies fresh there. That was nozzle-level personal hygiene, and I wanted to fuck it up so bad... but not yet.

With a dip of my tongue, I found her clit. One circle, then another, and a flick, then circles the other way until she started squirming, but she wasn't trying to escape.

I'm not a guy to eat cream pie, but God, I loved getting her wet. Right now, she was as fresh as a spring breeze, and it was all I could do to not bury my face in her pussy.

Her breath was getting shorter. She was getting goose bumps. She ran her fingers through my hair. Just as she started a long, slow inhale, on the verge of an orgasm, I pulled back.

"Okay, let's go."

"WHAT?!" She sat up. "YOU CAN'T DO THAT TO ME!"

I smiled at her. "You're so hot when you wanna cum."

"FUCK!"

"Yes. Later."

She pulled up her g-string, then her booty shorts over it. Low-rise, butt-hugging textured purple spandex... and she was one of the few chicks who could get away with that in public. It had neon white, glow-in-the-dark piping, like it was out of the movie TRON or something. The piping highlighted the high-cut backside, revealing wedges of her perfectly smooth, round lower cheeks.

She glanced at me, then looked down at the shorts, shaking her head. "James! I'm going to soak these!"

"Yeah, I love it," I nodded. "See, you've got both thighs, slender yet muscular -- AND a thigh gap -- so when you wear those shorts, it's like a sex vortex: that little opening between your legs just sucks dick in, starting with mine."

She reached for her clit and I guided her hand away.

She snarled at me. "God, I hate you."

"I get that a lot."

#

The Strat.

Just walking in, in this purple outfit specifically, she looked like she was in a show. Or a server somewhere with a huge cover charge, and she was sneaking out on her lunch break. She was bouncy like that.

When she realized we were in line for the SkyJump, she went cold.

I expected a full-on freak-out, but instead she went silent and shivery. I'd seen this kind of reaction in grown-ass men about to jump out of an airplane for the first time. This was mortal fucking fear.

The elevator felt like it took days to reach the top.

There was a little sway to the tower beneath our feet as we stepped into the waiting area.

She slowly backed into a corner, but she didn't back out. Two other couples were there, as was a group of guys. The couples were fidgety, apprehensive; but they guys were all bravado. The dudes couldn't take their eyes off Lizzy.

Normally, she'd feed off that attention. Right now, she looked frozen, her nipples about to cut their way through the spandex.

It was warmish in the waiting area, but she still looked frozen.

Her hand was trembling so much, it was hard to sign the waiver.

A minute later, we were in the platform room, one end opening up to overlook the city. Beautiful, if you weren't afraid of staining the sidewalk below.

Naturally, our guide was tranquil and understanding, there to calm and soothe her fears. "WE'RE 829 FEET ABOVE THE BASE! THIS IS A DECELERATOR DESCENT FACILITY, AND YOU'LL TOP OFF AT ABOUT 40 MILES AN HOUR AS YOU PLUNGE..."

I doubt she heard a word he said.

I was so fucking impressed that she hadn't just nope'd out.

They rigged her in a harness. She couldn't stop shivering, but I'm not sure she even realized it. I am sure it wasn't their first time easing a paralytic participant through prep. Hell, it probably wasn't the first time, today.

They rigged me in a similar harness and brought us close enough to the ledge to feel the breeze. This moment, we were higher than the helicopter when we'd flown by.

It looked like her bee-stung lips had gone a little blue. Her vision was zoned out.

One of the other guides held the cable in his hands as he glanced between us, finally turning to me. "Your girlfriend?"

"My fiancée," I corrected.

Her head snapped around, her big eyes suddenly watery.

"Whoa!" the guide laughed. "Well, this is NOTHING in comparison to what you two are about to do! Good luck!"

We traded a fist bump and she broke into a smiling, ugly cry. She tried, but she couldn't even speak. How was it she could "ugly cry" and still look so goddamned cute?

"Who's--"

I held up a hand. "I'll go first."

They clipped me in, and carefully got me right to the edge. She was 10 feet back, tears streaming down her face as she watched in sheer terror.

"THREE!"

I turned to smile at her. "Love you, babe."

"TWO!"

I gave her a suave, two-finger salute.

"ONE!"

"See you on the other side." I plunged backward, arms out, and watched the platform fall away.

I heard the sound of... wind. It was glorious. It was surprisingly smooth. It was definitely NOT a bungie jump, and it was not freefall, but it was still a helluva rush.

Just as I felt the decelerator kicking in, the adrenaline punched through me. "HOOAH! YEAH, BABY, YEAH!"

Everything was a blur for a minute, so much juice pumping through my veins I felt like I could light up Vegas by myself.

One of the ground crew with a radio tapped my shoulder and pointed up. I could just barely see a pinpoint of purple. Lizzy was standing at the edge of the platform.

Then she wasn't. She'd stepped back. Did she chick--OH... SHIT!

There she went! She didn't step off, she took a running leap and she fucking FLEW! Time froze for an instant, her tiny silhouette forever burned into my memory in a silent swan dive.