Big Bad Wolf: A Bad Boy Next Door Second Chance Romance

by Frankie Love

  “Don't worry, baby, there will be more, I promise,” Ace says in my ear, still the cocky bastard I know him to be.

  “You're so bad.”

  “That's not all I am though,” he says.

  And I believe him.

  ACE

  After she came the first time, I came too. Then I pulled out, and pressed my fingers into her.

  She looked so at peace. So comfortable there. I've never seen anyone look so at one with the world.

  And that was a motherfucking gift, because yeah, I’d only known this woman for a few days, but everything about her screamed that she’d been bruised and broken one too many times.

  The scarred skin across her tummy proved that to me. Of course I had missed her marks before; I'd only taken her in the dark—with the only goal fucking.

  But now it's different. Sure, the names monster and bad boy and player are all words that have rolled off her lips today—but other words have, too.

  Words she doesn't even need to say.

  Words we both seem to know.

  So I press two fingers into her moist opening. I watch as her eyes roll back, as groans escape her. I love pressing my hand into her warmth, and I want to make this girl squirt. I know I can.

  She has years’ worth of pent up emotions. I just need to help open her floodgates.

  “Oh, Ace, it's too much.”

  “You're so close, baby,” I tell her, adding a third finger, hitting her deep inside. Sure her clit is screaming in pleasure, and my other hand rubs the top of her pussy, round and round and round I go until she is writhing in desire.

  Her come starts pouring over my hand, and I grin like a motherfucking fool. She loves me in her, and I love it, too.

  “You are just going everywhere,” I tell her. “You needed this.”

  “Yeah, I did.” She covers her mouth as a belly laugh escapes. “Ohmigod, that was amazing.”

  “Honey, what's the rush? You're not done.”

  “I'm not?”

  “No way.” I add a fourth finger, thrusting in and out so hard and fast that her come is shooting everywhere, all over me, across my bare chest. Her juicy pussy is swelling and alive. Her ass is in the air, her moaning overcome in pure delirium.

  And I fucking love it.

  “Let me suck you off,” she says, her eyes filled with lust.

  “You don't have to ask me twice.”

  I pull my fingers from her dripping opening and slap her ass as she crawls toward me.

  “Sit on the edge of the bed,” she demands.

  “No dice. Sorry, Emmy. I'm still the Boss-man.”

  “Okay,” she says, smiling. “What does the Boss want?”

  “I want to lie down on this bed of yours, and I want your ass on my face and your mouth around my cock.”

  “Demanding much?”

  “You know you want it.” I look down at my growing rod. She licks her lips hungrily.

  “Oh, yeah I do, Boss-man.”

  She straddles me backwards, her round, perfect ass in my hands, her swollen pussy over my mouth.

  I know that she needs tender kisses down there right now, and it's a good thing, because as I grab her ass, both hands holding her round cheeks, I can't concentrate on much besides soft licks and flicking her still-enlarged clit with my tongue.

  This woman can blow like no other woman, ever. She is taking me deep in her throat, massaging my balls—then popping my cock out all together, as she fills her mouth with balls.

  She swirls them in her mouth, running her hands over my inner thighs, and she bounces up and down, her pussy moving in delight as I tongue her deeply.

  “Oh, Emmy,” I moan, not wanting to come so fast, but also wanting to fully experience getting off with her like this.

  “You're ready, bad boy,” she says. “And I like to swallow,” she moans, as she turns to face me, “but I really loved it when you came on my tits. Do it again, and then let me lick all of it off myself.”

  “Maybe I’ll change my mind. Maybe you can always be in charge.”

  Her perfect body rests on her heels, her tits full and ripe before me. She runs her hand over her tits, down to her pussy. She dips a finger into her folds and I think she's gonna put the finger in my mouth, but then she slips it into her own, moaning as she sucks her juice off good and clean.

  I scoot up on the headboard, wanting to pump my seed all over her nice and good. She greedily takes my cock in her hands and begins massaging me as the pressure mounts.

  “Oh, baby,” I say, spilling my come all over her perfect bouncing tits. I spray my come on the tops of her breasts, her skin glistening with me.

  “Ace,” she groans, lifting her tits to her mouth. She licks them, cleaning the come off herself. Her tits are so big and perfect she can reach the creamy goodness she was begging for.

  She lets out another laugh, a perfect, fucked-good laugh. A laugh that covers all the pain. All the shadows she carried this morning. All the vengeance and anger and fear.

  That's all been washed away. We didn't drown.

  It's like we're finally able to come up for air.

  15

  EMMY

  “You should, go,” I tell him, standing up from the bed. My smile is still on my face, and I don't want to wipe it away while he’s still here, while we’re both so happy.

  “So soon? Come back to the hotel with me. You don't have to walk away.”

  “I do though, Ace,” I say, pulling a bathrobe over my bare shoulders. “I never meant for this to be more than sex. And maybe you did—but not me.”

  “But you felt more,” Ace says, sitting on the edge of the bed, watching me as I walk to the bathroom and run the water. I need to clean up and get to the hospital. Glancing at my phone, I see it's already four.

  Ignoring Ace, I send Claire a quick text telling her I'm alive and not to worry, to which she promptly responds with a string of questions demanding details.

  I set down my phone without answering.

  “Look, I have a lot on my mind—”

  “Because of your sister? Claire told me she was in the hospital.”

  I snort. “She did, did she?”

  “I'm not who you think I am,” Ace says.

  I turn to face him. “Then who are you? Did you know my sister? Did you know Janie?”

  Ace averts his eyes, as if hesitating to respond. Eventually he looks straight at me and says, “I did, but—”

  “Ohmigodohmigodohmigod. Just go, Ace. Just fucking go.” I walk back in the room, pick up his clothes, throw them at him. “Go and don't come back. I know you have money and I know you just fucked me in ways I still don't believe are real—but you did not just tell me you knew my sister.”

  “It's not like that.”

  I turn and leave because I can't speak. I gave Ace a few hours to fuck me silly, but that was more than enough. I have real shit to deal with; I can't sit around and play pretend anymore with him.

  “I'm taking a shower, and when I come back, I don't want to see your face. Ever again. If you want me to quit my job, fine. I'll go. I just can't see you. And you sure as hell better not show up at the hospital to see my sister. I am calling my detective tomorrow to tell him the shit I have on you.”

  “This isn't what you want.”

  “I never said it was, Bullet. But it’s what I need.”

  And then I slam the bathroom door shut, crawl in the tub, and sob like a child.

  A child I’ve never really been.

  ACE

  A few days later, I still haven't seen Emmy. I checked her work schedule, because I’m a fucking pussy. She's called in sick. Three times.

  I want to call her. Beg her. Explain.

  But how can I? And what would I say?

  I'm not ready to be the one on my knees.

  I know that sounds stereotypical and fucking macho bullshit—but it's the truth. I've never been kicked out of a woman's place before.

  This woman has made me forget everything.
>
  Forget myself.

  I’m Ace Fucking Royalle.

  I spent the morning at McQueen's gym, and once again I used a punching bag, a fucking sack of leather, to get all my aggression out. When what I really wanted was to smash Grotto's face in.

  The other thing I really want is to see Emmy. But I’m sticking to my guns. She can come find me. I showed up for her last time, at her fucking doorstep, begging to come in.

  And then she kicked me out.

  She licked my come off her breasts and then told me to leave.

  I've never been used like that.

  Also, I can't remember how many years it's been since I've gone three days without fucking.

  I pull off my gloves, and wipe the sweat from my forehead with the hem of my shirt.

  “Doing okay, Boss?” McQueen asks, coming up from behind me and clapping me on my back.

  “Yeah, just ready for the meeting with the real estate agent.”

  “Ace, it's all good. We've all got your back.”

  Which is a good thing considering my lawyer is pissed with me. Apparently not taking Mark’s counsel of holding off on a property deal rubbed him the wrong way.

  But he doesn’t understand that things between Grotto and I have gotten personal.

  “Denzel’s really not coming to see it, too?” McQueen asks. “That man has had your back for five years.”

  “Maybe I should swing by his office before our meeting.”

  “Cool, bro.” McQueen gives me a fist-bump. “See you then.”

  I drive over to Denzel & Swopes, in the heart of the city center. Taking the elevator up to the fortieth floor, I can't help but remember when Emmy and I were in that elevator together. How quickly she got me ready to go.

  Fuck that shit. I adjust myself and pop my neck as the elevator doors slide open. That girl has made me crazy.

  Pausing, I check in with Denzel's receptionist, Sherry. She shakes her head.

  “Ace, can you come back—”

  I don't wait for her to finish. I go back to his office, not giving a shit if he’s busy.

  He is. With the last person I want to see right now.

  What the motherfucking shit is going on in here?

  “What the hell are you doing here, Grotto?” I ask the man I want to push out a window overlooking the Vegas strip.

  My heart sinks. Mark Denzel is one of the only people I would have trusted with my life.

  “It's not what it looks like, Ace,” Mark says, standing and coming over to me where I stand in the doorway, ready to pounce.

  “Then what is it?” I ask, clenching my jaw.

  “Hey, hey, no reason to start getting loud,” Grotto says smugly.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask. “Mark, you know what this fool did to your man, Trenton.” Denzel should fucking care that he’s dealing with a murderer. He should be doing everything in his power to arrest the man.

  “Trenton has been missing for nearly a week, and I know you've pinned it on Grotto—but, Ace, the man's hands are clean.” Mark says, trying to ease me out of his office.

  “That's bullshit, and you know it.” I stand in the hallway, outside Mark's door, feeling like I've been punched in the gut. What does it say if even Mark Denzel won’t stick up for me?

  “What are you doing with him?” I ask.

  “He is seeking legal counsel. He came to ask about retaining me.” Mark holds up his hands apologetically. “Look, Ace, I want the best for you, but business is business.”

  “It's not business. Not everything is fucking business in this town. I thought you were family.”

  “I'm not family. I'm your lawyer.”

  “Then I'm the fool you I thought I was.”

  “It doesn't have to be like this, Ace. I can represent you both.”

  “He’s the one trying to get that property from me. You know that, right?”

  “I also know I advised you to drop that plan of yours.”

  “Fuck this. Go suck Grotto's dick, Mark. You're dead to me.”

  I walk away, not wanting anything to do with Mark if he’s going to have a client like Grotto. I don't want to see his face if he’s a double-crosser like that.

  Mark goes back to his office and shuts his door.

  I'm reeling. Punching that bag at the gym feels a million miles away.

  I pause at Sherry's desk, needing some kind of lead.

  “Why is Grotto looking for a lawyer?”

  She must see the intensity in my eyes, the desperation. I would beg her for the information and she knows it. She shows me the mercy I’m looking for.

  Leaning into close, she whispers, “He's being called in for questioning. Apparently there was a car crash, and a girl ended up in a coma. They think he may have been driving the car.”

  My head falls back, feeling like everything is spinning out of control.

  Emmy's sister. Bullet. Grotto. Trenton's murder. The shit on my family.

  Emmy leaving.

  Me wanting her to stay.

  It's all too much.

  “Thanks, Sherry,” I tell her. “I'll have my assistant get you passes to the club and a restaurant.”

  “Thanks Ace, but you don't need to do that. Being nice to an old lady like me might ruin your bad-boy image.”

  “There are enough bad boys in this town, Sherry. I don't want to be one of them.”

  EMMY

  The hospital is quiet. It always is.

  I sit here with my sister.

  Her days are numbered.

  I've begged the doctor. Pleaded with the nurses. Asked for more tests. More labs. More time.

  But all I get is sad looks and shakes of the head.

  The decision has been made.

  Janie will be unplugged from life support in two days. The state has helped cover her hospital expenses, but it’s cruel to keep her hooked up when she is all but dead.

  It’s time to let her go.

  So here I sit. My hand in hers. Remembering. Wishing everything had been different.

  I never had a real family. Never really had anyone, for that matter.

  I always clung to the hope of a relationship with Janie, longed for a connection with her, but she always pulled away.

  Maybe it feels worse knowing she’s been with a man like Ace, a man who uses women, used her.

  Is that what her life amounts to?

  The daughter of addicts and the escort to the Boss-man?

  It's not enough. She deserves more.

  But she isn't going to get it.

  I told the detective on the case about Ace … how I thought he was Bullet. He took the information, but said it wasn’t solid. That they can't arrest a man for having a nickname.

  I told him that Ace admitted to knowing Janie. But he just told me, hands folded on his desk, that he would see what he could do.

  If that isn't fucking anticlimactic I don't know what is.

  So I sit with her.

  In the quiet hospital room.

  Wishing for her eyes to open, wishing for her to squeeze my hand.

  Wishing for my sister to come back to life, come back to me for the first time in her life.

  16

  ACE

  Standing in the large, vacant space, I see potential. The building doesn't need to be torn down completely, just rebuilt. The foundation is solid.

  I wonder what sort of fucking metaphor this is supposed to be.

  “What do you think?” The real estate agent, Stacy, asks us—Landon, McQueen, Jack and me. She’s a no-nonsense type of woman, in her fifties, and a typical cougar. She is eyeing us so hard she’s practically purring. And no one has even made a move.

  And we won't. We take this meeting seriously.

  “What’s the business we’re investing in, exactly?” Landon asks. “I don't really give a shit … but this money is actually my father's. He was quite proud at the notion of me wanting to be a venture capitalist. I just had to evade his questions about what the venture itself
is.”

  “Right,” I say, rubbing my jaw. “The thing is, we need to decide.”

  “You don't know what you intend to use this space for?” Stacy asks. Her nails tap against the clipboard she holds in her hand. “It’s pretty important to know what you want it for, considering the bank is going to need to approve the loan based on the intention.”

  I don't answer, and Jack cuts in, “Is anyone else interested in the space?”

  We all know Grotto claimed a bid, but we don't know what for. And we know only one person will win.

  “Yes, I know for a fact one other solid offer has been made. But since the bank owns this property, they’ve chosen to keep it open for bids until the end of next week.”

  “What will they base their choice on? Highest bidder wins?” I ask. If it’s that simple, we just need to find out how deep Grotto's pockets go.

  “It's more complicated than that,” Stacy explains. “The city of Las Vegas has brokered agreements with banks to invest in projects that will add the most value to the city.”

  “And what adds the most value to Sin City?” McQueen asks. “Strip clubs? Because then we know our business model.”

  “I don't know those details,” Stacy says. “I wish I did know what they were looking for, but they keep that close to their chest—with reason. If everyone know what they wanted this property bought for, every bid would come in riddled with false claims.”

  “So you're saying we need to know what our business will be before we can make an offer?” I ask, my hands in my pockets in an attempt not to fidget. This is all making me more nervous than the first time I had sex.

  “Yes, that’s what I’m saying.”

  Landon lifts his hands as if he’s about to add something important to the conversation. Then he drops them. “I got nothing. Honestly, Boss, this is your show. I'm just here for the applause.”

  “You really don't have an idea what you want this space for?” Jack asks.

  “Grotto can't have this property,” I say adamantly. “I don't know much, but I do know that. He has bad intentions.”

  “And yours are pure?” McQueen laughs. “Bro, you own Spades Royalle. You have female escort phone books on every bedside table. Your hotel drips sex and sleaze—”