“I am Landon, milady” he says, finding my hand and kissing the top of it. Okay, he’s a pretty adorable Englishman. “And your name, dear?” he asks.
“Emmy,” I say, looking around the table of men who are just straight-up worthy of the cover of GQ. “Emmy Rose.”
“You’re not going to ask for my name?” the mysterious hallway guy asks.
“Oh, gosh, I’m sorry, that was rude of me,” I say, flushed just by hearing his voice. “What was your name, sir?”
“Tonight, you can call me boss,” he says, confidently.
ACE
I can’t help it.
I love to watch her squirm in that skin-tight, fuck-me-now leotard. The one that can’t help but show off her perfectly erect nipples.
Her nipples are on display, as if they’re tiny little gemstones just begging to be polished. Oh, hell yeah, I’m ready to spit-shine those cock-fuckers.
And when I finally look up from that goddamn perfect pair of tits, I see her face. Usually I’m all sorts of crass, all sorts of don’t-care-about-her-smile, so as long as she has a nice shape, good curves—but fuck.
Emmy Rose is something else entirely.
I want her in a way I never want a woman. In a way that feels dangerously close to losing whatever edge I have left.
This girl turns me warm inside, soft in ways I’m not.
Well, not entirely soft. My fucking cock is on fire.
I need this woman.
How the hell am I going to sit through a night with my boys when all I want is an evening with her?
EMMY
Okay. So I did not see that coming.
I try to regroup, smiling brightly across the dimly lit room, absorbing the fact that the guy who propositioned me in the hallway is also a complete narcissist. It kind of kills the vibe for me, actually.
He wants me to call him fucking Boss?
Still, this is the guy I imagined going down on me while I took care of things earlier in the restroom.
And by things, I mean orgasms.
His friends shake their heads, laughing, as if they’re in on a joke I don’t know. Honestly, I’ve been hoping they weren’t the douchebag guys I expected, and for a moment they fooled me into thinking they weren’t completely womanizing asshats.
But I guess I was wrong. They all fist-bump Boss from across the table.
Okay, this doesn’t need to be awkward. He has his eyes on me, as if studying every emotion splayed across my face.
“Right-e-o, boss man,” I say to him.
Right-e-o? WTF? Who says that shit? And why me? Now?
I glance over at Carla, embarrassed by my very uncool verbiage. Her eyes have been on the table, on the cards, but now she looks at me with an expression reading, what the eff is your deal?
She doesn’t know the half of it.
Boss raises his eyebrows, but thankfully his friends don’t comment. They’re all looking at their cards, placing bets, and here I am staring at him like a freaking weirdo.
“Okay, well, pleased to meet you, sir,” I say, saluting him.
Did I seriously salute him? I shake my head slightly, catching Carla’s eyes once again. She’s a hard-hitting woman at this casino, and no one messes with her. She’s tough as nails, and I want to stay on her good side. I know she’s already annoyed at me for being late.
She eyes me and then looks at the empty bar behind us. Her eyes say, Go get the drinks and stop acting like you’re in freaking boot camp.
Taking the cue, I excuse myself and make a beeline for the bar in the lounge to pour the orders.
I deliver them seamlessly; thankfully the guys are focused on their game, and I’m focused on not spilling liquor on the pants of any bosses or famous people.
Super chill!
Throughout the night I manage to pour, mix, deliver, and even eavesdrop—even though I know it’s rude. It’s impossible to ignore them. There are only six of us in this suite. And honestly, they are completely entertaining.
It’s cute how Boss and his buddies act in here, in this private room. It makes me think maybe the money and glamour around these men is just a facade. Maybe they’re just down to earth dudes with nice clothes. And for a second, I forget the womanizing Boss comment and think maybe Claire was right, maybe this is a good gig.
But then I hear them talk about women again. Sex. MILFs. Threesomes.
Yep, this is a boy’s poker den alright.
“And then I sat on the bed while these two women fucking rode me, one girl on my cock, the other had her ass on my face,” McQueen says, sighing. “Best goddamn night of the week.”
Week? Ugh. I swore he was going to say LIFE.
“See, you need more of that in your life,” Boss says, shaking his head at Jack. “That’s why you need to stop letting Ashley hold you by your nut sack. Why’d you break up this last time? She get pissed again when some other woman came on to you?”