by D. M. Burns
Lena, get your head in the game girl. This one in front of you is dangerous. For your heart. For your body. He doesn’t discriminate when it comes to dicking it down and around. It’d be wise to remember that. You. Are. Not. Special. As a matter of fact, you never were. That’s sobering and exactly what I needed.
“Oh, is that an invitation, Miss. Carter?” His voice is a low aggravated whisper. Like he knows betters then to say these things to me but can’t seem to stop himself.
That might be an interesting invite for the down-south senorita of sluts between my legs, but my mind says fuck off. He quirks his slashed eyebrow then leans closer until his lips are a faint whisper from my ear. His five o’clock shadow scrapes my cheek softly and I want to purr.
“If so, I can promise you a deep restoration in a Rampage kinda way to that body of yours. I’ll remodel you from the inside out.”
Holy hell. His hot spearmint breath spreads down skimming across my neck sending a shiver straight through to the base of my spine.
“For someone that never wanted me here in the first place, you sure don’t have any objection to wanting the closest form of intimacy with me.” My voice is weak. A weak-ass pathetic whine. It’s embarrassing, really-really.
Time for redemption. Yeah, I want his egotistical sexy ass but not enough to play into the bullshit brewing behind his Satan suit asshole ways. He must feel the mood shift because as soon as I raise my knee to blue ball his sexual fantasies all to hell where they belong, his entire frame locks against mine pinning my legs in place. His outline is firmly fitted against mine. He braces both of his palms on either side of my face against the wall and my breathing hitches in my throat. This turn of events is not helpful. My soaked underwear can go into the trash after this.
“Let’s not do that, yeah? I’m partial to my penis performing miracles, regularly. That’d fuck up my wood-working wonders. Thanks for that little heads up with respect for your ball removal specialty services during our little chat yesterday.” He chuckles low. “It was duly noted as you can see. I’m partial to keeping my balls though. So, you’re going to need to keep those knees to yourself, Miss. Carter.”
The vibration from his built body only intensifies the feel of him against my skin. When he turns his head, I think he breathes me in before tilting back and staring down at me.
“Why don’t you perform a magic trick of miracles and make yourself as well as your dick disappear, hmmm?” I look up at him and watch as his silver spears dance around my face.
“Fucking is just a release for two consenting parties, Len.” His voice sounds like gravel.
One of his hands slides down from the wall and he runs his index finger lightly up the side of my ribs stopping just below the outline of my bra. His eyes watch his movements then flick back to me.
“As long as we both cum, something that I promise you’ll do several times over before I’m through, then I don’t see why we shouldn’t enjoy each other.” His voice changes up to a low sexy hum.
Dear Sweet Baby Jesus. I need to stay out of confined spaces with this hot, real-life reminder, and promotional commercial for condoms.
“I can only imagine that your HR director would frown upon this type of behavior, Mr. Carter,” I smirk through the sea of waves happening between my legs. Ignoring my need to grind up against him is damn near devastating to my vagina.
“You’re looking at him.” His smile morphs into a devious grin.
“Then I’d like to file a complaint about that.” I quirk one finely manicured brow while peering down between our bodies where his dick is snuggly tucked against my stomach then I look back up.
“That’s a first. Never had any complaints about that guy.” He nods toward his dick then laughs out loud.
“I’ll never fuck you, Rampage. Those are words I’m sure you’re not used to hearing but it doesn’t make them any less relevant. Hate to disappoint you but Ramp, your dick is like an undiscovered yeti covering the vast population of Vag-Ville. Never seen twice but covering the female territory with DNA tracks. I’m good.” He holds his head back and laughs out loud. It’s deep and hearty. That wasn’t really the reaction I was going for but whatever.
“The other brother is married now so, never say never.” He winks at me and licks his bottom lip while taking a slow step back. I bite down on the inside of my jaw to keep from whimpering when he moves his overheated steel frame away from mine. Hold on a minute, what?…
“What are you talking about?” I tilt my head trying to figure this asshole out. I know he just didn’t imply what I think he did. This son-of-a…
“Doesn’t matter. You get lonely, let me know, yeah? I’ll pencil you in.” He winks at me.
“Get used to holding your own dick in a tight grip because the likelihood of that happening is the same as it’d be for your married brother. A never gonna happen scenario.” I jut my chin out.
“Right.” He impishly smirks.
“And here I was thinking I got a glimpse of the guy that I used to know shinning from the other side of that mirrored wall. Too bad I was wrong. I miss that boy.” I point toward the window and shake my head in an equal amount of exasperation and disappointment.
“As I said, you don’t know me anymore.” He shakes his head slowly from side to side. He’s right, I don’t. Not that I ever did but he doesn’t know me either.
“That was a result of your own actions Ramp, not mine. What I don’t understand is why you hate me. Tell me, please.” I flap my arms out and let them fall at my sides.
I know I shouldn’t care. The best way to handle this guy is to stay away but secretly I do care, a lot. I’ve never understood his unhinged and ever-changing climate or lack of control where I was concerned. One minute we were close, the very next day I was caught up in a Rampage stampede.
“It’s fairly simple. Your calculation was easily summed up and hardly worth the effort.” He deadpans while adjusting his cufflinks.
Ouch, that hurt, and my face reflects it before I can school my reaction. He looks as if he wants to say more and doesn’t waste any time in disappointing me.
“You have a job to do here and it doesn’t include this area of the club, yeah.” He quirks his eyebrow at me. “This was unethical on my part and in different circumstances, I’d apologize had I been the one to hire you. Try to dazzle me with your talents for wallpaper or whatever instead of sneaking around my place.”
“God… Slade, you’re such a… a… Ughhh. Just whatever.” I throw my out my hand and shake my head while biting back the curses begging for me to set them free.
“Jules Banister will assist you with anything you need but she doesn’t come in until eight. Your new office is on the four-eighth floor, exit the elevator to the left, and it’s the second door down on the right. You should have an email with the company’s directory of contacts at your disposal.”
With that he turns around and saunters toward the door, he looks over his shoulder before stepping out of the room and says, “Stay out of this part of the club, Miss. Carter. This is Boss territory only and that title belongs to me.”
FUCK.
YOU.
MISTER.
BOSSMAN.
In my mind, I’m screaming for him to go straight to hell. Or eat a dick. Or maybe his next penciled in yeti expedition slide of ass will bite his off. Any of those options will do.
Breath, Lena… Just Breath… Focus on positive thoughts and channel your inner queen for tranquility. Satan in a suit is not worth jail time.
After Jules arrived promptly at eight, she went over the layout of the building in-depth with the exception of the lower level. Plus, she introduced me to my other co-workers. I had seen these folks over the last year but never interacted because I didn’t want to upset the yeti asshole. Jules also showed me to the breakroom then helped stock me up with supplies. I could’ve kissed her after that refreshing cup of coffee, lifesaver.
Not even going to lie, I was a little caught off guard w
ith her bright purple hair, nose ring, and cute quirky fashion. I had seen her several times before. It’s hard not to notice her. In fact, I love her fashion sense but never in a million years did I associate her with “the boss”. She’s the complete opposite of what I envisioned working closely alongside Rampage.
Sadly enough, my judgmental ass fictitiously created and waited for a platinum blonde blow up doll type with triple D deluxe-boobs and a premium implanted ass to traipse down the office hallway. I’m seriously going to need to pray for that assessment as well as my attitude later tonight.
I learned that Jules is pretty much the equivalent to a personal assistant for Ramp. Even though Rampage is a complete control freak, he funnels some of the work her way. She said that it was hard work building a trust foundation with him, but her loyalty and discretion clenched it. Dedication coupled with devotion and several years is what earned her a spot on his shortlist of trusted employees. I don’t doubt that for one second because I know how he operates, or at least I did. Rampage is a hard one to get next too.
Jules is a feisty but colorful southern girl with a sassy mean bark. She doesn’t take any shit and I admire that about her. After talking with her a bit, I got down to working on new floor designs since my old set is somewhere on the tarmac back in New York or stuck to the bottom of a jet flying across the world.
Thank God for my religious daily backups. I had previously backed up each level of Aces sketched ideas to my trusty zip drive. Those images will save me months of work. Jules worked me into Ramp’s schedule to go over what he envisions for Aces and being prepared is a must.
This place is fifty-two luxurious stories of wealth and power with the gambling district of things being on the hush-hush. It’s not lost on me that there are fifty-two cards in a full playing deck as well. Do I think it’s a coincidence that Aces Down has the exact number of floors? No…
The first twenty-five stories abode the betting rituals with each floor designed and decked out to highlight a particular theme and gaming experience. My favorite dedicated layout is for the slots. Maybe it’s the sound of coins clashing against metal on metal with alarms, buzzers, and bells singling you out as a winner. It always makes me have happy vibes.
It has classic slots, video slots, fruit machine slots, progressive slots, and 3D slots. Right in the middle of the space, there’s one mega mac-daddy, shiny, golden slot machine that runs the length from floor to ceiling with three display windows holding two aces’ facing down. There are ten slot spots available on every side for individual players to chance their luck at dropping those coins then take a spin to win the house’s bank.
Another level is staged to host the Blackjack games. Rolling out with Perfect Pairs, Jacks or Better, Spanish 21, Pontoon, Blackjack Switch, Chinese Blackjack and so many more. Another floor is dedicated to various video poker thrills as well as another being devoted to Roulette. Like I said, each floor caters to a specific playing preference. No matter what you gravitate to, Aces Down has a floor for you.
Ten flats are sanctioned off for the exclusive rollers to partake in the lap of lushness while tossing back the fine drink selection. All of that leads those elite members to spend obscene amounts of money. Which is the entire scheme and plan behind Ramp’s design here.
Fifteen floors high in the sky are luxury penthouses that accommodate the members that fly in wrapping them up in what their lost coins built, spacious splendor, and twenty-four-seven service at the press of a button.
The remaining five levels are for the executive employees and staff that keep this show running smoothly, except for the top floor. Jules said that Rampage is the only one with access to that mystical myth or penis playing palace. It’s probably where he stores his yeti whores at. Top floor whores, anyone? Anyone? Yeah, I’ll pray about that later too.
I know Ramp keeps calling it a club for all intense and legal purposes but this just in, it’s a damn glorified-high rolling casino. I’m still caught up in the middle of deciphering logic with the location. Whether it was a clever or idiotic idea to build this place in the middle of Atlanta.
Granted, this market is non-existent in Georgia causing instant wealth to line the pockets of both Rampage and Brogan. Not that they needed extra bank because these men were successful well before the birth of this “club”. But one thing to keep in mind is the underlying fact that this is also highly ILLEGAL, period.
This is something that I know Rampage took into consideration before diving into this little adventure but damn. If he ever pisses off the wrong person, shit will get twisted in a bad way. However, anyone in a position to shut this facility down would rather take a bullet than make a move against the Chaos Crew and that of the infamous Wallstreet God. Blowback would come with serious ramifications and be nothing short of a god damn wealth war of evil and epic proportions.
When Jules' voice filters out in the airwaves, I look up and see the door shut only to realize it’s the damn desk phone. I tuck my pencil behind my ear and let out a giggle.
I’m not used to having an office. Normally, I’d spend my days filtering through this enormous structure making notes and sketching out ideas while overseeing the remodel taking place one floor at a time. I stay close to the workers. I want to make sure nothing slips and if so, I want to be there to catch it. The crew just finished up remodeling Brogan’s onsite ridiculous penthouse palace last week. Hands down, it’s some of my best work.
“What’s up, Jules.”
“Just wanted to remind ya about your appointment with Mr. Carter in ten minutes.” She sing-songs over the line.
“Okay, cool. Thanks.” I say. I roll up my new designs and recommendations then take off to his office.
When the elevator dings on the fiftieth floor, I barrel out of the steel cage and round the corner only to run smack dab into another suited-up chest of armor. My floor plans bounce off matching mountain pecs then hits the ground rolling. The face attached to this swank ass business suit has panty-melting turquoise eyes and jet-black hair slicked back with two boyish dimples smiling back at me.
“Dear Lord, the Sex God’s must hate me today,” I whisper out loud.
“Excuse me?” He laughs a low throaty sound that lands a punch directly in the middle of my slut downstairs, holy hell.
“Uhm… I’m sorry that was supposed to be said inside my head, not out loud.”
I smile sweetly at my future baby daddy as he makes a grab for my plan designs. Those tailored pants fit perfectly to his ass. An ass that I know damn well has performed more lunges in the past week than mine has in the last year. Hell, one set of twenty would probably cause me to pull a muscle, drawing my leg up in a mean painful way, and land me on my soft ass. Shit, I’ve got to get back in the gym.
“Well, other than the abrupt collision, I’m not sorry at all.” He hands my plans over to me. I tuck them under my arm while flinging my softly roasted hair off to the side so I can see all of this man with an undisturbed view. “My name’s Trace Archer.”
“Sorry I almost plowed you over, Trace.” I smile shyly and go to step around him but he’s quick to turn with me.
“What’s your name?” He asks with a side smirk. Why does he sound so familiar?
“Shit, I mean uhhh, sorry. That was rude of me.” What happened to the strong as nails businesswoman that is me? Oh, yeah that’s right, she’s standing off to the side-eye fucking this sex beast in front of me. I’m getting flustered so I slow my roll and square my shoulders off. “Lena… Lena Carter. It’s nice to meet you. There’s something oddly familiar about you.”
I hold my hand out and he takes my extended greeting while closing his other hand over the connection. I’ve always thought this move to be so intimate but not in a creepy way. Unless you have soggy, sweaty hands. In that case, you should stick with a fist bump because that shits obscene.
“Hello, lovely Lena. Believe me when I say if I had met you before, I’d remember.” He quirks his eyebrows at me with a full blow beaming,
straight toothed smile that provides me with another glimpse of those dimples that are picture quality. Holy shit. Is this guy even real? “There’s no way in hell that your kin to Rampage and I know damn well that you’re not his wife. That man’s lucky but not this lucky.” He winks. I swear my ovaries are producing eggs like its Easter Sunday and my new career path is that of the damn Easter Bunny. Hide and seek the dick.
“Uhm, no on both accounts,” I say as he steps into me.
“Then please tell me that I’ll have the pleasure of seeing you again and soon. Maybe at the up and coming party here for the Royal Diamond Club members, Lena. I’d love to get to know you better.” His voice drops an octave before he says, “I’d like very much to ask you out but the look on Rampage’s face tells me that’d be a grave mistake on my part should I do so.” He chuckles as his eyes stare beyond my shoulder.
Oh, hell no… Cock blocking bastard. I chance a glimpse over my shoulder and sure enough, Ramp is standing right behind me. He quirks his slashed eyebrow at me and points at his teeth then swipes his tongue over his straight row of bright pearls. Oh shit…
“Oh crap…. Do I have seeds in my teeth from those strawberries this morning?” I whisper out in horror. I jerk my hand from Trace and cover my mouth in embarrassment while trying to remember that I am in fact on the clock.
“No. Not at all.” Trace chuckles. Turning my focus back to my future baby daddy, I drop my hand and smile then give him a slight wave. He’s looking between me and Ramp like we’re crazy. I shoot daggers at Rampage and he ignores me trailing those steely irises over to Trace.
“She’s on payroll not to be misconstrued with a playmate, Mr. Archer.” Rampage deadpans. Trace laughs at him and I choose to ignore his comment altogether.