ACE: Las Vegas Bad Boys

by Frankie Love

  He shrugs off his suit coat and sets it down on a chair. I watch as he unclasps his belt and tugs it off, dropping it on the floor. He carefully unbuttons his shirt and I watch every motion he makes. For some reason, not missing a beat grounds me in this moment.

  My head rests on a pillow. The bed undone from Claire and Tess sleeping in it.

  I want to be undone too.

  My hands grasp at the sheets around me. My body heats up as I watch Ace rip off his shirt, and then slowly unbuttons his pants. His cock is thick and bulging under the thin fabric of his boxer briefs, as his trousers drop to his feet.

  We've only had sex in the dark, in the corners, in the early morning hours. It’s different now. Sun crosses through the blinds, stretches over Ace's broad shoulders, blinds me in his beauty.

  I know guys aren't supposed to be beautiful, but Ace is. Unquestionably. I want to know everything about him: where he comes from, his favorite food, what song he listens to when he is pumped up or ready to fight. I want to know what he craves. What fuels him.

  I want to know all of these things and I know I never will.

  I know I can't.

  All I can have is his body.

  And that, at least, is divine.

  He takes hold of my panties on either side of my hips, slowly inching them down my knees. My core shivers at his touch and a slight smile crosses my lips knowing that I am going to be feeling a ravenous trembling throughout myself soon enough.

  I kick off my panties. My is pussy exposed and already seeping with wetness. I can't help it. His thick cock is bulging in his briefs and I want to tear them off, I want his throbbing rod to enter my mouth so I can suck every drop of come out of his veiny, ready dick.

  My stomach is nearly exposed in this tight, small tank top. And I know what is above that sliver of skin. He presses his palm over my belly button, and my heart stops for a moment.

  I inhale, and so does he, as if we both need to take a deep breath before we sink ourselves to the bottom of a pool of water. Drowning in the ecstasy you can only find when you swim in the body of another person's skin.

  He stands before me, his hand on my core and I wonder what he imagines as he looks at me. I know what I see when I look at him.

  A man who can fill me in all the wrong ways.

  He pulls off his briefs, his thickness bulging in plain sight and I can't help myself. I know the differences between sex in the dark and sex in broad daylight.

  I want him to see me—like, every inch of my skin, every mark. The parts of me he couldn't see when he fucked me in the dark.

  But I don't care. I arch my back and pull off my tank.

  Now he can see everything. I watch as he takes me in. I've hinted to him about my backstory. My drug addict parents, striking out on my own, but we haven’t gone into details.

  Seeing me like this, naked in the light of the day, he can trace portions of my pain easily. His eyes trail over my stomach, over my abdomen, his fingertips brushing over the faint scars that crisscross my skin.

  Some girls cut themselves in the wide-open spaces, across their wrists, over their thighs. But I was never that girl.

  I've always kept my pain closer than those kind of cuts would allow. Sure it was years ago, right after my parents were shot after a drug deal gone wrong.

  But right now, as Ace looks me over, it doesn't feel like it was very long ago. The rawness of him really looking at those pale pink scars washes over me.

  “Baby,” Ace whispers, breaking the silence.

  I flinch at the sound of his voice, because it reminds me this isn't a dream. This is real life. A life I am pretending isn't drenched with a sister in coma and a rich man driving a getaway car. A life where I'm working my ass off at a job to keep a girl alive who may not even want me here. A life that really isn't mine, because my life—a life I left two months ago—is back in Washington.

  I cover my face with my hands, shake my head. This has been a mistake.

  “It's okay, Emmy Rose. I have demons in my past, too,” he says, and he pulls my hands away, our noses nearly touching. He covers me with himself and I let him.

  “What sorts of demons?” I ask breathlessly, as he spreads my thighs apart, as he presses himself into me without any foreplay, without any warm-up

  But I don't need any and neither does he. I just want to come until I am empty.

  His forearms rest on either side of my head as his skin presses against mine, as my pussy wraps around his massive cock. We are one, and in that moment I understand all those cheesy lines about becoming one.

  “Demons that have seen murder and death. I have hands that have killed.”

  I believe him, and it causes my throat to go dry. He has a ruthless past … does that give me more evidence that he could have callously tossed my sister aside?

  “Do they still haunt you?” I ask. “Those demons?” I run my hand over the tattooed bones on his shoulder, his skin etched with memories filled with pain, the same way my skin has been etched with a past I don't want to remember.

  He thrusts into me slowly, rhythmically. How can a monster lull me into the sort of calm I need? How can a man who is a player and a womanizer also be the person who makes me feel safe enough to stay?

  He pulls my hair from face, looking me straight in the eye.

  “Every day, Emmy Rose. They haunt me every motherfucking day.”

  “And that's why you put on this act … this show?” I ask in a whisper, not wanting him to pull away from me.

  “This isn't a show, baby.”

  He pushes harder into me—how can it be both hard and soft? I don't know, but it is. He presses his cock against my g-spot, and I feel a wave building within me.

  I close my eyes, letting the sensation fill me; I don't want it to pass too quickly. My pussy is screaming for release, and as he grinds against me the orgasm crashes down.

  “Oh, Ace, I need more, I need you.” I claw at his back, grasping for his skin, dragging him closer.

  “Don't worry, baby, there will be more, I promise,” Ace says in my ear, still the cocky bastard I know him to be.

  “You're so bad.”

  “That's not all I am though,” he says.

  And I believe him.

  ACE

  After she came the first time, I came too. Then I pulled out, and pressed my fingers into her.

  She looked so at peace. So comfortable there. I've never seen anyone look so at one with the world.

  And that was a motherfucking gift, because yeah, I’d only known this woman for a few days, but everything about her screamed that she’d been bruised and broken one too many times.

  The scarred skin across her tummy proved that to me. Of course I had missed her marks before; I'd only taken her in the dark—with the only goal fucking.

  But now it's different. Sure, the names monster and bad boy and player are all words that have rolled off her lips today—but other words have, too.

  Words she doesn't even need to say.

  Words we both seem to know.

  So I press two fingers into her moist opening. I watch as her eyes roll back, as groans escape her. I love pressing my hand into her warmth, and I want to make this girl squirt. I know I can.

  She has years’ worth of pent up emotions. I just need to help open her floodgates.

  “Oh, Ace, it's too much.”

  “You're so close, baby,” I tell her, adding a third finger, hitting her deep inside. Sure her clit is screaming in pleasure, and my other hand rubs the top of her pussy, round and round and round I go until she is writhing in desire.

  Her come starts pouring over my hand, and I grin like a motherfucking fool. She loves me in her, and I love it, too.

  “You are just going everywhere,” I tell her. “You needed this.”

  “Yeah, I did.” She covers her mouth as a belly laugh escapes. “Ohmigod, that was amazing.”

  “Honey, what's the rush? You're not done.”

  “I'm not?”


  “No way.” I add a fourth finger, thrusting in and out so hard and fast that her come is shooting everywhere, all over me, across my bare chest. Her juicy pussy is swelling and alive. Her ass is in the air, her moaning overcome in pure delirium.

  And I fucking love it.

  “Let me suck you off,” she says, her eyes filled with lust.

  “You don't have to ask me twice.”

  I pull my fingers from her dripping opening and slap her ass as she crawls toward me.

  “Sit on the edge of the bed,” she demands.

  “No dice. Sorry, Emmy. I'm still the Boss-man.”

  “Okay,” she says, smiling. “What does the Boss want?”

  “I want to lie down on this bed of yours, and I want your ass on my face and your mouth around my cock.”

  “Demanding much?”

  “You know you want it.” I look down at my growing rod. She licks her lips hungrily.

  “Oh, yeah I do, Boss-man.”

  She straddles me backwards, her round, perfect ass in my hands, her swollen pussy over my mouth.

  I know that she needs tender kisses down there right now, and it's a good thing, because as I grab her ass, both hands holding her round cheeks, I can't concentrate on much besides soft licks and flicking her still-enlarged clit with my tongue.

  This woman can blow like no other woman, ever. She is taking me deep in her throat, massaging my balls—then popping my cock out all together, as she fills her mouth with balls.

  She swirls them in her mouth, running her hands over my inner thighs, and she bounces up and down, her pussy moving in delight as I tongue her deeply.

  “Oh, Emmy,” I moan, not wanting to come so fast, but also wanting to fully experience getting off with her like this.

  “You're ready, bad boy,” she says. “And I like to swallow,” she moans, as she turns to face me, “but I really loved it when you came on my tits. Do it again, and then let me lick all of it off myself.”

  “Maybe I’ll change my mind. Maybe you can always be in charge.”

  Her perfect body rests on her heels, her tits full and ripe before me. She runs her hand over her tits, down to her pussy. She dips a finger into her folds and I think she's gonna put the finger in my mouth, but then she slips it into her own, moaning as she sucks her juice off good and clean.

  I scoot up on the headboard, wanting to pump my seed all over her nice and good. She greedily takes my cock in her hands and begins massaging me as the pressure mounts.

  “Oh, baby,” I say, spilling my come all over her perfect bouncing tits. I spray my come on the tops of her breasts, her skin glistening with me.

  “Ace,” she groans, lifting her tits to her mouth. She licks them, cleaning the come off herself. Her tits are so big and perfect she can reach the creamy goodness she was begging for.

  She lets out another laugh, a perfect, fucked-good laugh. A laugh that covers all the pain. All the shadows she carried this morning. All the vengeance and anger and fear.

  That's all been washed away. We didn't drown.

  It's like we're finally able to come up for air.

  15

  EMMY

  “You should, go,” I tell him, standing up from the bed. My smile is still on my face, and I don't want to wipe it away while he’s still here, while we’re both so happy.

  “So soon? Come back to the hotel with me. You don't have to walk away.”

  “I do though, Ace,” I say, pulling a bathrobe over my bare shoulders. “I never meant for this to be more than sex. And maybe you did—but not me.”

  “But you felt more,” Ace says, sitting on the edge of the bed, watching me as I walk to the bathroom and run the water. I need to clean up and get to the hospital. Glancing at my phone, I see it's already four.

  Ignoring Ace, I send Claire a quick text telling her I'm alive and not to worry, to which she promptly responds with a string of questions demanding details.

  I set down my phone without answering.

  “Look, I have a lot on my mind—”

  “Because of your sister? Claire told me she was in the hospital.”

  I snort. “She did, did she?”

  “I'm not who you think I am,” Ace says.

  I turn to face him. “Then who are you? Did you know my sister? Did you know Janie?”

  Ace averts his eyes, as if hesitating to respond. Eventually he looks straight at me and says, “I did, but—”

  “Ohmigodohmigodohmigod. Just go, Ace. Just fucking go.” I walk back in the room, pick up his clothes, throw them at him. “Go and don't come back. I know you have money and I know you just fucked me in ways I still don't believe are real—but you did not just tell me you knew my sister.”

  “It's not like that.”

  I turn and leave because I can't speak. I gave Ace a few hours to fuck me silly, but that was more than enough. I have real shit to deal with; I can't sit around and play pretend anymore with him.

  “I'm taking a shower, and when I come back, I don't want to see your face. Ever again. If you want me to quit my job, fine. I'll go. I just can't see you. And you sure as hell better not show up at the hospital to see my sister. I am calling my detective tomorrow to tell him the shit I have on you.”

  “This isn't what you want.”

  “I never said it was, Bullet. But it’s what I need.”

  And then I slam the bathroom door shut, crawl in the tub, and sob like a child.

  A child I’ve never really been.

  ACE

  A few days later, I still haven't seen Emmy. I checked her work schedule, because I’m a fucking pussy. She's called in sick. Three times.

  I want to call her. Beg her. Explain.

  But how can I? And what would I say?

  I'm not ready to be the one on my knees.

  I know that sounds stereotypical and fucking macho bullshit—but it's the truth. I've never been kicked out of a woman's place before.

  This woman has made me forget everything.

  Forget myself.

  I’m Ace Fucking Royalle.

  I spent the morning at McQueen's gym, and once again I used a punching bag, a fucking sack of leather, to get all my aggression out. When what I really wanted was to smash Grotto's face in.

  The other thing I really want is to see Emmy. But I’m sticking to my guns. She can come find me. I showed up for her last time, at her fucking doorstep, begging to come in.

  And then she kicked me out.

  She licked my come off her breasts and then told me to leave.

  I've never been used like that.

  Also, I can't remember how many years it's been since I've gone three days without fucking.

  I pull off my gloves, and wipe the sweat from my forehead with the hem of my shirt.

  “Doing okay, Boss?” McQueen asks, coming up from behind me and clapping me on my back.

  “Yeah, just ready for the meeting with the real estate agent.”

  “Ace, it's all good. We've all got your back.”

  Which is a good thing considering my lawyer is pissed with me. Apparently not taking Mark’s counsel of holding off on a property deal rubbed him the wrong way.

  But he doesn’t understand that things between Grotto and I have gotten personal.

  “Denzel’s really not coming to see it, too?” McQueen asks. “That man has had your back for five years.”

  “Maybe I should swing by his office before our meeting.”

  “Cool, bro.” McQueen gives me a fist-bump. “See you then.”

  I drive over to Denzel & Swopes, in the heart of the city center. Taking the elevator up to the fortieth floor, I can't help but remember when Emmy and I were in that elevator together. How quickly she got me ready to go.

  Fuck that shit. I adjust myself and pop my neck as the elevator doors slide open. That girl has made me crazy.

  Pausing, I check in with Denzel's receptionist, Sherry. She shakes her head.

  “Ace, can you come back—”

  I
don't wait for her to finish. I go back to his office, not giving a shit if he’s busy.

  He is. With the last person I want to see right now.

  What the motherfucking shit is going on in here?

  “What the hell are you doing here, Grotto?” I ask the man I want to push out a window overlooking the Vegas strip.

  My heart sinks. Mark Denzel is one of the only people I would have trusted with my life.

  “It's not what it looks like, Ace,” Mark says, standing and coming over to me where I stand in the doorway, ready to pounce.

  “Then what is it?” I ask, clenching my jaw.

  “Hey, hey, no reason to start getting loud,” Grotto says smugly.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask. “Mark, you know what this fool did to your man, Trenton.” Denzel should fucking care that he’s dealing with a murderer. He should be doing everything in his power to arrest the man.

  “Trenton has been missing for nearly a week, and I know you've pinned it on Grotto—but, Ace, the man's hands are clean.” Mark says, trying to ease me out of his office.

  “That's bullshit, and you know it.” I stand in the hallway, outside Mark's door, feeling like I've been punched in the gut. What does it say if even Mark Denzel won’t stick up for me?

  “What are you doing with him?” I ask.

  “He is seeking legal counsel. He came to ask about retaining me.” Mark holds up his hands apologetically. “Look, Ace, I want the best for you, but business is business.”

  “It's not business. Not everything is fucking business in this town. I thought you were family.”

  “I'm not family. I'm your lawyer.”

  “Then I'm the fool you I thought I was.”

  “It doesn't have to be like this, Ace. I can represent you both.”

  “He’s the one trying to get that property from me. You know that, right?”

  “I also know I advised you to drop that plan of yours.”

  “Fuck this. Go suck Grotto's dick, Mark. You're dead to me.”

  I walk away, not wanting anything to do with Mark if he’s going to have a client like Grotto. I don't want to see his face if he’s a double-crosser like that.