Revealed: A Hype PR and Eye Candy Bookstore Anthology

by Bethany Lopez

  He continues to move inside me and I feel familiar warmth begin to stir–my orgasm climbing faster than ever before. My skin flushes–I feel warm all over. I might be having my first hot flash. His cock works me expertly as he makes love to me with both his mouth and his body.

  He must make it a priority to be the best at everything he does because not only is he arguably the best boxer in the world, he's definitely the best lover I've had. His cock should be illegal with the way he uses it.

  He's perfect, and I'd tell him this if I wasn't so focused on what's approaching. My climax is climbing. I'm right on the edge of...

  "Jase," I scream out as he completes a perfect trifecta of thrusting his talented cock inside me as his thumb rubs circles over my clit and he pulls my earlobe between his lips. He sends my body right over the edge. I'm free falling. I'm weightless. A delicious purr spreads throughout my body as my climax continues on and on.

  He moves inside me a few more times and each thrust makes my orgasm last impossibly longer. Twenty seconds must pass by before I start to feel the euphoria die down, and then Jase groans out my name and fills me with his seed.

  His husky voice gives me perverse pleasure and I hold on to him tightly until he's finished. Once we're both satiated he collapses on top of me, both of us slick with sweat. Our breathing is heavy as we lay in the dark bedroom.

  I'm still trying to come to terms with what just happened between us. The way he was able to manipulate my body and summon a response, well, no other guys has made me feel that incredible before.

  "Rocky, that was perfect. There really are no words," he mumbles into my hair, interrupting my thoughts.

  He's right. It was perfection.

  I push his shoulders so he'll move off of me and then I roll out from underneath him. I shift so I'm lying next to him on the bed and then turn to face him. He's lying on his back now, one arm resting behind his head as his other arm rests against his enviable abs. "So is it safe to say it was as good for you as it was for me? Because for me it was...wow. I mean, just wow, Jase."

  He laughs under his breath before responding. "I like wow. I can work with wow."

  "If you've heard anything less than wow from girls in the past, then it's a good thing you're no longer sleeping with them. Wow doesn't even do justice to all the things you made my body experience."

  "Jeez, Rocky. You're going to embarrass me."

  "I just want to make sure you're aware of how talented you are. If I had known to expect that I would have fucked you hours ago. You were so incredible that I'm on the brink of confessing my love to you and begging you to make me your sex slave. You can ravish my body whenever you like."

  He smirks, turning on his side to face me and then his lips are on mine in a slow, sensual kiss. Our lips are swollen from the hungry way we both devoured each other’s bodies minutes ago, but now his kisses are soft and sensual. He's slowly summoning a new need for him and my body's preparing to take more.

  I rest my left hand on his chest and break our kiss. "This can't be real. This all feels too good to be real. I feel like I've known you my whole life. Like we're two puzzle pieces from different puzzles but somehow fit perfectly together."

  "I never thought I'd be saying this to a woman, but I feel the same way. The way I feel about you in this short amount of time terrifies me, so we shouldn't over analyze it too much. Let's just be happy that the sex together is great and the company is even better."

  I glance over at the clock on the nightstand and it's a little past three in the morning. We're going to have to get up soon. "What about the upcoming fight?"

  He looks at me questioningly. "What about it?"

  "We're on opposite sides, Jase. I shouldn't even be talking to you, yet I find myself wanting to know everything about you and hoping you feel the same way about me."

  "It's crazy, Riley, but I do feel the same way about you. Let's get some sleep before we're completely useless. We'll let tomorrow play out the way it should play out. Regardless of the outcome of the fight, I still want to see you again. I want to see where this could go. You’re smart and you know a hell of a lot more about boxing than any other girl I've been around. We have a magnetic attraction and we're great together in bed. I'd have to be an idiot not to want to keep seeing you and hope that we can make this work."

  I burrow into his body and wrap my arms around his waist. He holds me tight and we spend the rest of the morning drifting in and out of sleep between a couple more rounds of mind-blowing sex. Jase orders room service for us around eleven and after a breakfast of eggs, toast, and orange juice, we say goodbye at his door, making promises of getting together tonight after the fight.

  I spend the day in a Jase-filled haze, my actions completely uncharacteristic of how I usually act on fight day. I know my dad, Rodrigo, and the rest of Rodrigo's team notice I'm distracted. This would be the perfect time to tell them about the illegal fight I witnessed with Jase the night before. It's the kind of news every coach and their fighter dreams of hearing. My dad and Rodrigo would be millions of dollars richer and Jase would be kicked out of the organization.

  Revealing his illegal fights would be the right thing to do, but instead I keep Jase's secret. I keep it partly because I really like him and want to see where our relationship could go and partly because he's an amazingly talented boxer with millions of fans. Boxing is Jase's passion and I would never want to be responsible for ripping his passion away from him.

  Chapter Three

  That night's fight would be called one of the greatest fights in the history of the WBO. Jase's face plastered the international papers and he was the lead story on sports' websites all around the world.

  Jase won the fight. He knocked Rodrigo out in the third round, although I happen to know Jase could have knocked him out in the first round. Rodrigo was just practice for him. The main event is underground and I've been by his side at every fight, keeping his secret for him so he can still fight in the WBO.

  Keeping his underground fighting under wraps has also meant we continue to keep our relationship a secret. It's been months and my father still doesn't know that the man he uses for target practice all over his boxing gym is the same man who's in my bed every night. I'm falling in love with Jase and I'm okay with our relationship staying hush-hush for a while. There's only one thing that makes the connection between us even stronger and that's secret scandalous sex.

  Lyra Parish

  Chapter 1

  Las Vegas–the city of sin, sex, and most of all, the city of secrets. In Vegas, I can be anyone I want to be–a country girl, an Australian, a ditzy blonde, a wife with five kids, or my favorite, the slutty woman who has no clue how to play blackjack. My disguises go on for days and it’s fun to be someone I’m not. It’s one of the many perks of being the Queen of Card Counting. I’m a one-woman team and I plan on keeping it that way while enforcing the strict rules I’ve put in place.

  I always work alone.

  I never mention counting.

  Playing at the same casino in a thirty-day period is strictly prohibited.

  To be a card counter, one has to pay attention to detail, work well under-pressure, and keep up appearances no matter what happens. Luckily I’ve had years to perfect it.

  I’ve been playing blackjack since I was ten. At twelve I learned how to count cards. By the time I turned twenty-one, I could count more than seven decks at a time. I can sit at any table, be ridiculous, have a few drinks and still keep my count, which means I don’t need a partner. It’s safer that way. And my track record has proven it time and time again.

  The first time I played, I made over fifty thousand dollars in one night, which led to this double-life. It’s too dangerous to be myself at the casino, especially with all the fancy face recognition software they have now. While card counting isn’t illegal, I don’t want to be watched, followed, or threatened. The disguises help me feel safer.

  On the weekends, I’m living a life of riches in comped su
ites that oversee the lights and action of Vegas. I’ve had my handpick of sexy men who would have married me after just one night. But honestly, no twenty-five-year-old has time for that. My routine is the same. On Thursday I fly on a private jet from Washington to Vegas and stay until Sunday. When my long weekend is over, I head home with a suitcase full of money pretending it never happened.

  During the week, I waitress part-time at a local coffee shop and live at home with my parents. They bitch and complain that I need to do something with my life like my twin sister who is a nurse, but I just wave them off. They insist I go back to college and use my smarts to change the world, but what they don’t know is I’ve got a few million dollars James Bond style in suitcases hidden in my closet. I am doing something with my life, because isn’t it all about the money you’ve got in the bank?

  At any point I could stop counting and have enough to live whatever life I want. Right now, I could live off the interest alone. But I choose to keep playing for the thrill, or maybe because it’s easy. Casinos, while they are fun, I see them as work. I’m not easily deterred by the bright flashing lights and sounds of winning slot machines. I’m immune to whooping and hollering that drifts from the roulette tables. I stay cool and collected, pretending to be overly-excited when I win. It’s not luck, it’s because I know my odds and know when they are in my favor which gives me the upper-hand.

  Like my dad always said, if you want to win big, play blackjack. The rest of the games are for losers. He has no idea how true that is.

  Chapter 2

  I fly to Vegas with no connecting flight late on Thursday. My parents have no idea where I go on the weekends and instead of telling them the truth, I’ve made up a long distance boyfriend who lives in the South. When I buy new things, Jacob bought them and since he’s a doctor who lives in Louisiana they don’t ask too many questions. Prada, Gucci, whatever I want, whatever the price tag, it’s believable. Although my sister still thinks he’s made up after the Tiffany jewelry I bought myself, and well he is, I tell her to shove it.

  As we fly over Vegas my heart swells. The city turned me into the girl baller I am today and I’ll forever be grateful. There are no rules in the city. Prostitution is legal on the outskirts and booze flows freely. Every sin that one could possibly think of exists on the streets and the little devil in me loves it. There’s no other place in the entire world that even compares to Vegas.

  After a relaxing bubble bath in a garden tub large enough to fit three people, I order room service and eat chocolate cake in bed. I close the curtains and sleep until I wake up because I’m on no one's schedule but my own.

  The next morning, I take a limo to the other side of town where I buy a new wig, a sexy black dress, and get a manicure and pedicure. Before I play, it’s important that I get in the right mindset and pampering myself always helps. All queens deserve to be treated like royalty. When the sun sets, Momma is ready to play.

  I turn on some rock and roll and draw in dark eyebrows. I make sure my bangs fall right above my big fake Beyoncé eyelashes. The push-up bra makes my tits look even bigger and a little makeup to accentuate them always helps. After I contour my face, I put on bright red lipstick until I look unrecognizable to myself. I’m officially someone else. Hell, I could even pass for a Kardashian’s long lost cousin.

  Tonight I’m Jackie from Texas and my Southern accent is as thick as my black wig. She’s a Southerner who knows how to count to twenty-one and that’s about it. I’m guaranteed to have fun and bust some balls while I do it.

  I drink sweet tea, as if I’m channeling a real life Southern belle and walk around scouting the blackjack tables with big doey eyes. A table full of men clapping catches my attention and I decide to be the perfect busty distraction of their night asking ridiculous questions while I order martinis. I make up a story about how it’s my first time visiting Vegas and I’m here with my parents who I can’t find.

  “That’s okay, sweetheart. You’re more than safe with us,” a man says on the end as he glances at my tits. I can almost hear one woman’s eyes roll. I just giggle as I pull up a chair right next to him. I play light until I’ve finished my first martini then I pretend as if Lady Luck brushed my shoulder because the count is up.

  “Should I hit or should I stay?” I ask the blackjack dealer behind my big fake eyelashes as I blink quickly and continue with the dumb girl act. Pretending to be stupid is something that I’ve perfected since I started counting cards. Men like to act like my daddy and every so often they throw me chips when I lose. Poor guys, if they only knew they were feeding a playa. Sometimes I feel guilty taking their money, but then again, it was their choice. Over the years, I’ve learned to pull a large chunk of my chips from the table every thirty minutes or so and shove them into my little patent leather purse that’s always hooked on the crook of my arm. It helps keep the attention from me. No one cares if you have a small stack but if it’s growing steadily, they tend to become suspicious. Throughout the night the pit boss watches, but I make sure to bet high when I shouldn’t just to throw him off. Each time I lose, I make a big deal and tell the dealer he’s a meanie and pout with my red lips stuck out. I’ll throw the dog a bone every once in a while. It’s called tactics baby, and I’ve got them.

  An older gentleman who reeks of cigarettes and cheap beer leans over and takes a look at my breasts as he tells me I should hit. The truth is, I shouldn’t because I’m showing sixteen and it’s a risky move considering the dealer has a face card. But for the fun of the moment, I hit. A five of hearts comes out, giving me twenty-one. The whole table yells and claps for me as I triple my money. It doesn’t usually happen like that and if I were playing smart I wouldn’t have asked for another card, but fuck it.

  An attractive blue eyed hottie sits down across the table from me. He lays down two thousand dollars in crisp hundred dollar bills and starts off playing the table limit. I’m continuing with my accent and playing dumb but he keeps making eye contact with me and watches as I shove hundred dollar chips into my purse. He’s being too observant so I smile at him.

  “Hey Honey, what’s your name?” I ask across the table to him...

  He just smiles back at me and lifts his clear drink in the air. Instantly, I know he’s counting cards too. The dealers switch out but I’ve still got the count. Blue eyes does too. We continue on with this charade for another hour and I realize I’m getting tired. He won’t stop watching me and instead of it making me nervous, it’s pissing me off. I begin to yawn real yawns, and throw the dealer a hundred-dollar chip and finish my second martini before heading off.

  I drop the handful of my remaining chips into my purse and thank everyone for helping me learn the game. I give them a big fake smile and a thick Southern accent and a few of the men slip me their numbers before I leave. So old fashioned. I throw out a few winks and stand then stretch before walking away. The count is down anyway and I know when it’s time to leave so I do. At the cashier booth, I’m given stacks of hundreds in exchange for the handfuls and handfuls of chips I won over the last few hours. I stuff the money in my purse, tuck my dark chin length wig behind my ears and walk to the elevator.

  I’m willing to bet the thousands I have that the cute guy sitting at the end of the table was counting. But was he alone? I had heard there were teams of counters that formed corporations and tag teamed the casinos. It’s not uncommon. Actually if anything, I’m the unicorn in this profession. But I've never met another professional counter, only those who think they are.

  I step on the elevator and turn around to see Mr. Blue Eyes stepping on before I hit my floor number. The door closes, and he turns and looks at me with a shit eating grin splashed across his face as he shoves his hands in his pockets. The suit hugs him in all the right places and I try not to gawk because holy shit, he’s sexy as sin.

  “What was the count?” he asks nonchalantly.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, keeping up the country girl twang, wishing t
he elevator moved quicker. For the last four years, I’ve never been accused of counting or have even been asked what the count was, but this guy is looking at me like he knows my game, and by his words, he does.

  “Right,” he says. The elevator doors open on the tenth floor and a couple steps in completely drunk. They look at us with glassy eyes and start laughing until they realize we are going up, not down.

  “Shit, Tina. We’re going up.”

  Good job, Captain Obvious. When the elevator stops on the 18th floor, I step off. Blue Eyes follows me.

  “I didn’t get your name,” he says.

  “I didn’t offer a name,” I say.

  I turn and look at him, studying his face, and I can’t help but notice the stubble that graces his jaw. I have to make sure to avoid him going forward. I’ve got my own facial recognition program. And it’s a face I’ll never forget, not even if I wanted to. At the table, his gaze was pissing me off, but as I’m standing close to him, he looks at me the same way, my nerves are on overdrive. He’s staring at me with such a deep intensity, I almost forget the question he asked, until he clears his throat.

  “Of course you didn’t. I’m Sailor.” He holds out his hand, but I don’t take it. He waits another second then shoves it in his pocket. “It’s a nickname because I’m fearless.” There’s a long awkward pause because in a conversation, that’s where I’m supposed to talk, but I don’t. I can’t find any words.

  “Listen. Here’s my card. Call me sometime. I’d love to introduce you to some friends of mine or even have a drink.”

  I laugh, taking the black card with silver writing. It’s the most cliché business card I’ve ever seen with only his nickname in big bold letters and a cell phone number.

  “Sailor, I work alone. Always have and always will.”