ACE:Las Vegas Bad Boys(5)

Oh man, this is bad.

I head into the restroom and don’t even pause to wipe off the lipstick stain. Fuck, I just want to release some of my pent-up … everything. It’s much too easy to imagine that stranger giving me what I want, and I swear if I didn’t have this job to go to in like, ten minutes—and you know, if I wasn’t on the effing clock—I would go back out to the hallway and ask him to pleasure me the way my body craves.

But ain’t nobody got time for that, I think, laughing to myself as I shake my head. It’s not that I usually get it on with strangers, but right now, a nameless quickie feels like the gift I deserve.

Instead, I lock the stall door, pull down my leotard, my bra-less breasts tumbling out, my nipples hard just thinking about the mouth of the hallway guy.

Those lips. Just thinking about the way I want him on his knees, running his tongue over my opening, I can’t help but rub my nipples. My breath is hot in an instant.

Sure, I haven’t been with a guy in forever, but I have no problem taking care of myself. And fuck the clock—right now my clit is screaming for a steady flicking. Obviously, my first choice would have been that stranger, but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.

Using my finger, I rub my pussy hard, steadying myself against the door with my other hand. I know this isn’t the sexiest place in the world to rub one out, but fuck, that man made me wet.

Oh. And it feels good. I moan softly, not even caring if anyone else is here. I imagine his rough stubble pressing against my thighs, his hands grabbing my ass as he covers my opening with his mouth. My wetness seeps out, and I sigh in release.

I lean my forehead against the stall door, catching my breath.

Then I grab some tissue and wipe myself, before pulling up my stockings and my uniform. After adjusting my breasts, nipples still erect, I swing open the door.

I wash my hands and face, bite my lip, and my thoughts linger on the hallway guy. Then I hurry to work the shift Claire has gotten me.

You know, employee of the fucking month.





ACE


“Damn, Ace, the show was off the hook tonight,” McQueen says, walking into the private suite on the fortieth floor of the hotel.

I just got here myself, after having a “conversation” in the hall with the world’s biggest asshole. I fucking hate Frank Grotto. And now he thinks he’s going to buy up property off the strip—the property I’ve wanted to get my hands on for months.

Property that is going to make me even richer, make a name for myself beyond casino owner. I have plans with that property, and Grotto isn’t going to fuck with them.

Grotto thinks he can threaten me and force me to back off. He says he’s gonna use my family against me.

Little does he know family means nothing to me. Not anymore.

I’ve worked hard to keep my trail clean. I broke ties with my family and their underhanded dealings when my Pops died. More like, got shot. I skipped town, brought my money to Vegas, and worked my way to the top.

Sure, I grew up the son of a mafia boss. Money laundering was the cleanest work my father did, and he taught me his ways. For years, I went along with the family business.

But not anymore.

Now the only place I get dirty is with a woman. I tighten my jaw remembering the waitress who just fucking turned me down. Who the hell does Emmy Rose think she is? Besides being the sexiest, most unassuming piece of ass I’d seen in a long fucking time.

McQueen is still talking about his latest conquest, that son of a bitch.

“Tonight, women were basically spreading their legs every time I flexed.” He grins. Clearly he just got laid—I’m guessing more than twice. He’s a male dancer in the Spades Royalle show, Spank You, and he never has to ask to get fucked.

Unlike me, apparently. My ego is taking a fucking dive tonight.

“You ready to lose tonight?” I ask him. I notice my private dealer, Carla, is already here preparing our table for the poker game.

The suite is set up for a night with the guys—something we all make sure to add to our tight schedules because down time is not something we usually get.

This monthly meeting is untouchable. A safe zone. A paparazzi-free, girlfriend-free zone.

McQueen shakes his head, not even giving my question the dignity of a response. He wants to win as bad as any of us. Not that he’s any good, and he knows it.

Sure, we take the poker game seriously, but not as seriously as our friendship. You need to keep your friends close in this town.

I’ve known McQueen, Jack, and Landon for five years, ever since we showed up in Vegas as kids with big dreams. We were a motley crew, the four of us, and this town knew us for the bad boys we were.

Landon and I were the only ones with real money. Me, a washed-out kid from New York, with deep pockets and a chip on my shoulder. Landon, the bad seed son of a diamond tycoon, was in a whole other league than me.