ACE:Las Vegas Bad Boys(11)

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.”