Roommate's Risky Reveal in the High-Roller Suite

The high-roller suite smelled of fresh orchids and money. Ravi tossed his dealer vest onto a chair the second the door clicked shut, rolling his shoulders after twelve hours of pushing chips across green felt. Colette kicked off her heels and spun once on the marble, her cocktail dress flaring. Staff lodging never looked like this—king bed, velvet chaise, floor-to-ceiling windows framing the Strip. A booking glitch had handed them the keys for one night and neither of them was dumb enough to refuse.

Champagne arrived on a silver tray. They drank the first bottle too fast, legs stretched on the massive couch, talking shit about high rollers who tipped in pink chips and the ones who stiffed. Ravi watched the way the silk of her dress clung when she leaned forward to refill his glass. He’d been catching himself staring for months back at their cramped apartment, through the bathroom door she never quite closed all the way. He told himself it was accidental. It never was.

Colette stood, champagne flute dangling from her fingers. “I’m gonna rinse off the casino stink.” She didn’t close the bedroom door. He heard the zipper, the soft shush of fabric hitting carpet. When she reappeared she wore only the suite’s monogrammed silk robe, loosely knotted. She left it gaping just enough.

Ravi’s glass froze halfway to his mouth.

She caught him looking—really looking—and instead of yanking the lapels shut she met his eyes and let the robe slide open another inch. One dark nipple peeked free. Her voice dropped to a raw whisper. “I’ve known you watch me for months, Ravi. Every fucking night I leave that door cracked on purpose. It turns me on so bad I have to touch myself after.”

The words hit him like a hard shove. He set the champagne down before he dropped it. “Colette—”

“Don’t you dare pretend.” She shrugged and the robe pooled at her elbows, then her wrists, then the floor. Bare. Shaved smooth, tits full, the soft curve of her belly and the gleam between her thighs already wet. “Stay right there. Watch me.”

She backed onto the edge of the king bed, knees spreading wide. Two fingers slid down her stomach and parted her lips with a filthy wet sound. She circled her clit slow, hips rolling, eyes locked on his. “This is what you get off on, isn’t it? Me putting on a show while you stand there hard and useless.” Her middle finger sank inside. A soft moan tore out of her. “Fuck, I’m soaked just knowing you’re looking.”

Ravi’s cock strained against his slacks. He stayed in the doorway like she’d ordered, fists clenched, breathing ragged. She added a second finger, fucking herself open with wet little squelches that filled the quiet suite. Her free hand pinched a nipple hard enough to make her gasp. “Come closer. I want you to see how pink and messy I am for you.”

He crossed the room in three strides. Colette scrambled up, turned, and bent over the velvet chaise, ass presented, looking back over her shoulder with blown pupils. “Fuck me. Right now. Don’t be gentle.”

Ravi shoved his pants down just enough. The head of his cock dragged through her slick folds once, twice, then he slammed home in one rough thrust. She cried out, fingers clawing the velvet. He gripped her hips and pounded into her, the wet slap of skin on skin loud and raw. Every stroke bottomed out; she pushed back to meet him, cursing, demanding harder. He reached around and rubbed her clit in tight circles while he fucked her. She came hard around him, walls fluttering, a broken moan muffled against the chaise.

He pulled out only long enough to flip her onto her back on the wide chaise. He hooked her knees over his elbows and drove back in deep. Missionary like this let him bury himself to the root while she watched his face the entire time, eyes glassy, mouth open. Her nails raked down his back hard enough to sting. “Harder—fuck, Ravi, wreck me. I want to feel you tomorrow when I’m serving drinks.” He pistoned into her, balls slapping, sweat dripping onto her tits. She came again with a shout, pulsing tight, and the clench dragged him over. He buried deep and spilled inside her in thick pulses, groaning her name against her throat.

They stayed locked together until the aftershocks faded. Colette laughed breathlessly and tugged him toward the marble shower. Under the hot spray she dropped to her knees on the wet stone, took his half-hard cock into her mouth, and sucked him clean, tongue working every last drop until he hissed and threaded fingers through her wet hair. When she finally stood he kissed her slow and filthy, tasting himself on her tongue.

Later they sprawled naked across the ridiculous bed, limbs tangled, the city glittering beyond the glass. Colette traced lazy circles on his chest. “Back home,” she murmured, “we’re leaving that connecting door wide open every night. I want you watching whenever you want. Maybe next time you won’t just watch.”

Ravi huffed a laugh and pinched her ass. “Deal. But if management ever audits the minibar charges after tonight, I’m blaming the champagne on your filthy little performance. You’re a terrible influence and an even better show.”