The elevator pings once, announcing that we’ve arrived at the lobby when the doors open, and I glance up at him again. His eyes are trained on me, watching my every move as I pull the hem of my shift dress down a notch.
His ocean-blue gaze sears me. He holds out his hand with my thong, offering it to me as if it’s the most important thing in this confined space.
“Keep it,” I say as I turn and step out of the elevator and into the lobby where a few of my co-workers murmur greetings to me. I make my way across the vast space to a rear elevator, which leads to the staff quarters. Entering the available one, I turn around as the doors are closing, only to lock eyes with him again while he brings the thin material up to his nose and inhales my scent.
My pussy would sing his name if I knew it.
It’s seldom that I stay up through the night when I’m not being ravaged by an exceptionally handsome fuck; however, tonight I’m alone in my room, and I cannot close my eyes. Every time I shut them I see a stark blue sea within his eyes and the most gorgeously set jaw.
I toss the sheets off of my body, get out of bed, and reach for my phone to check the time. It’s just past six in the morning and only two hours since I saw those sapphire eyes. I quickly come to the conclusion that I will not be getting a wink of sleep tonight. Instead, I make my way to the bathroom to freshen up as much as possible for one of my last days at Stafford’s. I have no idea where to go from here, though. The casino has been my saving grace and home for the longest time. I’ve worked my way down the strip, and Stafford’s was my last remaining option. When I left Denver, I ran as fast as I could toward the West Coast, away from everyone who was trying to destroy me, and instead ended up in Vegas and right into a family of money-hungry assholes.
This lifestyle has provided me with job security and plenty of men to ride into the early-morning sunlight. I’ve been working at Stafford’s, the largest casino and resort on the Vegas strip, for the last two years as a blackjack dealer. It’s where I met Lawson, as well as Tegan. She may work as a housekeeper during the day, but as soon as the sun goes down, Tegan’s body is usually wrapped around a silver pole, thrusting her boney hips at strangers. Not that I’m much better.
When I get out of the shower, I dry off and apply lotion to my pale skin before styling my set of curls into its straight ‘do.
An hour later my face is painted, I’ve finished two espressos, and I’m pulling out two oversized rolling suitcases from my closet to start packing up the last two years of my life. I need to figure out where to go from here, and this time, I think I’d like to get my own place for a while. I’ve lived most of my life since I was eighteen as a nomad of the world, traveling and moving as if it has become my profession. I’ve been able to save more money than I thought was possible these last two years at Stafford’s, thanks to the generous men who seem to assume that sleeping with a dealer means paying me what they won at my table. Pricks, but who am I to turn down such a generous tip?
The day passes in a blur as I pack and do a little research on where I’d like to start over.
The alarm on my phone goes off, informing me that I have fifteen minutes before my shift starts at eight in the evening. I stretch out my stiff legs before sliding my tights down my thighs and pulling off my baggy sweater in exchange for my uniform of a black Victorian-style corset with white embellishments, sheer thigh-highs, and a black skirt that barely covers my ass—classy.
Lawson Stafford prefers for all of his dealers in the casino to be women, not that I mind because I wake up knowing that I’ll be making more money than Tegan on her pole each day. I grab my phone and shove it down my barely contained cleavage before walking out of my room and down the never-ending hallway to the staff elevators, which will lead me straight to the casino level.
I check in with the manager on duty in his office before making my way to my designated table. Once I’m seated, I’m handed five fresh decks of playing cards. I open the first pack of cards and instead of the usual instructions card that lies on top of the final pack that I open, I find a small card folded in two.
Hadley,
You have two choices: you can either meet me in my suite after your shift or you can collect your last check and vacate my building.
Lawson.
I’m not surprised that he’s given me an ultimatum . . . it wouldn’t be the first time that I’ve had to move because some asshole doesn’t know how to control his boner around me. I take the piece of gum I’ve been chewing out of my mouth and stick it onto the card before pressing it underneath my table.
Eat shit, Lawson.
“Get me there by midnight. Use whichever airport has the ability to house my jet for the evening.”
“Yes, sir. I understand the urgency to get back. I will call you once it’s done.”
“No. Send an email to my pilot to inform him of the flight plan and then notify me as to what time I need to be on the tarmac.”
I hang up and place my phone in my suit pocket before buttoning it. I do not have time to waste on this goddamn weekend away when my company apparently cannot function without its chief executive officer. These fuckers will soon come to understand exactly how much fun their Labor Day weekend can be once I’m breathing down their necks.
I adjust myself in my slacks as I stand and move to the king-sized bed in my suite, where a blonde-haired whore is lying on her side, naked. She hasn’t been able to take her eyes off of me since I woke up, all the while watching me like I’m a goddamn prize. “Get out.”
She doesn’t say a word back to me or hesitate as she slips out of the bed, collects her belongings, and vanishes from my suite. The sight of her ass causes my balls to tighten and my cock to stir, but I ignore the urge to go after her. Sure, I got enough of her last night to keep me content, but I wasn’t with the platinum blonde that gave me the damn hard-on twelve-plus hours ago. I pick up her pink thong from my nightstand and shove it in my suit pocket, grab my wallet, and walk out of the room to find another conquest in hopes of passing my time until later this evening. I allow myself a few weekends away from my city and business each year, in which I partake in as much sex and alcohol as my body will allow. Whether it is a paid whore, sex in numbers, or with some woman that I pick up, I make sure that my cock is content. Aside from these weekends, I have strict rules involving alcohol and women. I don’t have the time for some money-hungry whore reaching into my pockets while I manage my international company and its ventures.
By the time I leave dinner from the resort’s steakhouse, I have another tight-assed blonde on my arm. I lead her away from the restaurant and across the hotel to the casino floor with the knowledge that she will be my second today—the second blonde in twenty-four hours, and I do not as a rule do blondes. Correction, I didn’t do blondes until the one from last night unselfishly let me keep her panties.
I join a craps table to pass the time while I wait impatiently for Jacobs to send me my flight details or for this woman to show me she wants my cock halfway down her throat. Instead of being forthright and just grabbing my dick as I can imagine the platinum blonde doing, she’s hanging off of my shoulder like a goddamn child. A few games in and I’ve tripled the amount of money that I laid down when I first rolled the die. I’m handed the red die by a woman dressed in far too little as I take a sip of my Macallan 25, savoring the intense palate of coconut, vanilla, and wood smoke. The lingering hints of sherry, lemon, and spice keep me grounded for the moment. I was less than pleased when the waitress told me the oldest Macallan that Stafford’s served was the 25-year, a true disappointment. I will need to have that corrected.
I’m about to roll the die when a weightless laughter fills my ears, causing me to gaze across the floor, searching for its source among the crowded casino. When I hear it again, my eyes lock on its owner: the platinum blonde of the pink thong. I down the remainder of my single malt before placing the glass down and the die in the hands of the tight-assed blonde that I’m no longer interested in. She
looks at me with wide eyes, her features wrapped in confusion.
“It’s nothing personal. Take what’s on the table and go cash it out before you leave.”
“But I can’t . . .”
I step away from her and the table before she has the chance to speak another word as I make my way over to the next section of tables—blackjack.
There isn’t a seat available at her table when I arrive. I stand back with my hands in my pockets as I watch the game proceed. She reaches in front of her to place a card and then another in front of some cocksucker that cannot take his eyes off of her tits as he makes a ‘hit me’ motion on the felt. I shift from one foot to the other as I watch her collect the chips across the table, stack them up and then place them in the correlating slots in front of her. These assholes keep losing to her, and I can’t help but grin. She knows what she’s doing, and she does it well.
It takes a few minutes for a suit to shake his head and stand before leaving the table empty-handed. I fall into step and take his seat at first base before anyone else gets a chance at it. Her eyes lift to mine as she adds the remainder of the cards from the previous game into the top of the continuous shuffle machine.
My presence does not get a reaction from her, which is oddly appealing. She knows how to lure a man in without a word from her lips; she’s doing it to me right now.
I decide to take my chances of being removed from the premises, regardless of my status, by speaking to her. “What is your best advice for a blackjack player?”
The men around the table turn to glower at me. I glance down the line at each of them and silently dare them to challenge me when her voice breaks through my unspoken threat.
“My sole suggestion would be to return those stolen panties,” she says without any hesitation.
I glance back at her and tilt my head to the side, taking in her attitude that I know I can get her dismissed for. “They’re not stolen if they’re freely offered by their owner.”
“They’re stolen if they weren’t removed directly from said body.”
My cock jumps at her response. I pause for a moment; her eyes haven’t moved from mine as she deals two cards in front of each player.
“How about we make a transaction? One that involves you getting these pink panties back on for a moment and rectifying this situation.” I pull her panties out from my suit-jacket pocket, presenting them to her. I notice the slightest blush glow underneath her pale skin, making me want more from her than this thin material.
“If those two men weren’t walking toward me right this minute,” she says, lifting her chin up as I shoot a glance over my shoulder, “then I would already be on your lap with your dick buried deep inside of me. I never claimed to be innocent in this exchange.”
I turn back to her, attempting to keep the shock out of my eyes just as the men reach her, flanking her on either side before one of them places his hand at the small of her back to escort her out of the casino. She glances back over at me, eyeing her panties before looking me directly in the eyes. “Come on those, and while you do, think about my lips swallowing you.”
The men are gaping at her while I stuff her panties back into my pocket and shift off of the seat as I watch the three of them move across the casino floor and then out of sight. I mentally review the options I have, which have all presented themselves in an intriguing way, but my phone vibrates, distracting me from my thoughts. I pull it out and read over the message from Jacobs: Take-off is in thirty minutes. I’m outside with the car.
I look up once more before turning in the other direction and striding off of the casino floor.
I was delivered to the front of Stafford’s where my suitcases were patiently waiting for me on the sidewalk. Lawson greeted me with a nauseating grin on his face as he handed me a white envelope, sealed shut, containing what I assumed was my last paycheck.
Deviant fucker. If I hadn’t already been packed and planning on leaving, this might have rocked me, but I couldn’t care less at this point.
It’s been about four and a half hours since I was put out on the curb by his goons, and I have since made my escape. I rented a car during that time and drove myself across the Nevada state line and into Southern California where I’ve been taking in the sights ever since.
I could possibly pass as a Cali girl, but my skin might not contain the appropriate amount of melanin in it to fit in seamlessly. I’ll get a hotel room for the night and try to figure out where my next adventure will begin. I’ve circled around LA a few times before I decide on something a little bit more risk-worthy. I pull the rented car into the rental return line at LAX, deciding to forgo the hotel and buy the next available plane ticket out of here—let the world decide where my next stop will be.
The rental agency attendant walks up to me, taking in my casino attire before asking for my name. I give it to him while his eyes shift back and forth from my cleavage to the touch screen device before he tells me that the total will be charged to my American Express card.
“Thank you,” I say emotionlessly as I move to the back of the vehicle to get my suitcases out.
Thirty minutes later, I’ve managed to change into a comfortable pair of black leggings, nude Steve Madden booties, and my beloved black She’s Whiskey in a Teacup tank. Once I’ve trashed my casino uniform, I head out. It takes me another hour to get to the front of the Southwest check-in line to purchase a ticket to my final destination.
“Do you have a reservation with us this evening?” the redheaded woman behind the check-in counter asks.
“I actually don’t have one. I was hoping that you could book me onto the next available flight out.”
She glances at me and then at my luggage before lowering her voice. “I can do that. It’s none of my business, but are you all right, ma’am?”
“I’m great, thanks. I’m just surprising myself with a domestic vacation.”
I’m sure that she assumes I’m running away from my life or an abusive relationship, but I’d rather not get into my life’s details with a stranger.
“Oh, well, there is nothing wrong with treating ourselves every once in a while.” She goes quiet for a minute or two before offering up any more information. “All right, the next flight that you will be able to catch after going through security is leaving in a little over an hour, and it will be going to Chicago Midway. Would you like for me to reserve your seat?”
“Please,” I answer as I take out my license and credit card, handing them both to her before she tells me to put my first bag on the scale. Both of the bags are overweight, but I really don’t give a fuck. I pay up and take my cards and boarding pass before making my way through the airport to stand in the hellish security lines.
Another hour later I’ve made my way through security and I’ve taken my seat on the plane, just as the flight attendant closes the doors and my journey to Chicago begins.
I step out of the jetway and shiver in the slightly cooler air of the North as it hits me through the thin material of my outfit. My phone vibrates in my hand with an incoming call from Lola Marc, a friend I’ve had since I was placed in my second foster home with her. We grew close rather quickly between the abuse and lack of parental guidance. I texted her while the plane taxied to the runway before taking off from LAX, telling her that I would be landing in her city at this god-awful time in the morning. She’s a saint for coming to collect me at six a.m. while the sun still struggles to make an appearance.
“Hey Lo. I just stepped off of the plane, and I’m on my way down to baggage claim.”
“Hads,” she squeals, making me cringe away from my phone. “I’m beyond excited to see you. Do you have a place to stay yet? I honestly don’t mind if you crash with me.”
“That’s really sweet of you to offer, but I don’t want to be a burden.”
“Stop being polite and be the bitch I know you to be. You’re crashing with me whether you want to or not.”
I laugh at her response. “I’ll see you
in a few minutes.”
“Bye.”
Lo has been the only person to understand the inner workings of my mind when it comes to sex because she was in the same place with me for a while before I left. I know that she’s moved on since our past foster-care abuse, unlike myself.
Even though it’s been eight years since I’ve seen her, I don’t doubt that we’ll pick right up where we left off. She’s always been involved in my life, checking in with me at least once a month to find out where I was or what adventure I was on or whose dick I was riding at the time. She’s the one person in my life who has been worth holding onto.
I turn the corner and search the sea of faces waiting for their loved ones, looking for her dark hair.
“Hads,” she calls out to me, and I turn in the direction of her voice just as she slams her body against mine. I can’t contain the giggle that escapes me, making me feel like a teenager again as I embrace my oldest friend.
“Holy crap, Lo . . . I can’t . . . breathe.”
“Sorry,” she loosens her grip on me before holding me out at arm’s length. “You look exhausted.”
“Gee, thanks,” I say as we walk to baggage claim together where my bags are already circling on the belt. She grabs one while I grab the other and we head out to her car while dragging them behind us.
“Please tell me that these will fit in your vehicle.”
“I have an SUV, so they should. If not, though, I’m sure your toned ass won’t mind walking.”
I roll my eyes at her response as we get to her white Mercedes-Benz SUV.
“Holy shit. Who are you banging?”
She snickers as we lift my suitcases into the trunk. “I don’t need to bang anyone if I can afford this baby on my own.”
“Wow, Lo. I’m . . . proud of you.”
“Thanks. You know, if you plan on staying here, I’m sure my place wouldn’t mind hiring an extra hand.”
“Well, I’m here, aren’t I?” I beam at her as I buckle up. “But I’m sure that I can find my own job, and if not then I’ll consider taking you up on your offer. What the hell are you doing nowadays, by the way?”
Blended (Redemption #1) Page 2