August

Kirkman arrives at the MGM via an ostentatious tour bus, which is not at all what I asked him to do. Dan Smith, a buddy of mine from the service, meets me in front of the tour bus as it pulls up. He's dressed like Secret Service in a dark blue suit, his head shaved bald, the clear curling cord trailing from his ear into his collar.

Dan enjoys making an obvious show of being security. He says it keeps away a certain group of people. Personally, I like to blend in a little more. It creates a kind of complacency among the people I'm trying to target. But suffice it to say, Dan and I make a pretty good team, approaching security from different angles.

He rolls his eyes as the tour bus comes to a stop, the brakes hissing loudly.

“This was not your idea,” he mutters.

“Hell no, this wasn't my idea,” I confirm. “But I did suggest he not take the helicopter, so I won that one.”

“There's some reason he couldn't just get a town car?” Dan asks, sucking his teeth derisively.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” I sigh. “I don't think Kirkman has any sense of discretion at all. Or this kid just thinks he’s gonna live forever, one of the two.”

The door opens and two women, giggling, start down the steps, their high-heeled sandals angled to the side for better traction.

“Dahlia?” I ask, pivoting toward her. She raises her eyebrows at me. I hold my hand out toward the ladies exiting the tour bus. “Can you escort these women to the penthouse with Dan? I would like to have a word with Kirkman before we check in.”

Dan gives me a relieved nod. Having a woman escort the ladies with him provides an extra layer of security as well as another witness. Some years back, there was a man on security detail who took advantage of some of the young women who were traveling with a well-known entertainer. The security guard got out of line, but there were no witnesses. It went poorly for those women. In the aftermath, there were several other incidents that seemed somewhat less credible, perhaps opportunists or perhaps crimes. In any case, it's best for everyone’s safety if Dahlia goes along.

“Hey, where are they going?” Kirkman complains, trudging off the bus.

He jumps the last step and stands in the middle of the valet turnabout, his arms thrown out to either side as though he is expecting a round of applause.

“I just wanted to go over the protocol with you,” I inform him, firing up my iPad to the slide of bullet points that I have constructed for just this purpose. “First, there only four approved women on the manifest. I need you to strictly adhere to that.”

He throws an arm around me, hugging me, jostling me. I fight the urge to punch him in the face.

“Why so serious, August? Still got that stick up your ass?”

“Second,” I continue, trying to ignore him. “I need you to use the private elevator. I have an access key here for you to carry, but I will always have a backup access key. Dan will have a backup access key. So will Dahlia. Do not attempt to use the public elevators under any circumstances.”

“Dahlia? Who's that? Is that her?” he starts to follow her, half dragging me along.

“Third, we have a private VIP room set up for after the concert. There will be more guests in that room, and they will be screened by security on a case-by-case basis.”

“Oh, that's good. So I'm not totally on lockdown?” he says, winking. “Seriously, who's Dahlia? She looks familiar. Did I fuck her?”

My stomach clenches. This man does not know how close he is to being dropped over that railing.

“She's… additional security. You need it.”

“Seriously, she looks familiar… Hm. Whatever. Anyway, glad to see you've stepped up to the plate, August. It's going to be a good show!”

The valet do a decent job of rerouting traffic around us as we enter the large marble entrance. The MGM security arrives with key cards and another on-site professional to meet. They do a nice job of coordinating, I have to admit. I'm not sure I would have been able to arrange this all on such short notice without it.

“Kirkman!” comes a high, shrill voice.

“Melanie!” he yells back. Several people in the atrium swivel toward us, intrigued. I nonchalantly insert myself between them and Kirkman, hoping to shield him from as much attention as possible.

Melanie quirks an eyebrow at me, aware of what I'm doing. Once again, my goals and her goals are at cross purposes. If she could have had seventy women here throwing their panties at him when he arrived, she would have.

“August, good to see you,” she smirks, rolling her eyes.

“Here's your key card,” I say, handing it to her. To my right, I see Dahlia and Stan with the two young women, waiting for an elevator. Dahlia's arms are crossed and she sweeps the room with her eyes, calmly assessing the situation, just like I would.

I walk up to her, nodding in a businesslike way. “Dahlia, this is Melanie. And of course you remember Kirkman.”

“Nice to meet you,” Melanie says, her expression confused.

Dahlia smiles in a friendly but cagey way, concealing her feelings behind a blank wall of pleasantness.

“I knew I recognized you!” Kirkman smirks. “I just knew it!”

As the elevator door slides open, I take Dahlia by the elbow and hold her back, allowing the rest of the group to board without us.

“Wait, you're not coming?” Kirkman asks, holding the door open with his palm.

I raise a hand to wave them off. “No, you go on ahead. Stan’s got you, and Melanie can get you set up in the room. I'll see you after the show.”

I hold Dahlia's elbow until the elevator doors close and instantly she slumps against me. It's not a lot, but it's just enough.

“Well, that was unexpected!” she stage whispers.

“You did exceptionally well,” I smile. “I knew you would.”

She shakes her head. “I don't understand! You just threw me in there with those girls… and then Kirkman… what's going on?”

Glancing up at the LED display, I see that the elevator is already halfway to the penthouse. I go ahead and press the call button, knowing it will complete the trip before coming back for us.

“Well, Stan needed an extra set of eyes when he was escorting those ladies. You just happen to be here… so I assumed you'd be the right choice. You have a problem with that?”

She sniffs, straightening. “Course I don't have a problem with that.”

“And, naturally, I wanted to see how you'd react under pressure.”

She glances at me sidelong. “And how did I react? Did I pass your little test?”

“Flying colors,” I shrug. “Exactly what I expected of you.”

“Well, good,” she huffs. “But not exactly what I was expecting after your whole honesty speech, August. Can we keep the surprises and ambushes to a minimum, please?”

Leaning over, I bury my lips in her hair and inhale the sweet, vanilla scent of her. “Fair enough.”

Relaxing, she looks over my shoulder toward the casino floor. The jangle of slot machines and crowd noises float on the air, muted but still significant.

“You know, I've never been to a casino before. It looks like fun.”

“Really?” I ask her. “You never came here? Not even for your twenty-first birthday with Bunny or anything?”

She smiles, nudging me gently with her elbow. “No, never. Bunny asked me, but I wasn't sure I'd like it. But now that I'm here, it is kind of exciting. Sort of like a Disneyland feeling.”

“Why don’t you call her?” I suggest.

The elevator doors ding and then slide open again. She looks up at me, surprised, as we enter.

“Call her? Seriously?”

“Sure, why not. I bet she will love the VIP experience. Kirkman does throw a helluva party.”

I thumbed the penthouse button and turn toward her. Dahlia inhales, a small smile playing across her full lips. I take a half step toward her and she backs up against the mirrored wall of the elevator car. Smoothly I reach down and pick her up, wrapping her thighs around my waist. She hooks her ankles behind my hips, grinding against me immediately, bringing me to sudden, dizzying arousal.

“Slow down,” she breathes, panting. “I can’t keep up.”

“Try harder,” I growl in response, pulsing my hips against her panties. “You can do it. You have to.”

When the door slides open, I walk out with her legs still wrapped around my waist, pulling the access card from my back pocket. The door to my left opens with a click and I walk her inside, kissing her deeply, so hungry for her that I think I could do this all night.

The lights go on in the suite automatically, illuminating the tasteful, elegant furnishings. Everything is cream on cream with a light blue accents and pewter finishes. I barely register them as I carry her into the bedroom, but then I force myself to slow down. Angling forward, I lay her on the bed and stand back. She blinks at me shyly, raising her hands to partially cover her face and push her hair back where it got tousled over her bright blue eyes. Reflexively, she draws her knees up and pulls them together.

“No, stop,” I tell her, holding her knees apart. “I want to look at you.”

Though I feel the resistance in her muscles, she tries to hold still. I step back, just far enough that I can see everything. Her smooth calves, her dimpled knees, the long, curving line of her thighs as they disappear into her skirt. The way her belly trembles when she breathes. The pink blush of her palms.

Still, I need more. I want to see more. I want to see everything. I reach forward and slide her skirt over her hips, baring her pretty panties, some kind of fabric with needlework decoration and tiny holes. I'm sure there's a word for that. I don't know what it is. She's shivers lightly but lets me expose her.

This is real, finally. Not a fantasy via text. Not some stranger, but real flesh and blood, a real connection. I'm so happy to be here with her, finally realizing the attraction that's already been there for so long.

This feels right, I have to admit to myself. And I can do better than I've done before. Things just didn't fit before, not the way that Dahlia does. I didn’t feel this kind of satisfaction just be in Trina's presence. Not like this, not like watching Dahlia lay across the bed with her legs open, her body arching and writhing in front of me, her hips pulsing because she is so eager for me to make her mine.

That's exactly what I need to do.