Vegas Aces: The Wide Receiver Complete Series

CHAPTER 29 TRISTAN

Practice was light today thanks to winning our game yesterday, and tomorrow’s our day off…which means the Thursday Night Crew has broken off into a smaller private group I refer to as the Monday Night Coax Crew. Patrick, Austin, and Deon have yet to ask about our Monday night plans or why Jaxon, Travis, Cory, and I are suddenly closer than ever, but I’m sure it won’t be long before they catch on.

The four of us just pulled up out front of the mansion, and a new feeling pulses through me as we get out of the car.

It’s a strange feeling now that I’m an actual member of this place. I belong here.

We all do.

I like this place, yet I haven’t told a soul about it. I don’t want anybody to know I come here, yet I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t stop myself from getting in the car when Jaxon suggests a visit.

And it’s not about the third floor. It’s interesting up there, sure. It’s intriguing. But I like the first floor the best. I’ve met some other local athletes, I’ve been invited to charity events. It’s a new community where I feel like I belong.

I’ve been through this a time or two now, and I wore black dress pants with a dark shirt tonight. My buddies are dressed similarly, and we’re four single guys ready for a night of fun.

I’m just not quite sure what that means for me yet.

The other three have all admitted to having sex at this place.

I haven’t.

I don’t know if I ever will.

I’ve only been to the third floor twice. I spend most of my time in the first floor lounge, though I occasionally partake in a snack on the second floor while I watch the dancers.

I doubt I’ll find someone who I connect with on a deeper level here of all places, and further, I can’t imagine introducing her to my parents if I did.

Hey, Mom, this is Brandi. We met at Coax. It’s a sex club in the middle of the desert run by celebrities, and you’ll never guess who else I saw there.

Yeah…that doesn’t sound like me.

Brandi beelines straight for me when I walk into the lounge. “You’re back,” she says, and she rubs her tits on me. At least that’s what it feels like. I guess it could also be a hug.

“Good to see you again,” I say, opting for a friendly tone. I sling an arm around her back to hug her casually, and then I step back.

“Are you voyeur Tristan again or are you ready to get down and dirty?” she asks, cutting right to the chase.

I chuckle. “I’m not sure yet.” It’s as honest an answer as I can come up with.

“Do you want to watch me ?” she asks.

I shrug. “Sure.” Watching her will get the heat off me, anyway.

“Alone or with somebody else?” she asks.

“I want to see you with someone else.” The words are out before I can stop them, and even I am surprised by them.

It’s another thing that tells me Brandi isn’t the girl meant for me. If I want to watch her with another man rather than participating in the act in the same room as her, clearly she’s not the one for me.

The thought of Tessa holding another man’s hand pops uninvited into my mind, and a sliver of jealousy tears down my spine.

She held another man’s hand and I can’t stop thinking about it.

Brandi’s about to find another guy to bang in front of me and I’m interested to watch it.

There’s a clear difference there—one clear enough that it tells me Brandi isn’t ever going to be anything more than a friend to me…if that, even.

I wish things could be different. I wish I could find it in me to have some interest in someone who isn’t Tessa, and I still feel like there’s a possibility that someday I will. I married Savannah, after all. There was some interest there, some feelings , even if it all came from manipulations and alcohol.

But the day I find that connection again isn’t today, and I still don’t see it happening here at Coax.

This is just something to do to pass the time. A place to go where I can find pleasure and learn a trick or two.

My dirty little secret.

That might be all this ever is.

That will be all this ever is. I make a vow to myself as Brandi grabs my hand and leads me out toward the pool. Nobody barring other members of this club will ever know about my time here.

She walks up to Graham Campbell, the country singer, who’s talking with a group of men, and she interrupts his conversation. He glances down at her, and just that one little second of attention is enough for her. She stands on her tiptoes, whispers something in his ear, then crushes her mouth to his.

And that’s it. I have no idea what she said, but the two of them make their way upstairs. I follow behind. They slide into one of the viewing rooms as they wait for a scene to end, and once a worker has cleaned the room and changed out the sheets—something they pull a curtain over the window to do, by the way—Graham leads Brandi toward the hallway and into the room.

A little thrill of excitement rushes through me. I’ve watched people I know of , like Troy Bodine, but I have yet to watch someone I know . I feel like I know Brandi now, and sitting in a dark room behind a window watching what’s going on in there feels like I unlocked a whole new level of the sex club.

It’s wrong. It’s unnatural to be sitting in a room watching as Graham pulls Brandi’s dress over her head and tosses it to the floor.

It’s wrong to watch her standing there in her silky bra and panty set. Wrong to watch as his hands roam over her skin as he leans down to kiss her.

Wrong to watch as he frees her tits from their bra prison. Wrong to watch as he sucks one into his mouth, as he bites one between his teeth, as she arches back and cries out with the pain-lined pleasure over what he’s doing to her.

It’s wrong to watch as his fingers slide into her panties, and as her hands trail down toward his cock, and as he bats her hands away because he must have other plans for her.

My own cock fights for escape from my pants as it grows harder watching the scene unfold before me. There’s something about watching two people like this directly in front of me that’s totally different from watching porn. It’s two real people, and there’s some sort of power in knowing they’re doing something I’m not supposed to be watching.

It’s all legal here—welcome, even, considering they’re doing this in a room with windows so they know people are watching them—but it still feels like I’m doing something I shouldn’t be, and I think that’s the thrill of it all.

I’ve lived my life mostly on the straight and narrow. For the most part, I’ve followed the rules. I’ve gone off course, sure—who hasn’t?—but I’ve never done anything overtly criminal. Normally watching two people having sex through a window would be a criminal act, but doing it in a sex club where everyone has consented to the act makes it legal.

I’m still confused by it all, still sure I shouldn’t be here, and yet I can’t seem to look away.

I have access in here to something that should be hidden. I’m watching a scene unfold before me that’s normally done in the privacy of one’s own home.

Instead of being private, I sit in a room with a few others as I watch Graham rip Brandi’s panties directly from her body. I see him roughly shove her over to the bed, pushing her down to bend her over the side so her cheek meets the mattress.

He unbuckles his belt, pulls his cock out, and secures a condom, and then he shoves into her without warning. His two second finger-bang must’ve told him she was ready, and he hammers away at her, his grunts filling the room.

Her face is toward the window, and I watch her expression for a beat as I try to get a read on what she’s feeling. Her eyes are a little blank where I’d expect to see some excitement, and I’m surprised by that. She’s always so…animated when we’ve spoken, but I’m not sensing that now.

I’m sensing that she’s only doing this for me. She doesn’t want to be with Graham, but it’s what I told her I wanted tonight.

My chest tightens.

She asked him, though. She agreed to all this.

He keeps driving into her, and she moves up so her palms are resting on the bed. Her perky tits bounce with his rough drives, and she turns toward the window again.

He slows a little before he slams in again, and her eyes seem to pick up a little excitement. He leans on her back and reaches around to touch her clit as he fucks her, and she closes her eyes with a low moan.

He’s getting closer and closer, and maybe it’s just me feeling like I couldn’t be the man in one of these rooms. I’d be way too in my head about it—not necessarily about how I look, because I’ve never been self-conscious about that, but about how long I’m lasting or how well I’m pleasuring the woman or what her expression says as I’m fucking her.

Maybe that’s what makes me a voyeur. I want to watch rather than be watched.

I want to have sex, of course. But I want it to be in privacy, and above all, I want it to be with the right woman.

Graham’s close—obvious by the way his body tenses, and he pulls out of her, rips the condom off, and finishes right on her back.

He pants for a few beats as she just lies there, waiting to get hers, and then he tucks himself into his pants. He grabs a tissue from the nightstand, wipes her back, and tosses it in the trash.

“Thanks, darling. That was great,” he says, and he walks out of the room.

And that’s it. It wasn’t an intense scene with whips and cuffs and plugs and lube. It was just a quick fuck over the side of the bed, and he didn’t even bother to get her off.

He walks past the viewing room as people start to exit, like this is all normal, but I can’t seem to take my eyes off Brandi.

She’s slowly gathering her clothes, and there’s a new despondency about her. I wonder if she’s been with Graham before—if he treated her this way or if there’s something about his reputation that told her he’d be a good choice tonight. I wonder if she’s happy with the way that just went down or if she’s throbbing and needy since she didn’t get to climax herself.

I remember her words from the first night we met—that as long as she got hers, she’s a happy girl. She didn’t get hers, and she didn’t get any aftercare, either, and maybe someone should give those things to her.

Maybe it should be me. I don’t want to touch her, don’t want to fuck her, but I do have an idea.

She’s picking her dress up off the floor when I open the door.

She looks surprised the door is opening, and I don’t know all the rules on etiquette or how these rooms work, but I don’t want to do this in here.

“Come with me,” I say softly.

I find an empty room and slip in, locking the door behind me. There’s a couch in one corner, and I motion to it. “Lie down,” I demand as I walk through the room.

I open the top drawer of the dresser in here, and I find a range of butt plugs. At least that’s what I think they are.

I close that drawer and try another one.

I find a selection of vibrators, and I pick one up. I toss it to Brandi, and then I slide into a chair in the corner of the room. It’s dark in here, and the chair is in the shadows so I’m basically hidden from sight.

“Use it to make yourself come,” I demand.

She opens the nightstand drawer and pulls out a bottle of lube, and she squirts some on the toy.

And then I watch as she powers it on and slides it down into her pussy.

My cock is rock-hard now, painfully so. He wants to play. He wants escape. He wants to come.

But he’s going to have to wait.

“Touch your tits,” I say.

One of her hands slides up her body to grip onto her nipple, and her hips lift off the bed as she moves the toy in and out of her body.

It’s hot.

Real fucking hot.

She starts to shudder, and then she cries out, “Oh God, I’m coming!”

She thrashes around as she fights through her climax, and when it’s over, she pulls the toy out and powers it off before setting it on the table beside her. She settles back into the cushions, a satisfied smile on her lips, and the tightness in my chest dissipates at the sight of that smile.

I walk over toward her. “Are you okay?” I ask softly.

She nods with a quiet hum.

I find a package of baby wipes in the nightstand between the lube and some massage oil. I hand her a few wipes, and I look away while she cleans up.

“You don’t have to take care of me,” she says quietly.

“Someone should,” I say.

She doesn’t smile, but something changes in her eyes—and it’s a little terrifying.

I think she’s starting to catch feelings for me.

But it’s not mutual, and I need to make that clear.

I’m only stepping in right now because a weight of guilt presses on me that someone didn’t treat her the way she deserved to be treated when I’m the one who encouraged her to do this in the first place.

She’s a grown woman with the ability to make her own decisions, but I still feel like she picked Graham because she knew he’d be an easy yes for me to watch her with.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, and I can’t help but wonder if I’ve found a new place in this club as the guy who provides aftercare when others can’t be bothered with it.