ACE:Las Vegas Bad Boys(32)

I'll fucking carry her anywhere.

Right now, I pull her into my arms. Sweeping away a table full of bottles and carafes, I lay her down, pull her dress back up to her waist, and press my mouth to her perfect mound.

I inhale her, all of her. I fucking love the smell of her pussy. It’s sweet and warm, and welcoming—not at all the same as her words, which have been pushing me away.

No. It’s obvious as I press my lips against her swollen opening that she wants me in ways she hasn't been saying.

“Baby,” I say, kissing her thighs, my hands trailing up to her waist, holding on. Holding on to her. “Let me take you slowly this time.”

I've never fucking done this. Never said these things. Take it fucking slow? Last night she made me a Lifetime movie, today I’m a rom-com. Hell, this girl is making me insane. My friends would never let me live it down if they knew the things coming out of my fucking mouth.

But hell, they also don't have their mouths in the place I have mine.

My mouth is all over Emmy's pussy. Her warm, wet pussy. And I fucking know they'd be saying all sorts of crazy shit if they had something this good all to themselves.

Emmy doesn't answer, she just moans in pleasure. This woman has a fucking depth to her I’ll probably never understand, but hell if I won't try.

I grew up as an entitled piece of shit, with women and money and greed everywhere I looked—and, from what she hinted at last night, Emmy’s past wasn't quite as connected. It sounded a lot more trailer park than my mother's summer home in the Hampton's.

That is, until everything my family was fell apart. Until everything my Pops worked for my family to be came crashing down.

Still, my past feels like a different sort of damaged.

She seems wounded, whereas I feel raw.

“Ace, I want you in me,” she says, her hands running through my hair, over my back, drawing me up.

I drop my pants again, roll on protection and pull her waist to the edge of the table. My length finds her opening and I pull her over me.

She lifts herself from the table and wraps her legs around me, anchoring herself to my core.

Her arms snake around my neck and inhale my chest as she presses her face against me.

“Oh, Emmy,” I say, trying to slow myself down, not wanting to come quickly, but also not wanting to pause.

I thrust into her, sending a rippling current between us, and she screams out in ecstasy.

“Ace, Ace, Ace.” She screams my name and I can't help but grin. This woman calling my fucking name is all I ever want to hear.

Nothing else seems to matter in this moment.

Just her and me.

I come, savoring the feeling of her wrapped so tight around me.

“That was….” She tries to form a sentence, but she can't. A laugh escapes her mouth, a laugh that feels so authentic and real and hers and fucking yeah—I love her laugh.

“Real,” I finish for her. Because it was. It was real and it was ours.

We dress, this time flushed and warm and like we've come to terms with something we didn’t see coming. Maybe we could be a thing. Maybe Ace Royalle is turning a fucking leaf.

Fuck those other women. I have Emmy.

Well, I mean, I should probably take her on a date first and get to know her—but in a lot of ways I fucking know everything about her.

“My friends probably think I ditched them,” she says, smiling as she tugs her dress back where it belongs.

“The guys probably think the same thing.” I shrug. “Wanna go back to the table?”

“Yeah. I kinda want to dance. Or sleep. Or—I don't know. I swear I can't imagine a time I've ever felt social.”

“You usually tense?” I ask, wanting to know more about her.

“I just usually have a lot on my mind.”

“I hear ya,” I say, opening the door we locked. “So tomorrow you work—but what about the day after?”

Emmy suppresses a smile and I know I did good by not pressing her to ditch her shift.

“The next day I am free.”

“So it's a date.”

“I guess it is.” Emmy smiles, walking ahead of me with a swivel of her hips.

We find our way to the table, and Jack is out of his booth and has joined the rest of the crew. Emmy's friend Tess is staring at him like he's a fucking rock star, and Claire is showing Landon photos on her phone of something. I'm sure he would rather go chase some tail, but I appreciate that he's not being a dick to her.

McQueen, on the other hand, is making out with barely dressed women covered head-to-toe in shimmering sparkle make-up. I laugh, wondering how the hell he will get that stuff off himself before tomorrow night’s performance. But at least he isn't kissing one of Emmy's friends.

Good, nothing sketchy. I just need these people to get along.