He shook his head. Only fools sit on their product for a couple thousand more. He always went for the quick buck, unload the product immediately. A smaller profit right now was far better than a larger profit later, less hassles and bullshit, less risk.
“No, I’m good with selling it at twenty five a kilo if they take it all. That’s two hundred thousand minus the hundred we paid Juan Carlos. Minus ten thousand to your driver, we catch ninety thousand. Forty-five apiece. Not bad for a couple days effort.”
* * * *
Aaron received the invitation at the door of their hotel suite, reading it over while Michelle changed her clothes.
“We have been cordially invited to a special dinner for VIP guests, where we will be introduced to hotel management and learn about VIP platinum privileges,” he announced frowning.
“Your success in the casino has attracted too much attention,” Michelle yelled out the bathroom door. “We left New York to get away from the attention, and now you bring it again with these imbéciles at the poker table.” She had lectured him repeatedly from day one of their strange relationship. Attention equaled trouble –– deadly trouble.
They emigrated from New York to Las Vegas three weeks ago, to avoid the mere possibility of attracting attention. Their disastrous confrontation with two of New York’s finest had become a smoking hot investigation. They were supposed to be lying low.
“I warned you.” She’d been on him for days about being too good at poker. He’d won over $300,000 on the high-stakes Texas Holdem’ tables in only three weeks’ time. The dealers all knew him on a first name basis.
From the tenor of her thoughts, he knew she wouldn’t let this slide by without an I-told-you-so. “Now they know we are here. I assure you they are watching. There is no such thing as privacy in Las Vegas. Ils te passeront aux cribles.”
He couldn’t be a hundred percent certain, but he thought she said something about them going over his ass with a fine tooth comb. Technically, she led and he followed. As boss, Michelle preferred a quiet unobtrusive nightlife.
Time to change the subject. “What do you think? Should we attend this VIP thing?” He spoke to her backside as she shimmied out of her skin tight jeans. She revealed an enticing set of curves split by a rosy pink freshly shaved center. She rarely wore underwear.
He fought the urge to impale her right then and there, bending her over the bathroom sink pounding her ‘till she screamed his name. Another urge took precedence –– the need to feed. That’s what he kept telling himself as his erection strained to escape his pants. She could make him hard in five seconds flat with that fabulous view. Michelle had an ass to die for.
“I think it will be good to meet people. We are so new here. If we choose to stay, we will need some contacts.” She looked back over her shoulder with a spark of arousal in her vivid green eyes.
Through the psychic bond they shared, emotions and thoughts dashed back and forth between them. She clearly read his desire to bury himself in her deep and hard. He knew she considered taking a few moments to catch a satisfying pounding from her slave-lover. Aaron envisioned his rock hard cock sliding up in from behind. She licked her lips savoring his mental picture. This was the beauty of their deeply intimate psychic bond––the silent communication could be extremely intense.
This was one of several facets of their unusual relationship. He’d met her barely five weeks ago, and that fateful meeting changed the course of both their lives forever. Fatally wounded by a stray shot from a crooked police officer, he would have died if not for the introduction of Michelle’s blood into his system.
A whole shit-ton of unintended consequences accompanied her rash decision to save his life. Psychically bonded to Michelle, she was now his master. Though they were complete strangers at the time, they had learned to deal with this level of intimacy, to actually enjoy it. Things progressed quickly. Affections bloomed, aggressions exploded, two NYPD detectives were brutally murdered, and now they were here in Vegas, a neat, new couple happily in love.
And his hunger for blood demanded satisfaction.
His colorful imagination refused to cooperate with his thirst. In his mind’s eye, he continued to ravish Michelle’s behind as she bent over completely, touching her toes.
“Just a quick one?” She taunted with her tongue flicking in and out provocatively.
She reached back and slid her finger in between her thighs to tease, exposing her wet inner folds in further invitation. She wasn’t playing fair, but then she never did. Michelle read Aaron’s steadfast insistence to feed rather than fuck, along with his desire to enjoy the concert compliments of Caesar’s Palace.
She stood up and stuck her pouty bottom lip out in disappointment. “Are you sure you want to see this concert? Is so loud! J’ai mal à la tête. I get the bad head!”
“We’re not gonna miss the Red Hot Chili Peppers. You can’t change my mind with those doe eyes. Your hypnosis doesn’t work on me. And neither does the guilt trip.”
He caressed her pale creamy ass cheeks, running his hands down to the very bottom curve of her inner thigh as she applied a touch of makeup in the mirror.
She sighed. He knew she wanted more, wanted him to keep going. But he stopped, whispering in her ear. “I am so dry. This desert makes me very thirsty. Hurry up. We’re gonna be late.”
He swatted her ass almost causing her to tweak the lipstick she applied in the mirror. He thoroughly enjoyed teasing her.
She slipped into a tight black Prada number that almost covered the bottom half of her butt, stretching just barely over the top of her nipples. One of the many designer outfits she owned. The girl dressed to impress, and impress she did.
She acceded, “Oui mon cheri, I will go for you, because I love you, and I am so very hungry.” She licked her lips. “You have the tickets? That was very nice of them to offer for free. I just love Las Vegas, the nightlife is so active. Never a dull moment,” she purred in her adorable French accent.
As they exited the hotel heading out to the Vegas strip, the security cameras scrolled along to follow and recorded their every move.
* * * *
Chapter 3
Anastasia adjusted her dress to show slightly more cleavage while she waited for her roommate, Trina to change her clothes. Trina spotted Ana making herself even more beautiful than she already was. The healthy level of envy she held for Ana creeped up a few more notches. How do women get so damn beautiful without even trying?
Raven black straight hair, soulful ice-blue eyes, awesome clear white skin, Ana was a knockout. Trina thought it a shame Ana couldn’t find a boyfriend that hadn’t tried to knock her out. This last guy had seemed decent, but then he turned stalker after Ana decided she’d grown bored with his antics.
Ana had a real thing for assholes. Trina watched as Ana dabbed cover up on her arm to hide the latest bruises from her ex-boyfriend. A strikingly beautiful shit-storm of trouble––Ana attracted trouble like no one else. “You know he’s still out there looking for you. Why don’t you file a protection order against him?”
Ana sighed, “He’ll get over it. They usually do after a month or two. The cops told me last time they didn’t want to see me back in the station all beat up. They think I’m some kinda freaky masochist!”
Trina stared at her. Well aren’t you?
“Why are you getting all dressed up? I thought we made a pact, no more assholes!” Trina wished she looked half as good as Ana on a bad hair day.
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I’m sworn off men! They can’t all be assholes!”
That’s Ana, the perpetual optimist. Trina thought she needed a reality check. Ana never saw the rotten apples littering the ground as she continually reached for the rare golden apple on the tree. Ana had stepped in a lot of rotten apples in her lifetime. She should have learned by now.
* * * *
Ana looked sharply at her roommate, sensing the undertones of negative tension, the jealousy. It was a common emotio
n in her life. The men she dated were often jealous to the point of violence. She wished she didn’t have to deal with it from her roommate.
She had a very acute sense of intuition; some might even call it a latent psychic ability. Her father believed himself psychic, descended from a long line of crystal ball wielding fortune tellers. She had accepted the fact she could intuit many things from the people around her. It was an essential survival skill in the whirlwind mess of her daily life.
She sighed again, hoping this wouldn’t become a repeat of other situations she was all too familiar with, jealous girlfriends turned catty because their boyfriends spent way too much time gawking at her. She couldn’t help her beauty. Some days it seemed more a curse than a blessing.
Trina snapped at her with a heavy dose of cynicism. “Sure baby, they aren’t all assholes. I think the actual statistic is ninety nine percent. But I’m sure you’ll find that special one percent guy at a Red Hot Chili Peppers concert!”
“There’s the spirit! You betcha, I’m gonna find that special one tonight. I gotta good feeling about this!” The intuition kicked in hard. Ana felt certain tonight would bring someone very important into her life.
* * * *
Chapter 4
The September night air felt slightly brisk, but still far warmer than the New York climate at this time of year. Hand in hand, Aaron walked Michelle from Caesar’s to the Luxor. He had to hand it to her. She managed those five inch Manolo Blahniks very well.
The massive, shiny black pyramid of the Luxor could be seen from miles away, but up close it bore a sheen of midnight blue mirroring. The lighted apex pierced the night, a sweeping beacon of commercialism and a world renowned symbol of the decadence of Las Vegas.
As they passed through the throngs of concert goers Aaron recognized several faces of the rich and famous, rock stars, Hollywood actors, and professional athletes. These poor souls were pursued endlessly by the paparazzi, photos flashing non-stop, hounded by a barrage of questions. The glitz and glamour of Vegas was out in full force tonight.
After a twenty minute wait the crowd filed into the concert and made their way to the general admission area near the stage. The press of bodies directly in front of the stage reduced movement to a stifling squeeze and shuffle. The forced intimacy of tightly packed flesh kicked their bloodlust into high gear. Little drum patterns of pulsing heartbeats brushed his skin as he passed through the crowd. He could hardly wait for the music to begin before feeding.
Looking to Michelle, he watched her pupils dilate in eagerness. Inhaling her prey’s scent her lips parted in expectation of the sensual feast to come.
“Je meurs de faim.” She spoke directly into his mind. Dying of hunger.
He read her intent to gorge herself on the glut of willing prey. The space immediately surrounding her filled with men, attracted to her like bees to a blooming orchid. Her prey had no hope of escape from her pheromonal cloud of enticement.
She exuded sexuality almost tangible, like ink obscuring the waters around the octopus before it strikes.
As he separated from Michelle the bodies surrounding him pressed intimately to his back, arms, and chest were now 100% female, each stealing furtive caresses as they brushed up against him. An especially striking woman of jet black hair, creamy skin and bright blue eyes attracted his attention. The play of contrasts between the white-black-blue hues stopped his roving eye. This ‘Snow White’ held his attention as she drifted closer to his sphere of influence. He reached out telepathically. A jumbled mix of thoughts, feelings and emotions from the women nearby assaulted him. He sifted, filtered, and flowed past them to reach Snow White about twenty yards out.
‘Anastasia’ jolted at his telepathic probe. Her ice blue gaze pierced him as if she knew who invaded her mental privacy. He caught the unique flavor of her mind. She sensed him in her mind, sensed him nearby. His invasive probe drew her in. He tasted the unusual tang of her powerful intuition. He wanted her, wanted to learn more of what made her tick.
They were cattle, good for little more than feeding, but not this one. This one was special.
Before he could delve deeper, a blare of music assaulted his acute hearing and the lights dimmed. He hadn’t noticed the entrance of the band. Snow White and the surrounding prey had consumed his attention. When he looked back in her direction she was gone. He’d lost sight of her in the blast of noise and madness from the music. The whole crowd jumped and jostled back and forth. Snow White had vanished.
He refocused on his partner in crime. He caught a sense of Michelle’s blood euphoria leaking through their psychic bond. She had bitten down into her chosen victim at the start of the music. He located her fifty yards away, giving her attentions to a massive, tattooed brute whose big-gun biceps locked around her petite torso. The brute held her intimately, reacting to the erotic hormonal stimulation of Michelle’s venom by squeezing her ass and grinding on her. She drank deeply, allowing the man free rein with his roving hands. She let him cop a feel as long as she got what she wanted.
Aaron looked back in the direction of his vanished Snow White. She fascinated him. In a world of bovine, herd-like people, Snow White stood out. Regretfully, he focused his attentions on the surrounding women. They waited not-so-patiently for him to look their way. An attractive red-headed ginger with cute freckled cheeks and golden-hazel eyes had been rubbing up on his thigh accidentally for several minutes. As he sifted through her mind, he sensed her eager, wet flesh, throbbing with hot anticipation. Her mind filled with vivid imaginings of him atop her naked body, screwing her long and hard, whispering sweet nothings. The girl was high as a kite on Xanax. He imagined taking her right there. He hardened thinking about flipping up her skirt, bending her over and plunging in over and over. Images of Michelle’s rosy pink slit flashed through his mind. He could do it. Little ginger wouldn’t care.
It was tempting, but unwise. He wasn’t above screwing the food once in a while. His relationship with Michelle was not monogamous. They still occasionally moonlighted as escorts, high paid prostitutes, but that nasty incident with the NYPD detectives halted most of their dating activities. He had become exceedingly overprotective of Michelle ever since their mutual near-death experiences.
The ginger began to get more aggressive. Her semi-casual rub became a caress. She slid her hands across the crotch of his pants as he locked gazes with her. Her cute, puffy lips reached up, ready for a kiss as she continued her massage, working him to full length. Clad in thin black designer slacks, she stroked the contour of him through the light fabric.
The crowd shifted with the music, shoving the red-head up against him, pushing her into his embrace. She conformed to his body, wrapping her inner thighs around his left leg. She looked him in the eyes with expectation, a flush in her cheeks. His bloodlust kicked into high gear. The mesmerizing power of his gaze struck her speechless.
Leaning in close, he bit into her neck with a wet chomp. He could easily have been whispering something in her ear, telling a joke, or perhaps just hugging her. None watching would ever know how quickly and effortlessly he consumed her life’s blood, injecting her veins full of rapturous venom.
As euphoria took hold, she pressed and ground her silky moist center up against his thigh, humping his leg like a dog. Her dress hiked up exposing white satin panties and a wet spot on his pants. He drank deeply, experiencing her ecstasy of orgasmic release through blood and telepathy. The gush of her sex dampened his pant leg, pulling a cry from her lips as he released her mercifully.
Not too much, not for too long. Very dangerous to over-feed. He timed his feeding precisely as Michelle taught him, thirty to sixty seconds, no more.
He leaned back to look at the ginger as she shuddered, convulsing on his leg with one last pelvic grind. She clung to him for support in acknowledgement of the intimacy they shared. It was always like this with the cattle. They enjoyed being victimized, couldn’t get enough of it. The ginger would cling to him all night long if he let her, a
grave mistake. Theirs was a solitary life, no room for relationships. People died too easily, severely injured in a momentary loss of control. Michelle had zero flexibility on that point, no bloodslaves, no pets.
Michelle had taught him to separate from their victims and move on to the next target. He looked over at her to see how she fared. She practiced what she preached. She had moved on to another man of more normal stature and fed deeply from his neck. He liked to keep close tabs on her. He’d almost lost her three weeks ago.
Fiercely independent, Michelle lived solitary for many years prior to meeting him. He couldn’t dictate her comings and goings. Subject to her compulsory commands, Michelle ran the show. But that didn’t stop him from worrying, from checking on her constantly.
He extracted himself from the ginger with a direct stare and hypnotic suggestion, “It’s time for me to go.” He felt her looking longingly in his direction as he weaved through the crowd, moving away from her.
Traveling a healthy, anti-stalker distance from the ginger, he spotted a new target. A curvy Mexican girl looked him up and down, a challenge in her eyes. She was part of a group of Latino girls, probably friends and family. The entire group circled him in subconscious reaction.
He slid into position face-to-face with La Mexicana and embraced her as though they’d known each other all their lives. Her mind told him she welcomed the intrusion. Surprised, but not put off, she hugged him back.
She experienced a gushing wet dry hump as she came all over herself while he sucked down a couple ounces of her precious life. She tried to pull away from the initial sting of his bite. By the time he finished she’d lost it completely, shamelessly grinding her juicy crotch all over his knee as she moaned in Spanish. He ignited a fire between her legs and she went off with a bang, rubbing herself with her left hand down her pants to take it to the next level. She grunted and cried out, “Que rico!”
The Nightlife: Las Vegas (The Nightlife Series) Page 2