A sharp dealer could take up to five thousand a day from the house in a number of ways, but usually with an agent, an accomplice who was a customer. With deft, practiced movements a dealer could pay off double in the bat of an eyelash, or pretend to pick up a bet but gently flick it back so his – or her – accomplice could palm it and use it again. Lane's eyes now rested with a smolder of lust on one blackjack dealer. She was new – only twenty two or three, with a gorgeous pair of tits, a succulently curvey ass and long legs. And every night when she got off shift she left alone. Interesting. His phone rang softly and he picked it up.
"Hey, honey, bring us home a goodie tonight, huh?"
Shit. His wife was drunk again. "Why don't you ease upon the juice, Vera?"
"Why don't you bring me home a luscious chunk with a boiling pussy?" she giggled. "Something hot and juicy for Vera to suck on while you watch? You know you love that, Lane, you know how it turns you on, stud, hnunmm?"
Bitch. He was getting a fierce hard-on just from talking to her. He had to say one thing for his torrid young wife in spite of her drinking and craziness and screwing around – she was the sexiest piece he'd ever had, with tawny skin and hot, eager lips and plump curves that could trigger an erection just thinking about them. She had the hottest, most insatiable mouth and cunt in creation, like electrifying velvet sockets, like madly sucking animals on fire.