CHAPTER TWELVE
DAWN
It turns out the room cards are for one of the penthouse suites on the sixth floor. The casino itself is as gaudy as it gets, but I lap it up all the same.
A bellboy guides us in. “Welcome to the Emperor Suite.”
Max tips him and sends him on his way, looking awfully pleased to close the door and shut the world out.
I step into the main lounge and spin, eyes wide. “The Emperor Suite. That sounds familiar?”
Max leans against the wall. “You’re thinking of the Emperor Suite at Caesar’s Palace, the one the movie The Hangover was based on.”
I clap my hands together. “I love that movie.” I pause. “Wait, does that mean there’s a tiger in the bathroom?”
He pushes off the wall, walking towards me. “The only animals you need to worry about here are downstairs.”
He’s standing right before me, so close. His amber eyes lure me in, beg me to drink from the forbidden cup, and I do with every flush nerve of my body. Here, before me, is the most striking man I have known, a man who has already proved how far he will go to protect me.
My nostrils flare, my breathing deepening and not a word passes between us.
My body dares me to act.
But it’s Max who makes the first move, closing the distance between us fast and taking my head in his hands, pulling me into the kiss.
Max’s hands are rough, but the kiss is surprisingly tender. There is an understated urgency to it, a thirst unlike any I have felt before.
I pull myself away breathless, the smooth, liquor taste of his lips lingering on my own.
I look up into his eyes. “What do you want? Tell me.”
He’s breathing heavily too, but when he speaks it’s firm and unyielding—an order.
“I want you to lie down and spread your legs.”
He speaks to me as if I’m a child, but I nod all the same. I need the release, a junkie hungering for a fix. Logic doesn’t even enter into the equation. It’s been too long since I was with a man. The need wells up, the space between my legs growing hot and heavy.
You can forget what’s happening, I tell myself. If only for a moment. You can be safe in his arms.
He stands away and takes hold of the hem of my dress, lifting it up and over my head, the fabric momentarily catches on the hard pinpoints of my nipples.
He kneels, fingers gliding up the side of my leg, over my thigh, hooking into the crotch of my panties and pulling them down. He unhooks them off my ankle, holding it in his hand like it was made of glass, worshipping it. I can smell my arousal, the wetness that’s already gathering at my core.
Slowly, he lifts me, guides us to the nearest bedroom and lets me down as if conducting a baptism. There, exposed, I am comatose in his arms.
His thumb presses against my inner thigh. I gasp for air as my nerves there light up all the way to the tips of my fingers.
He kneels up onto the bed and pulls his shirt off, tossing it to the floor as his head sinks between my legs.
I claw my fingers into the sheets as his mouth presses against the hot opening of my sex. His tongue shifts forward, burrowing deep inside my slit. I melt against his face, mewing and rolling. He holds my thigh in one hand, thumb pressing into the soft flesh there again. I smile, cry, and giggle—hysterical with emotion as his other hand finds its way to my clit.
My upper back bows. The flat of his thumb covers the sensitive button at the top of my sex, rubbing and pressing until I’m levitating from the sheets.
I speak only in expletive gasps. Ah. Ah. Ah.
He cups my ass with both hands, drawing me into him, trying to meld us together as one. I’m split so wide and wet his tongue seems to travel right through me.
“Yes,” I breathe.
His hands slide underneath my back and come to rest just below my shoulder blades. He lifts me from the bed and I wrap my legs around him.
Our mouths come together, tongues fighting for dominance in the small space.
I work my hand between us and find his zipper. I draw it down and fish inside, my fingers curling around his cock. It pulses, twitching in my hand, hot and full. I delight in the soft, silky skin of his shaft, the way the head of his cock conforms so snugly into the cup of my palm.
He drives his hips forward, pressing himself through my grip as our mouths remain locked together. He thrusts through my fingers slowly as I curl them around his length. Above, my pussy tics with agonizing need. My wetness coats my thighs, a sticky, slick mess as I try to spread my legs wider and ease myself down upon him.
He moves us to the side of the bed, reaching with one hand to his back pocket and pulling his wallet free, sheathing himself quickly while holding me in place.
I grind against him, anxious to feel him inside me.
The head of his cock comes to rest against the soaking slot of my sex.
He comforts my tongue with his own, his lips soft and pliant. I stroke my tongue against his, tempting him to taste and suck it in return.
His erection, hard and thick, waits at my entrance, growing. He lets me down upon it as a wave of relief and release rushes through me from the base of my skull right down to my groin. My hips drop and he runs in to the hilt, filling me with his giant cock.
I press my pelvis forward, rocking on his member as his hand skims over my back, the measure of my desire making his progress easy.
He draws back and enters me slowly. My eyes are open, locked upon his as he penetrates me with a terrible calm. I lock my hands around his neck and run them through his hair, clawing along his scalp and tugging as he begins to fuck me. His hands shift my ass forward and he thrusts even deeper into the tight, slick ache that closes around him.
We grow greedier and increasingly frantic, our movements becoming primal and unrestrained. I begin to shudder as the friction against my clit becomes unbearable. I arch my body off his, our flesh sticky and wet where it slaps and meets together below.
This is happening, I realize. It’s all been leading to this.
I come quick and hard, tears blurring my vision, my emotion and sex spilling over. I let my breath out in a rickety exhale as it consumes me. He thrusts through it with increasing violence, pounding through the contractions of my pussy. He gasps, mouth agape, as he hilts himself inside me, his hands tight on my ass. He stills and erupts. I squeeze him fiercely, clenching and releasing around his cock until his spasms of pleasure subside and we collapse backwards onto the bed.
He crushes me, his face pressed into the crook of my neck as we groan the last of our orgasms away.
He lifts himself up and kisses the tip of one of my nipples. I inhale sharply.
The whiskey orbs of his eyes settle on my face. “I’ve broken my golden rule.”
My lips are dry. “What’s that?”
“Mixing business and pleasure.”
I trace my finger over the tattoo running down his arm. “Why can’t you have both?”
“Because they are two worlds that should never collide, especially in my line of work.”
He drops to kiss the side of my neck, tongue flicking at an earlobe.
“If you ask me,” I continue, aftershocks of my orgasm continuing to filter through my body. “Your profession is built around breaking rules.”
He pulls the earlobe between his lips, sucking it away before letting it free. “Amongst other things.”
His cock is still hard inside me when he spots the digital clock beside the bed. Drawing back, his cock comes free. “I should go, but we should pick this up later?”
I hold his arm, unable to close my fingers around it. “I thought that was breaking the rules?”
He reaches down and pushes a finger inside me, curling it upwards until the pad of it presses against my g-spot. My head kicks back involuntarily. I’m putty in his hands.
“Some rules are meant to be broken,” he says, pulling the finger away. He places it into his mouth, sucking it clean.
It’s almost enough to make me come again.
I drag myself into a sitting position, folding a leg under myself, surprised at how sensitive and tender I am down there.
I can see Max hesitating, but he manages to ward it off, taking off the condom and stuffing his still-hard cock back into his pants. “I shouldn’t be long, but if you’re still compelled to use those chips, be careful, okay?”
“I will.”
“Stay in the casino and relax, because when I get back I’m going to fuck you through the goddamn wall.”
He leans down and kisses me on the forehead.
I watch him leave the room, my eyes following him to the hallway where he’s suddenly engulfed in light beaming down from the giant void above.
I reach for a stack of chips, tossing them lightly in my hand, and I’m smiling. I’m smiling like I’ve already won a million dollars.
*
I’ve never gambled before. My mother isn’t the type to buy lottery tickets or even enter competitions. I’d beg her whenever we’d pass the supermarket stand, but she’d always reply, “It’s for fools, Dawn. Remember that.”
Fools, like Rick.
Once again my thoughts turn to the man who’s taken everything from me—my freedom, my life. I’ve been gone for days now. Poor Noel must be having a heart attack.
Again, I realize I’m alone. There is nothing stopping me walking out those front doors.
But I don’t want to, not after that.
I notice the cameras on the roof downstairs, hundreds of them like inverted beetles. Bobby’s got eyes on me alright. I doubt I could run anywhere in this town he couldn’t find me. People get lost in Vegas all the time. People disappear.
I take a seat at the first table I find. A man wearing a ten-gallon hat and the bushiest moustache I’ve ever seen looks my way. The dealer, a young man, looks down at me. “Joining, miss?”
I hold out the chips. “It’s my first time.”
The Texan smiles. “How about that? It’s good luck to have a virgin at the table.”
The dealer doesn’t seem convinced. He checks his watch, probably counting down the minutes until he gets off.
Getting off. You’d know all about that now, wouldn’t you? I smile to myself.
Yes, ma’am. There’s nothing ‘virginal’ about what I just did with Max, not forgetting the promise of what’s to come.
Still smiling, I sit and look down at the table. “So, what do I do?”
*
The game’s called blackjack, and it turns out I’m a natural.
In the space of an hour I’ve doubled my chips. The Texan, so amused by my naivety at the start, seems sufficiently interested now.
The amount of players at the table has grown, as has the audience around us.
“Hit,” I announce. “I think.”
The dealer turns over the cards, as stunned as I am. “The lady’s a winner, folks.”
I look for a clock but can’t seem to find one on the walls. I ask the Texan.
“Quarter past four,” he grins.
That’s almost two hours now. Two hours that feel like five minutes.
The more I play, the more the crowd around us cheers and grows, the more I feel myself being swept up in the excitement.
This is what it’s like. This is how it started with Rick.
Card games. At first Rick said he was just playing poker with friends, a ‘boys night,’ but I soon discovered he was travelling across town to off-the-book games, the stakes getting higher and higher until it was out of control. Every time I’d try to bring it up, he’d shut me down. “Babe,” he’d say. “It’s just a game. I’m in control.”
But he wasn’t. The loans grew. The debt grew, and I turned a blind eye to it all, hoping he’d snap out of it, but he never did. In that sense, I’m as culpable as he is.
Not true, hon.
I look down at my winnings, the collection of chips before me. I turn to the Texan. He seems to know what he’s doing. “Should I stop?”
He chuckles, holding the sides of his sports jacket. “You can do whatever you like, little lady, but you want my advice? Go with a classic and quit while you’re ahead.” He adds a wink… and an indecent proposal. I politely decline and gather up the chips.
Those behind me yawn in disappointment as I stand. “What do I do with these?” I ask the dealer.
He points to the corner of the casino. “You can cash them in over there.”
I stagger over to the counter. A woman who looks like she’d be having more fun watching paint dry lights up when she sees my haul.
“Wow. Good one, honey. I guess it’s your lucky day.”
I smile, oddly pleased with myself, or maybe it’s just the afterglow of a good roll in the hay. “I guess it is. How, uh, much is there?”
The chips run through a machine in rapid fire. “Five-five, hon.”
I’m lost. “Five-hundred?”
“Five-thousand, five-hundred. Would you like cash or credit?”
A small voice in my head is telling me to go for the credit. Double your winnings, it says. Come on. It wasn’t even your money to begin with. Five grand’s a lot of money, but ten, well…
But I’m not Rick. I’m smarter than that. I take the cash, stuffing rolls of it into the zip-up pocket on the side of my dress, surprised at how little the stack is. Still, it’s more cash than I’ve held in my life.
I take a crumpled ten-dollar note from my other pocket and buy a drink, a mojito. Living large, whoop, whoop.
I sip on it as I walk around the casino.
I come to the betting longue, screens showing everything from harness racing to MMA. I watch the fighting and suddenly I’m struck by an idea.
It wasn’t even your money to begin with, my head repeats.
I head to the desk, met by another disinterested employee, though his eyes lift when he sees I’m not his usual clientele. Read: A middle-aged man with receding hair and corduroy pants. “Hi,” he says.
“Hi,” I reply. “I heard there was a fight tomorrow.”
He laughs. “There are a lot of fights tomorrow, miss. You got any more to go on?”
I close my eyes to remember the other fighter’s name. “O’Neil someone?”
“Kurt O’Neil?”
I nod. “Yes. That’s the one.”
He stoops down closer to the window, lowering his voice. “Right. Midday tomorrow. O’Neil’s taking on someone from the house, some New Yorker no one’s heard of. Technically, it’s off the books, but…” he drifts off.
I nod with enthusiasm. “Yes, that’s the one. Can I bet on that?”
He laughs again. “Miss, this is Vegas. You could bet on what the buffet’s going to serve tonight if you want.”
“Really?”
“No, but if it’s sports and you can bet on it, we’ll take your money, legal or not. So, you want to put down a wager on the fight?”
I nod, nervous. “Yes, sir.”
He reaches under the desk and pulls out a laptop, opening it up and tapping at the keys. “For O’Neil?”
“The other guy, actually.”
He stops tapping. “The wild card? You sure? The house boy’s four to one. It could be a short fight.”
“I’m sure.”
He puffs his cheeks up and blows out. The Plexiglas between us starts to fog. “Your money.” More tapping. “How much?”
I fish in my pockets for the rolls, thumbing out five-hundred for myself before sliding the rest into the tray. “Five-thousand dollars, please.”
And his eyes pop anew.