Today’s Snippet Saturday theme is a nod to the season – parties. As the owner of a protection business in Washington DC, Sam Watson attends a lot of parties to schmooze with clients, and drum up more business. So there were several parties I could draw from in Personal Protection. In this one, Rosie is being introduced not to clients, or not only to clients, but some of Sam’s private friends, and she’s discovering an eye opening side to him.
Thalia introduced Rosalinda to the other guests, several of whom she recognized—one was a well known television personality, others from C-Span—at least one was a Senator, along with a couple congressmen. A tall blonde on the arm of one of the congressmen threw her arms around Sam’s neck.
“Sammy, you came! I’ve missed you in the grotto.”
Grotto? What the hell went on at the grotto? Was that another club?
A pained look on his face, Sam pulled the woman’s arms away and stepped back. “Mandy, I’d like you to meet Rosalinda Ramos. Rosie, Amanda Henderson.”
Where Rosie was short, Mandy was tall. Not just tall, but as graceful as a ballerina. Where she had black hair that looked like she’d stuck her finger in a light socket until it had burnt to a crisp, Mandy’s long blonde hair streamed in golden waves over her shoulders and down the bare expanse of her back.
Rosie slowly released her breath so no one around them would notice her sigh. Mandy’s body, like most of the other women tonight, was the epitome of surgical perfection. How could a regular gal like her compete? Especially for someone like Sam Watson.
Mandy spared Rosie her own quick assessing glance, then obviously decided she had no competition as she ignored her. “Sammy, why haven’t you come to the club lately? It’s not the same without you.”
A brunette dressed entirely in leather complete with a steel-studded dog collar and thigh-high patent leather boots slithered through the crowd and wrapped one leg around Sam’s hip and clung to him as she purred a welcome. If Mandy was a ballerina, this woman was a pole dancer with Sam the pole.
Rosie narrowed her eyes. No real boobs in the world retained their shape like that. Not unless they were supported by an underwire which the other woman obviously wasn’t using considering the design of the…well, it wasn’t so much of a dress, more like a series of straps concealing the important bits.
Not that Rosie thought she was any slouch in the boob department, but the brunette’s perky missiles could have drilled holes into granite.
“Tawny.” Sam peeled the woman off him. “Where’s Cooper? Isn’t he your trainer lately?”
Tawny’s collagen-enhanced lips pouted when he kept her at arm’s length. “Coop says he needs to talk to you and I’m to fetch you.”
Sam shrugged in Rosie’s direction and followed Tawny over to their host. Cooper took Sam a few paces away so they could talk without being overheard. Able to keep an eye on Sam, Rosie chatted idly with Thalia, while her husband stayed two paces behind his wife. Rosie shifted uncomfortably as Spencer kept glancing down the deep swell of her cleavage and again to the thigh peeking out from the slit up her hip. From the way lips pressed together, Thalia finally noticed her husband’s meandering gaze.
“Spencer, my prince,” she put a strange emphasis on the title that had Rosie wondering its significance, “go to the bar and fetch me a glass of sherry.”
Apparently whatever they were discussing hadn’t taken much time, as Sam returned not five very uncomfortable minutes later, just as Jocelyne swooped in, accompanied by a gentleman in his fifties.
“Rosie, I’d like for you to meet my husband, Robert.” She pronounced it with her French accent, so it sounded more like Ro-bair.
Jocelyne was in a middle of a story about Robert’s photography when Sam interrupted. “Jo, you want to go rescue my operative from Tawny’s clutches? He looks like he’s a thermometer about to burst.”
Rosie glanced over to where Kris had positioned himself by the door to the patio and saw Tawny wrapped around him like a clinging vine. Kris’s already red face flamed completely scarlet when she swiped her tongue up the side of his face while sliding her hand down his pants.
“Merde, I’ve warned her,” Jocelyne apologized before she left them to rescue Kris.
The vibrations created by the device in her harness stopped and started a dozen times through the evening, sometimes lasting only a few minutes, and once the entire length of a slow dance Sam talked her into. By the time the string quartet finished the last note, she was clinging to Sam, resting her head on his chest as she willed away a threatening orgasm.
Wrapping his arm about her waist, he led her off the dance floor. “Ready to go find a quiet corner yet, Rosebud?”
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