Smoldered

by Rachel Blaufeld

  I felt myself being laid out on the decadent down comforter, my hair fanning out around me on the pillow as Asher stretched out next to me and ran his hand along my face, staring deep into my eyes as a low rumble came from deep in his throat. It was a primal sound made by a man who’d been forced to wait too long. As much as it was scary and disconcerting, I found some twisted pleasure in how much he wanted me.

  Asher’s growl and my unbridled need for him combined to ensure that the rest of the night was not going to be a slow, careful coupling, but more like two starving wild animals set loose on each other. Asher had his hand up my shirt and down my pants within seconds, quickly removing each piece of clothing. I continued to lie there in my black lace bra and matching boy shorts while he made quick work of his own clothes. His slacks and dress shirt quickly joined my tiny pile on the floor.

  Like a panther, the man slid in bed next to me practically unnoticed until he ran his tongue down my neck, across my clavicle, traveling lower along my side cleavage peeking out from my bra, past my navel, finally settling at the seam of my panties, teasing and taunting. I closed my eyes, wanting to savor the moment, narrowing my senses to only one as I reveled in his touch.

  His finger drifted along the edge of the lace bordering on my skin, drawing it down, farther and farther, until he lost control and ripped the panties right down the middle. It was swift and quick, and then his tongue met my hot center.

  We may have not had a lot of experience in a bed together like normal couples, but the man knew how to pleasure me, where to go soft and feather-like and where I didn’t need tenderness but pressure. My orgasm built, pushing at the barrier of my skin, barreling through my nerve endings, dying to come out, making me tremble with fear I was going to completely burst into pieces, and then it hit.

  It hit again and again, rolling over me like the hot air blowing sand in the desert, decimating the tiny granules, moving them to new places, creating different plateaus and planes with the tiny specks. As I lay there coming down, now with my eyes open, I watched Asher reach over my body, grab a condom, then begin to slide in and out of me at a slow, leisurely pace. At that point, I wasn’t the same woman I’d been moments before when we entered the bedroom.

  I, too, had been recreated, reorganized into a new being with a new landscape, nothing put back in exactly the same place after Asher and his orgasm blew me to bits. My hardened shell was in pieces, torn to smithereens, and somehow I knew I wouldn’t be able to rebuild my well-constructed emotional walls.

  Which was exactly why I never wanted to come back to this place, to Asher’s home with its warm and inviting bed, an unrivaled refuge. Because it was only a mirage, one where I wanted to lay down roots, to dig deep and never leave.

  But it wasn’t real. At least, not for me.

  Charades

  Mike

  I HEADED out the back door of the Tunnel a little early, which was cool because Petey was there. As Asher’s right-hand man, I made my own rules, and tonight I felt like getting the hell out.

  Asher and I had been together a long time. He got me, and I certainly got him.

  It was Friday night, and I knew who he wanted in his office—or his bed, if he got his way. Natalie. The man was unbelievable. He’d been tapping her for years with no real commitment. And she liked it that way. At least, that was what she led us to believe. She knew damn well what he did when she wasn’t around the club, and it wasn’t work. He remained noncommittal and she pretended to be indifferent.

  Sometimes I felt like either slapping the jerk or confronting the woman to try to shake some sense into her, but who was I to judge? I had my own shit storm at home.

  Regardless of Asher’s feelings for the stripper, Nataleigh Dallas, he was staying at the club until closing time so he could snag Natalie, the woman, for the rest of the evening. I was also privy to the fact that our headliner, Sienna, was finally into a man. He was a customer, which gave us all pause at first, but he was a warm-blooded male who kept her happy. And that was the important thing.

  All this meant I was free to cut out of the place, my usual responsibilities all covered.

  I took a deep breath as I jumped into the club’s extra-large black-on-black SUV with darkened windows and the club’s telltale glowing purple license plate frames. It was my work vehicle, but all the locals in Vegas knew damn well it was me behind the wheel. Big Mike from the Tunnel, and he’s not to be messed with—now or ever.

  Before I pulled out of the parking lot, I gave the fuzzy neon-green dice hanging on the rearview a little tap, smirking at their swishing from side to side, unable to stop comparing their movement to the balancing act of my life.

  Christ, I deserved a few hours to let loose by myself.

  The club was all consuming, and I liked it that way, but at the moment my personal life was imploding. No one at the Tunnel had any clue I’d kicked Rochelle to the curb. We’d been living together since I was twenty. I thought I loved her, and had believed it was mutual until I caught her banging my dad. Now she was out of my place, and I was a liberated man. Free as a bird. To do what, exactly, I had no clue.

  Been shacked up so long, I wasn’t sure I even knew how to be a free agent on the dating scene. At nineteen, I left my mom’s mansion, the one she got in the messy divorce, and took some of my trust fund to buy a condo with a view of the Strip. It was primo real estate, and I was proud to move Rochelle in because she believed in me.

  Took stock in me, even though I didn’t want to be the man. Obviously, she wanted more than just the man. Bitch wanted an older man, as in my semi-estranged, blue-pill dependent father.

  I brought my hand to the touch screen in the car and pumped the music, felt the bass in the rap song blaring through the woofers carry me away from my troubles at home. My fingers beat against the steering wheel as the wind from the sunroof blew through my close buzz, cooling my scalp and growing temper. If I was honest, the work shit wasn’t stressful. None of it, not even Sienna’s protection.

  I lived for my Tunnel gang. Would lie down for them.

  Thought I’d do the same for Rochelle. Guess I was wrong.

  Asher deserved to know about the breakup. After all, he gave me my first break and had been letting me slum it with him ever since. He never called attention to my lack of drive when it came to my parents’ ambitions for me. The strip club owner with the rough exterior supported me unconditionally. Corny, but he did.

  I’m going to tell him after this weekend. After I give myself some space and room to breathe.

  Not to mention, my buddy Clay from school was in town and throwing a private party in the penthouse of the Palace Hotel, the newest joint to go up on the Strip. I typically stayed away from those prep school idiots, but I liked Clay. We stayed in touch over the years, and he popped into the Tunnel every time he was in town. He was the only one who respected my decision not to go white collar.

  I smoothed my hand along the leather steering wheel as I turned onto Las Vegas Boulevard. Even if I wanted to back out, my foot on the gas pedal had a mind of its own and was pushing on toward a guaranteed party. Tonight was about me. I had put my small pistol in the safe at the club, winked at Natalie when Asher wasn’t looking, and waved good-bye to my boss before heading out to my SUV. I wasn’t packing heat or protecting anyone this evening, or morning if I actually took the time into account. I was just one of the guys heading out for a good time.

  As I pulled up to the valet at the Palace, I checked my reflection in the mirror. My hair was recently cropped close to my scalp; I touched my hand to the top of my head, feeling the unfamiliar soft bristle of the buzz cut. I ran the same hand over my face, satisfied with the length of stubble along my jaw. Glancing down at my standard uniform—basketball warm-up jacket, jeans, and high-end hoop shoes—I nodded. This was as good as it got for me. No suits for this man.

  I lifted my chin at the valet. They all knew me.

  “Keep it up front, ’kay?” I yelled to the young buck as I tossed him
the keys.

  “No problem, Mike,” he said as he caught the keys in the air.

  I walked straight to the VIP elevator bank when I entered the hotel. I knew those guys too. The ones manning the elevators and keeping out the riffraff and the low-end hookers. Another chin nod, one more fist bump, and I headed upstairs to party.

  The penthouse covered half of the top floor, and I could hear the party raging as soon as the elevator doors opened. Knowing Clay, he had a DJ spinning tunes. Dude was swimming in dough. His dad had tons; gave it freely without strings attached. It didn’t even matter that my only friend left from my Saint’s One Academy days was practically printing the shit himself, he was a pretty decent guy. Usually.

  His behavior tonight might be an exception.

  I walked to the door and gave a fist pound to my man, Billy, who was moonlighting, doing a little private detail at the hotel suite.

  “Yo, man. All good here? Everyone just having a fun time? No trouble?” I asked my employee. I’d referred him to Clay for the after-hours duty, so it was all cool.

  “Nah, nothing. It’s all tits and ass and good times in there,” he answered, then slipped his key card in the slot and swung the door open for me.

  As soon as I set foot in the luxury suite, I was wrapped in the pulsing beat, pulled into the vibe, and immediately felt lighter. I loved good music, and the blaring mash-up filling the air was just my type of antidote to a bad mood. My feet no longer dragging, they ate up the hardwood floor leading to the bar Clay had set up.

  Speak of the devil, he was entertaining two bottle blondes with shots from an ice luge and was too busy to even notice me crossing the room.

  I smacked him on the back and he jumped. Unable to keep from laughing, I asked him, “What’s up, my man, other than your dick?”

  Clay tore his gaze away from double trouble and pulled me in for a bro hug. “And to think I was actually excited to see you, Mike.”

  I stepped out of the guy’s embrace before it became uncomfortable. “I can feel your excitement, bro, but this—it isn’t my type of thing,” I said while lifting my eyes to the ready, willing, and able duo. “But whatever floats your boat. As long as you’re not abusive and it’s consensual.”

  He waved a hand at the mess of tall, curvy, and stacked figures still licking vodka off the ice sculpture. “Come on, Mike. Don’t be a buzzkill. You know I’m harmless, just a good guy having a fun time. You’re just jealous you weren’t here earlier to snag yourself a pair of these bombshells.”

  He was right. I knew he was decent, and this was Vegas. Finding oneself with two women at the same time was practically tame, and I also knew he was one of the good guys.

  “You forget where I work, Clay?” I said with a wink. He knew I could get a piece of ass anytime I wanted, whenever I damn well pleased. It also irked him that I never took advantage of that. There was always Rochelle, but regardless, I didn’t shit where I ate, and the Tunnel girls were like sisters to me.

  “Definitely not, my man. In fact, I’m on the VIP list for tomorrow. I plan to have another spectacular night, courtesy of Asher. Any chance Sienna will do a private for me?”

  I punched him in the arm. “Shut the fuck up, Clay. Been telling you for years, Sie doesn’t do that shit. She’s eye candy. That’s it. No lap dances or back rooms for her. Period.”

  My friend rubbed his arm where I made contact. Yeah, it was a little harder than I should have hit him, but the jerk was always bugging me about Sienna. She had boundaries, a lot of them, and it was my personal duty to protect them. I loved that woman; we all did. And no one would diminish or hurt her. Which was why I was keeping a close eye on that dude who slipped her a note at the club. My girl hadn’t dated once in the last seven years, so I wasn’t about to let her take off with this customer, Carson, without having my eye on her.

  Clay waved his hand in front of my face, dragging me out of my thoughts as he said, “Well, fine. No Sienna, but you find me another gorgeous and willing lady. In the meantime, get a drink and go have some fun, Mikey. Take a load off.” He waved his hand around the noisy hotel suite full of partiers before he went back to his babes and vodka.

  Motioning to the bartender, I ordered a shot of tequila and tossed it back, feeling the burn all the way down to my stomach while I lifted my hand for another.

  I could always get a room for the night. No one to rush home to.

  With alcohol surging through my veins, my limbs felt looser and my body hummed with excitement as the tension eased from my overworked muscles. My pulse quickened as I made my way around the room, stopping in the corner to take it all in. It was a good-looking group, people with money who could afford whatever they wanted—top-of-the-line booze, women, cars, penthouses, pills, plastic surgery—you name it, they could buy it. The kind of assholes I’d known all my life. Malcontent pricks and self-serving bitches.

  My focus zeroed in on the most striking woman I’d ever seen, and I’d seen a lot of fucking women. With skin the color of coffee with cream, legs that didn’t seem to end, firm and perky natural breasts only hidden by a tiny pink bikini top, and long cornrow braids, their tips brushing the top of her ass where she wore low-slung jeans, she was stunning and I couldn’t stop staring. Which I happened to be doing, taking my time devouring the little dimples where her lower back met her curvy backside, when I noticed the man she was standing with grip her tiny wrist, trying to pull her closer.

  It was obvious she was trying to maintain some type of distance or maybe break free without causing a scene. My feet couldn’t help themselves but to close the distance between the two of us and before I knew it, I was at her side. It was my nature to protect and help women, to make sure they didn’t end up in trouble, or zoned out on pills like my mom. That was a waste of life whether you were privileged or not.

  I positioned myself between the man and woman, forcing him to let go of her small wrist, and I looked the asshole right in the face. “Excuse me, but I’ve been looking for this lady all evening. There’s been an emergency that she needs to attend to. Sorry, man,” I said, using my old prep school lingo.

  With that, I didn’t even wait for an answer, just swung my arm around the girl and walked her down the hall toward the door to the balcony.

  When we were a few steps away, I whispered in her ear, “Play along. I could tell you wanted out of there.”

  She nodded slightly and picked up her pace.

  ONCE WE were through the French doors to the balcony, I rushed us to a corner out of the sightline of anyone inside the suite. It was quieter outside, the fountain on the Strip currently sleeping, the dark night sky enveloping us. Chilly desert air washed over me, cooling my surging temper, but I could see my damsel in distress was both cold and confused. I turned her to face me and ran my hands up and down her arms, warming her skin, ignoring the sparks igniting my own hands.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to rush you like that, take you away from that dude, but it seemed like you needed an out. I’m Mike, by the way.”

  She cocked her head to the side, looking deep into my eyes as if she could see the secrets of the world there, and breathed out a soft thank-you before dropping her head.

  I was still running my large hands along the length of her arms, but I stilled myself and reached out to tilt her chin up so we were eye level.

  “What’s your name?” I asked.

  “Lincoln. But really it’s Lynx…I just don’t want to tell everyone my real name.” She stiffened slightly and I wanted to wrap her up in my arms, protect her not only from the greasy slimeball in the party, but every fear, scary notion, or asshole lurking in her past, present, or future.

  What the fuck?

  “Shit, that’s a gorgeous name. Perfect.”

  She scrunched up her brow, probably trying to figure out what I meant. Clearly, I was a bit rusty at picking up women.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you. I just think it’s a really cool name.”

  “Thanks again. Hone
stly, I’m so thankful for your rescue, and your compliments, but I got to get back to work or whatever they want me to do here.”

  “Um, you’re working? What the fuck? Who hired you?”

  Another scrunch of her face, this time accompanied by her dark eyes almost spilling over with tears. “Yeah, sorry to disappoint you, but I’m just the hired help, a girl trying to make it through school without loans. I’m an escort. I didn’t come with the guy throwing the party, but one of his buddies called up and ordered a few of us for the evening.” She shook her head and turned to walk away. “I gotta get back.”

  “Wait.” I grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back to look at me. “No worries. I’m a guest and you’re here to make sure we’re happy, so why don’t you spend some time with me? Just talking?”

  All of a sudden, I couldn’t imagine sharing this woman with the room full of loud, obnoxious wealthy people on the other side of the balcony doors.

  She shrugged. “I guess that works.”

  “Great. Listen, I have an idea. Wait here for a minute and I’ll be right back. Okay?” I held up my finger signaling one sec while searching her face for a response.

  When Lynx nodded, I asked, “Are you sure? You’re gonna be here when I get back?”

  She nodded again, so I ran inside and grabbed a comforter from one of the king-sized beds, a bottle of wine, and two glasses.

  We stayed out on the balcony, wrapped up together in the warmth of the comforter, drinking wine, talking, laughing, and joking until the sun came up above the Vegas skyline.

  It was the most fun I’d had in years.

  Then she got a text and the spell was broken.