by Frankie Love
And by things, I mean orgasms.
His friends shake their heads, laughing, as if they’re in on a joke I don’t know. Honestly, I’ve been hoping they weren’t the douchebag guys I expected, and for a moment they fooled me into thinking they weren’t completely womanizing asshats.
But I guess I was wrong. They all fist-bump Boss from across the table.
Okay, this doesn’t need to be awkward. He has his eyes on me, as if studying every emotion splayed across my face.
“Right-e-o, boss man,” I say to him.
Right-e-o? WTF? Who says that shit? And why me? Now?
I glance over at Carla, embarrassed by my very uncool verbiage. Her eyes have been on the table, on the cards, but now she looks at me with an expression reading, what the eff is your deal?
She doesn’t know the half of it.
Boss raises his eyebrows, but thankfully his friends don’t comment. They’re all looking at their cards, placing bets, and here I am staring at him like a freaking weirdo.
“Okay, well, pleased to meet you, sir,” I say, saluting him.
Did I seriously salute him? I shake my head slightly, catching Carla’s eyes once again. She’s a hard-hitting woman at this casino, and no one messes with her. She’s tough as nails, and I want to stay on her good side. I know she’s already annoyed at me for being late.
She eyes me and then looks at the empty bar behind us. Her eyes say, Go get the drinks and stop acting like you’re in freaking boot camp.
Taking the cue, I excuse myself and make a beeline for the bar in the lounge to pour the orders.
I deliver them seamlessly; thankfully the guys are focused on their game, and I’m focused on not spilling liquor on the pants of any bosses or famous people.
Super chill!
Throughout the night I manage to pour, mix, deliver, and even eavesdrop—even though I know it’s rude. It’s impossible to ignore them. There are only six of us in this suite. And honestly, they are completely entertaining.
It’s cute how Boss and his buddies act in here, in this private room. It makes me think maybe the money and glamour around these men is just a facade. Maybe they’re just down to earth dudes with nice clothes. And for a second, I forget the womanizing Boss comment and think maybe Claire was right, maybe this is a good gig.
But then I hear them talk about women again. Sex. MILFs. Threesomes.
Yep, this is a boy’s poker den alright.
“And then I sat on the bed while these two women fucking rode me, one girl on my cock, the other had her ass on my face,” McQueen says, sighing. “Best goddamn night of the week.”
Week? Ugh. I swore he was going to say LIFE.
“See, you need more of that in your life,” Boss says, shaking his head at Jack. “That’s why you need to stop letting Ashley hold you by your nut sack. Why’d you break up this last time? She get pissed again when some other woman came on to you?”
“Something like that. She wanted to get serious.” Jack shakes his head. “And by serious, she meant plan a destination wedding to Barbados.”
“Fuck, mate, you aren’t even engaged,” Landon says.
“Exactly,” Jack says, laughing. “And I’m counting on you assholes.” He points at his buddies. “You better never ever let me get back together with her again.”
“You guys are lucky bastards,” Landon says. “My parents are rattling me non-stop to bring a girl home.”
“To the castle?” Boss grins. “Shouldn’t be too hard for you to find someone to satisfy your parents who would also be game with an open relationship.”
“I’m not ready for all that mess. I like women on my turf, not my father’s,” Landon says, finishing his Old Fashioned.
Taking the cue, I deliver another round to the men.
“What about you, boss?” Landon asks. “You ever think about settling down?”
McQueen laughs. “Him? Settle down? Never.”
Jack joins in, high-fiving McQueen across the table.
“His idea of settling down is a one night stand … but even that—I’d have to see it to believe it,” Jack says. Then turning to Boss, he asks, “Have you ever had a woman stay the night? Like, even one time in your massive penthouse?”
“Not once,” Boss says proudly.
I feel his eyes skim over to me, and for some reason my stomach flutters. Which is beyond stupid. He just tried to screw me in a hallway and then is going on about his commitment issues. I do not need that sort of baggage in my life.
I have enough fucking issues of my own. I have ninety-nine problems and a womanizing man isn’t one of them.
By the end of the night my nerves are rattled. It’s been a long day. But the men at the table have left me a pile of chips equaling three thousand dollars.
Seriously? It would take me a few weeks to earn that on the casino floor.
I look at Carla, who’s putting the poker game away.
She shrugs. “It’s the best gig of the month. This will pay for this quarter’s preschool tuition for my daughter.” She flashes me the five thousand dollar chip they gave her.
Best gig is right.
I look over at the foursome spread out on the couches; they’re still drinking and talking. I have no clue who won the game; I was preoccupied with not fucking up the orders, and making the perfect cocktails.
“Hey, Emmy,” Boss calls. “Come over here.”
Realizing he still wants me on the clock, I walk over, ready to take more orders.
“What can I get you boys? Another round?”
“Aww, you’ve been working all night, toots,” McQueen says, patting the cushion next to him. “Sit, take a load off.”
“He’s right,” Jack agrees. “What can I get you ladies? Carla, whatcha drinking?”
“I wish, boys,” she says, grabbing her bag from where it’s stashed under the table. “But I’ve gotta get home to relieve my babysitter.” She purses her lips in a matronly way, although she doesn’t even look thirty. “Be good, be safe, okay?”
“Always,” Boss says, grinning as she exits the suite.
He looks younger now than he did in the hallway. Maybe it’s the drinks, or maybe he’s just relaxed around his friends. I bet for a guy like him, with so much money, so much privilege, it’s nice to have a place to let your guard down.
“I should probably go, too,” I say, feeling the arches of my feet screaming at me to take the heels off.
Also, even though tomorrow is a day off, I need to sit with my sister at the hospital and check in with her doctors. And it’s already two in the morning.
“One drink,” Landon pleads. “Stay for one drink. What do you like, Chardonnay? A nice Pinot?”
Boss laughs. “Way off, I know her drink of choice.”
I laugh under my breath. Who is this cocky guy who thinks he knows me so well? I mean, besides being a sex-god.
“You don’t know me, Boss-man,” I say, smiling, but I find myself lowering into the spot next to McQueen, on the seat he offered. Maybe sitting here with these men is exactly what I need. It’s been a long time since I just enjoyed myself. “But no, Landon, I’m not a wine girl.”
“Let me guess,” McQueen says. “Sex on the beach?” he asks with a straight face, and we all laugh as I shake my head.
“I bet you drink lemon drops,” Jack says. “Women love those things.”
“Nope. Not me.”
“Whiskey sour,” Boss says, definitively.
“Close.” I shrug. “But I drink whiskey, neat.”
Jack laughs, claps his hands twice. “Looks like you’ve met your match.”
“Whiskey neat, huh?” Boss stands, walks over to the bar and pours me a solid two inches of the dark amber. Liquid gold, but I don’t need any courage. As he hands me the glass, I feel like a million bucks.
I want to cash in.
I’m with some of the most impressive men in this city, in a private lounge, the only woman here … and I’ve listened to them talk about sex
all night.
I’m ready.
I drink the oaky whiskey. It glides down my throat and warms my chest. Hell yeah, that is delicious.
Handing back the empty tumbler, I offer him a smile dripping with lust.
He’s no fool. He takes the glass, sets it on the coffee table, then looks at his friends.
“Sorry, bros,” he says. “I’m kicking you out.”
“Whatever happened to bros before hoes?” McQueen asks. Then, casting an apologetic glance my way, he says, “Sorry Emmy — no disrespect.”
“None taken. I know what I am. And a ho, I am not.”
“So then, what are you?” Landon asks as he stands, signaling for Jack and McQueen to follow suit.
“I’m a flower. Lots of layers, lots of delicate petals that need tending to.” I toss them a raised eye as they stand to go, my words thick with innuendo. They kiss my cheek on their way out. Perfect gentleman.
But not the one I want.
I want Boss-man.
“Cute, Emmy Rose. Very punny,” he says, shutting the door on his friends.
“Well, pun intended.” I bite my lip, shifting on the couch. Suddenly I’m nervous and eager and just so ready for this man to properly screw me. The way I should have let him do hours ago in the hallway.
Relieved that his eyes are as hungry as mine.
“So, what’s your real name?” I ask, finally able to ask the question I’ve been obsessed with all night.
“You’re funny.” Boss walks toward me, grabs my hands, and pulls me up to standing—avoiding my question. “And you’re sexy. And you drink whiskey. Who the hell are you, Emmy Rose?”
“I guess I’m the fucking girl of your dreams.” I’ve found this confidence somewhere inside me, like being so close to this cocky asshole makes me more powerful. Capable. Strong. I sure as hell hope I can harness this strength tomorrow, when I ask the doctors what their actual plan is for my sister’s care.
For a second that thought pulls me away from this moment. Returning to his gaze, however, all I can think is how crazy this is.
I mean, it is crazy. Me. Him. Here.
I am not the sort of girl that 1) fucks gold-watch wearing men or 2) even knows gold-watch-wearing-men.
I’m a twenty-two-year-old, never-gonna-get-my-graduate-degree, waitressing girl.
But I swear when he looks at me he sees me as a woman.
His woman.
We’re standing close. So close. So close I could reach up, pull this dangerous man’s face to mine.
But before I can, he pulls me in first.
4
ACE
There is something ridiculous about this woman. All night I’ve been watching her, my hungry cock twitching every time she brushes her body close to mine.
I know it’s been one night. One singular night, but god, I need her in the worst, most ball-knocking way.
I want her.
All of her.
And now I can. Now I will.
She stands so close to me, her breath shallow, her perfect tits rising and falling with every single breath she takes. Those swollen lips of hers have parted, as if willing me to press my tongue inside her mouth.
I swear she’s breathing me in. She’s so fucking ready, and I haven’t even grazed my mouth over her anything.
But god, I’m ready for her everything.
“Emmy,” I say, pulling her face to mine. My mouth hovers over hers, and I know I can have any pussy in this town, but in this moment, all I want is to press my lips on hers.
So I do.
I devour that mouth. I kiss her hard, not because I like to play rough, but because I just want to consume her. She smells as sweet as her name, but I know she has a rougher edge that has barely surfaced.
I saw it earlier on the casino floor when that guy denied her a tip, and when the other guy offered her his number. I saw it when McQueen tried to smooth-talk her tonight.
She doesn’t play games.
She has a back-story, sure, but as I slide my hands lower, over the pleather of her leotard, skimming my fingers over her firm ass, I don’t want a back-story. I just want her on her back.
“Boss,” she says, emotion dripping from her words. I like that she isn’t pressing me for my name. She’s not looking for commitment with me; she wants this to last just one night, too. “Do to me now what you wanted to do with me earlier in the hallway. Do me like you want to. Like you need to.”
Her words are so sincere, tumbling out of her mouth. She wants me to take charge, be in control of this moment. I can tell by the way her eyelids close ever so slightly, by the way she arches her back, falling into me, that she needs to let go. That she is carrying too much on those perfectly narrow shoulders of hers. That she needs a night where she can float away, forget whatever burdens she carries.
And I know I am the man to take her there.
“Shhh,” I say, steadying her. I take hold of the shoulder straps on her uniform, and slowly graze my fingers against her skin, knowing that the moment I pull off her clothes, see every bare inch of her skin, there will be no going back.
She whimpers, and the sound excites me. My cock is already stiff and I haven’t even seen her tits yet.
I tug down the straps, and her breasts fall, untethered. They are nice and round, the perfect size for my big hands. I want to suck those nipples until she is dripping wet, dripping down her leg. Until her thighs are slick with her own juice.
But first I am going to strip her down to nothing.
She steps out of her heels, and her height drops half a foot. I liked how we’ve been nearly eye to eye, but there’s something about her stature being this much smaller than mine that makes me feel like I can protect her more easily. Makes me want to wrap my arms around her and never let her go.
Which is an insane thought—women are nothing more than a one-off—except it feels different with Emmy. We haven’t even spoken beyond whiskey and sex—but I have a sense she needs someone like me.
And maybe that love at first sight bullshit isn’t such crap. Maybe Emmy Rose is the person I didn’t know I needed.
Fuck, I don’t need all that heavy rhetoric I don’t know shit about.
I sure as hell know I need her pussy.
Rolling the leotard past her waist, over her hips, I slide it to the floor. The fishnet stockings are in the way, but only momentarily. She sucks in her stomach, and I smile, knowing in some ways all women are alike.
But this woman has nothing to be insecure about. Her body is flawless. It’s as if she’s a porcelain doll. But as I glide my hands under the netting, a shiver runs over her body, reminding me that she’s real.
This is real.
And, fuck me, this woman is perfectly trimmed, like she knew this night would be coming. And she is just how I like a woman, not waxed clean like so many of those fake-tit Vegas girls — no, Emmy Rose is fully a woman.
She’s not pretending to be anything she isn’t.
And maybe that’s why she moans uninhibitedly when I grab her ass cheeks and shamelessly pull her to me. She isn’t pretending to be anything she’s not. She wants this—me—and her low rumble lets me know.
My hands run to her front, and I press a finger inside her opening, watching as her eyelids flutter, as she unconsciously licks her lips, as her hands move to the collar of my dress shirt.
She loosens my tie as I dip another finger in her, finding, with no surprise, that she is wet just like I knew she’d be.
“That feels so good.” She writhes seductively then says, “I like your tattoo.” She runs her finger over my collarbone, trailing her hand up my neck, tracing the inked skull, crossed with pistols instead of bones.
My fingers leave her pussy momentarily as I move her hand away. That tattoo is nothing but a graveyard of memories, and I don’t want to go to an abandoned past, not tonight, not with her.
No woman needs to hear about the shitty place I come from.
My hands go right back where they�
��re wanted, though, and I feel her pretty little pleasure ball ripe and round. My fingers massage it, but what I really want is to lick it.
Which is a goddamn fucking revelation. That isn’t my mode of operation. Usually I slam my cock in a dripping pussy and come fast and hard. But Emmy Rose is different.
“When’s the last time your clit was properly flicked?” I ask, slyly, a grin spreading across my lips as she pulls off my dress shirt.
She blushes; her eyes are open now, dancing with the dim light of the room.
“If you really want to know, Boss, I was late for my shift because of some overdue flicking.”
I pull away, slightly. Was she fucking a different guy after she turned me down? Because hell no. I’m Ace, owner of Spades. No woman turns me down for another man.
“You jealous?” she asks, sliding my belt out of my pants. It snaps before she tosses it aside.
She bites her lip, teasingly, as she unbuttons my pants. They fall to the floor and I step out of them, my cock fucking hard and ready—but not for playing games.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I ask, my voice even, cool, even though she’s right: I am a fucking ball of jealous rage. But I don’t yell, I don’t fight. I didn’t work my way to the top by being a bully. I’m not like my father.
I am a man.
I worked my way to the top by being a badass motherfucker, and Emmy Rose needs to know that.
“I am kidding.” She shrugs, smiling coyly. “I mean, I was late because my stockings were pulled down, but not by another man.”
My eyes burn in confusion.
“Boss, after I spoke to you in the hall, I was fucking delirious. I was so hot and, well, horny. I couldn’t help myself.” She bites back a laugh. “I was late coming here because I was in the bathroom, getting myself off. You had me at fucking hello, and you never even introduced yourself. I had to make myself come or I wouldn’t have made it though this shift.”
I grin, fucking overcome by how amazing this woman is. She was in a bathroom stall, her fingers in her pussy, thinking about me? Late for my poker game—a game she didn’t even know I would be at—because she was coming at the mere thought of me? My cock?