ACE: Las Vegas Bad Boys

by Frankie Love

  “We’re going to Stacked!” Tess shrieks, no longer whispering—she’s in full-on hyperventilation mode.

  “No we aren't,” I say, grabbing a breadstick and snapping it in half before shoving in my face.

  “Oh hell yes, we are,” Claire says, surprising me. “When do we ever get to have fun?”

  “Uh, last night?” I shake my head. “On your date?”

  “My date with Carl?” Claire brushes me off. “That guy is golden, sure, but he is no Ace. And he wants to get serious. Like serious-serious. And I'm not ready for that. And whatever bullshit thing you aren't telling us, Emmy—your fancy clothes, and your earlier inquisition with Ace, and then to top it off, this Denise woman coming down to the buffet line to make sure we'd be at Stacked, whatever—that is your drama. But I, for one, am going to Stacked tonight. I'm going to have some fun.”

  “Me too!” Tess says, grinning wildly. “What should we wear?”

  I'm glad the inquisition is over, but I do not want to go to Stacked. I want to go home, crawl into bed, and wake up the same time my sister does.

  “I'm gonna go home. I'm not up for this.” I take a bite of pie, wishing everything in life was as sweet as this key lime.

  “No way, baby cakes,” Claire says. “First of all, you’re the reason we were invited tonight and, two, you need a night free of stress, a night where you can let loose, more than any of us … unless you've already had that night off and you just aren't telling us?”

  I smirk at Claire, knowing that girl is trouble—she sees my weakness. Knows I don't want to talk about whatever this Ace-thing is … but she isn't letting me off the hook.

  “You have to come, Emmy,” Tess begs.

  I start to shake my head again, and Claire cuts me off.

  “Here's the thing, toots: you come out with us tonight and we won't ask you another thing about those Jimmy Choos and nine-hundred-dollar jeans, or you spill the beans and we won't force you to join us at the most exclusive club we've ever been invited to.”

  “You are ruthless,” I say. “Ruthless.”

  “So you're in?” Tess asks. When I don't immediately shut her down she squeals. “Ohmigod, what are we gonna wear?!”

  I don't tell them about the bags in my run-down Honda civic of the clothes Ace had delivered this morning … they will see that for themselves soon enough. But Claire promised no questions—and I know she won't break her word.

  “I have a feeling I'm gonna need a second serving of everything to get through this night.”

  I grab my tray, and begin to reload.

  I'm gonna need some serious chicken piccata to get through this night.

  10

  ACE

  The club is bumping, full of girls who are trying too hard and guys who are hoping to find someone—anyone—to take home.

  And yeah, sometimes I feel too old for this scene, sometimes I feel too old for this whole town—but that’s mostly because by the time I was eighteen I'd already seen and done way too much shit for my own good.

  Right now I don't need to think about that bullshit. Right now I need to drink some top shelf whiskey, loosen the fucking tie around my neck, and wait for Emmy to slink in here, her fucking tits on parade, and have her give me the lap dance she denied me in earlier.

  Sure, she walked away in the elevator—but that’s because she was fucking terrified of what it might mean if she really gave into something this good, this hot. If she gave into us.

  She might lose her fucking mind.

  But I know she'll come back.

  She's no dick tease. She and I both know she wants my cock.

  She just got scared.

  And fuck, don't I know it? I'm gonna fucking lose my cool with this woman. She has my stomach in knots, my fucking eyes are darting around this club looking for one thing and one thing only.

  Emmy Rose.

  “Ace, chill out for a moment, okay?” Landon says, as we both take a seat at my table. Bottles of liquor cover the table—glasses, ice, Dom Pérignon on ice. We're fucking set up to dominate this night. “Your cock hasn't stopped prowling since we arrived.”

  We’ve been ushered right to our table by a gorgeous hostess. We've only been here ten minutes and already a half-dozen women are sitting near us, inching closer toward the booze—and our laps—with each word we say.

  “I'm not prowling.” I know my tone is defensive, and that Landon is just looking out for me. And I may need my friends tonight. Sure, I put on a tough guy act, all bravado and motherfucking confidence, but I swear to God this broad has shaken me.

  I need the guys here to make sure I don't fucking punch another wall. It's nearly midnight; McQueen just texted that he is on his way. Jack is up in his DJ booth spinning some sick beats.

  “You ladies want to join us?” Landon asks a pair of long-legged beauties.

  I look them up and down, and quickly determine they aren't my type. They’re rocking fake tans, with big hair and big tits—nothing natural. Nothing I want to sink my teeth into.

  Nothing I want to fondle and fuck.

  The women sit next to Landon, but I just sip my whiskey.

  There are thousands of people in this three-story club. The pit in the center is filled with people dancing. Glow sticks and topless women and hands waving in the air set the tone: straight-up party.

  McQueen finds his way to us, grinning like the motherfucker he is.

  “Jack is killing it up there,” I say, pointing to Jack as McQueen takes a seat.

  “Yeah, he is.” McQueen eyes the women around us. “And so are you,” he says to a blonde woman who has just walked up to us.

  She is dressed less risqué than the gyrating women around us; she has on a nice black dress, but wears a big smile.

  And she ‘ Emmy's friend.

  “I'm Claire. Your assistant told us to meet you here. Are we in the right place?”

  “Of course we are!” Behind Claire is Tess, the girl who looks like she's never heard the words trying too hard. “Hey Ace, thanks for the invite. That was totes nice of you.”

  I look behind them, hoping to see Emmy. She is nowhere to be found.

  “Of course,” I say, keeping it cool. “Glad you could come.” Not asking what I really want. I invited them here to keep the game of cat and mouse going with Emmy. I don't think my ego can handle her running without first giving me a chance to catch her.

  Landon begins pouring the girls drinks, and my jaw clenches. My heart pounds. I want to ask. I know I can't.

  Thankfully, Tess is my motherfucking savior.

  “So, Emmy's on her way.” Tess's words are as bubbly as the champagne she is drinking. “She just got a voicemail from the doctor at the hospital where her sister is. She knew it would be too loud in here. She'll meet us in a sec.”

  “Her sister is in the hospital?” I ask, leaning forward.

  “Well, yeah. I mean, that's the only reason she's here in Vegas,” Claire says in a non-nonsense way.

  “Is her sister alright?” Landon asks, finding a seat next to Tess. I can already tell he'll be into her. She’s moldable, the exact sort of woman he prefers.

  “Not really,” Claire says. “Her sister is in a coma. I mean, all you'd need to do is ask her three questions about herself and you'd know that.”

  Rubbing my jaw with the back of my hand, I realize I've only focused on one thing when it came to Emmy: her perfect pussy.

  “Oh, there she is,” Tess says pointing through the crowd.

  Landon, McQueen, and I all turn to look, and so do half of the men in the club.

  Emmy would be a knockout in anything. But in this skintight, wine-colored dress she is everything. She's been poured into that fabric, and I want to drink her up as she comes toward me.

  “Fuck, your girl is looking fly,” McQueen says.

  Claire gives me a hard look, her eyes flicking back to Emmy. She's trying to piece things together, and I can tell that Emmy has kept her cards close. I fucking love that about her.
I don't need some woman who can't keep things behind closed doors.

  As Emmy walks up to me, giving me a cool once-over, it's clear she didn't tell her friends much of anything.

  “Emmy.” I stand so I can stop her from sitting down. I don't want to talk to her here with everyone listening and watching.

  I want her in ways no one else can see.

  “Everything okay?” Landon asks, his English accent making him sound more sincere than I would sound if I posed the same question.

  “It's fine.” Emmy shakes her head, giving Claire and Tess hard looks of annoyance. I love that Emmy has worn minimal make-up, her hair is loose and hanging around her shoulders. I smile, noticing the tips are still wet, as if she literally stepped out of a shower and came out tonight.

  The other women here are nothing like her. Everything about them is forced. Emmy isn't trying to make an impression. She’s just herself. And that is more than enough.

  “Really?” Claire asks. “Is everything honestly okay?”

  “Yeah,” Emmy says, brushing her off, accepting the flute of champagne McQueen hands her. The women on our periphery look Emmy up and down, see her as competition.

  She isn't their competition. This woman has already fucking won.

  Now if I could just make that clear to her.

  “The voicemail from the doctor was from hours ago, when we were at dinner. I just hadn't checked my phone.”

  Claire and Tess give her sympathetic nods and drop it. In those simple looks, though, it is clear these girls are important to Emmy. She trusts them.

  I won't let my boys hurt them.

  On my phone I send a quick text to McQueen, Landon and Jack.

  Me: Don't fuck with Emmy's girls. I mean it. Okay?

  I watch as McQueen and Landon look down at their phones, type quick responses.

  McQueen: Got it, boss-man.

  Landon: We’ll behave.

  Knowing that’s dealt with, I take Emmy by the hand, and pull her up. The music is loud, the drinks are being poured, and I'm ready to fucking put my hands all over this woman.

  And never let her go.

  EMMY

  So in the past twenty-four hours I've seen Ace act like a confident prick in the hallway, a reckless lover in the bedroom, and a dominating ass in the elevator.

  And now, on the dance floor, I see him as a hungry, desperate man. A man who wants something that he's scared he won't get.

  Scared he won't get me.

  I swear those fucking eyes are going to be my demise.

  And in this moment, with hundreds of people around us, with music vibrating off the walls, with his arms snaking around my waist, I want him to wreck me.

  I want to be ruined.

  It's so loud on the dance floor I can't hear myself think, can't hear his whispered words. Can't remember why resisting him will make me happy.

  I know that earlier I walked away because I didn't want to be used, didn't want to be Ace's plaything. But right now he isn't in control. He isn't in the power seat.

  I am.

  I know that I'm what and who he wants. As I run my hands through his hair, press my lips against his ear, breathing in and out, I know that right now he isn't in charge the way he wanted to be in the elevator.

  Right now I'm driving this racecar and I want to take it around the track at 150 mph. I want to be chaos and I want to crash.

  The voicemail from the doctor said that if Janie doesn't wake within the week they’re going to take her off life support.

  I don't want to think. I don't want to talk.

  I just want to escape.

  My hands find their way to Ace's waist, slide down the front of his pants, where his throbbing rod is waiting for me.

  People are everywhere. We've moved to the center of the dance pit where everyone moves cheek to cheek, asses grinding against the hard cocks behind them. Men and women have their mouths on one another, have their hands rubbing against glistening skin, and smoldering eyes greedily watching the heat of the night.

  It is a fucking orgy waiting to happen.

  But I don't want an orgy. I want Ace.

  I want him now.

  His eyes close, the music sinking into our skin, lights flashing around us, confetti falling from the ceiling as the DJ—Jack—spins the club into a frenzy.

  My hands press against the hardness in his pants but it's not enough. I want more. I want everything.

  “Ace, I need you. Now.” In his ear I whisper words that are truer than he knows. Somehow he hears me and silently takes my hand, pulls me through the crowd.

  He doesn't take me back to his table.

  Instead, he takes me away.

  We don't talk. What words would I use?

  I'm using you so I don't feel the fear clawing its way at my heart?

  I'm using you so I can pretend my past isn't tumbling to the present?

  I'm using you because I don't want to be alone?

  I can't say those things.

  So I say nothing at all.

  He leads me to a dark room down a hallway, past the restrooms and past the bar kitchen and past the noise.

  He leads me to a closet, switches on a dim light, and I see that the room is filled with shelves of liquor. He finds a bottle of whiskey, unscrews the cap. Takes a long pull that I know must burn his throat as he swallows.

  I take the bottle, drink. I want to be set on fire.

  I want to be consumed by a blaze.

  His eyes are on me and I lock mine on him. The electricity of the club bounces through the walls.

  But the electricity of what I feel with Ace right now is deeper, longer. More. What I feel right now is a mixture of heartbreak from the phone call and desire for what he is going to do to me.

  What I feel right now is alive.

  And that is so much better than turning to ash.

  “Fuck me, Ace.”

  “Are you okay?” he asks, his eyes searing into mine. He can see my pain, read my hurt. It is good of him to ask.

  But I don't want to answer because I don't want to lie. Not to him.

  “Just do it, do me. Please.”

  I beg him. And I am not ashamed.

  I beg him. And I am not afraid.

  I beg him. And he answers.

  ACE

  Emmy is broken, but she wants me to rip her open. I don't know what’s behind those gorgeous blue eyes, but I know enough to not ask any more questions.

  She isn't looking for a friend, a lover. She's looking to run.

  I have no problem driving her get-away car.

  I pull up her dress so it wraps around her waist. Her pussy is bare and a smile crosses my mouth for the first time all day.

  It’s impossible not to feel like a million bucks as I take in the fact that no panties cover that perfect mound of hers. The door to the stockroom is closed, and I push her against it, crash my mouth on hers. The heat grows, and so does my cock.

  She unbuckles my pants and they fall to the floor. My cock escapes my boxers as she slinks her hand around my hardness. She moans at the sight of it, the feel of it, the same way she did last night. I love knowing that one look at it gets her wet.

  “You make me so hot,” she says as my fingers find her opening. I lift her leg up, and my other hand begins to softly finger her folds. She wasn't lying about getting hot and bothered—she's already dripping.

  I press two fingers in her, fucking her faster as I slide them in and out. She clings to my neck as I touch her. The feel of her heat makes me so hard, makes me want to fuck her until she can’t see straight.

  My thumb finds her round nub and her clit throbs as I press against it, and as I add pressure her breath catches. She arches her back in pleasure.

  “Ohmigod,” she groans against me. I press harder; add a third finger, and that causes her to grip my arm. Her pussy is so nice and tight, and I just love how much she grinds against my hand, clearly loving every second that I am inside her.

  But I need mor
e.

  Pulling my hand from her wetness, I rip down the top half of her dress so her tits fall out, and they are so fucking perfect, her nipples hard and her areolas so round and aroused.

  I devour those beautiful breasts with my mouth. I kiss her milky skin as she heaves herself closer to me, as if she doesn’t want any space between us.

  My hands massage her globes, I lick her nipples, suckle her perfect skin. I pull her higher against the door. She wraps her legs around me, my cock right under her. I pull on a condom and then ease her onto my massive thickness.

  Her eyes are wide open, meeting mine in apprehension. I can tell she wonders how this will fit, even though last night she learned that she can manage her way over my massive cock.

  She gasps as I fill her. And I fill her good. I fill her up as I bounce her fucking perfect pussy against my dick. I’m not taking this slow.

  This woman asked me to do her, and I don’t do anyone halfway. Especially not Emmy Rose. I’ll do Emmy Rose exactly as she wants.

  Her perfect tits hit one another as I thrust harder and harder and harder, my balls slapping against her skin, and I can tell she loves it as she moans in pleasure, as my hands slap her round ass, holding onto her as I take her against the door.

  Her tits are fucking bouncing in my face and I want to lick them, come all over them. I want her to titty-fuck me, and I want to spill my seed on her breasts and I want to come again and again and again.

  So we do.

  “Fuck me, Ace. Ohmigod, fuck me hard.”

  I knew she would want more once she had me.

  Women always do.

  I fuck her against the wall just like I said I would. I pull out before I come, knowing she wants the feel of my warm seed on her tits.

  She gets down onto her knees so my cock is at her breasts, and I pull off the condom. She tugs at my hardness, my come spurting all over her chest as she moans in ecstasy.

  I know she wants a taste of me, a fucking mouthful, because her head meets my tip, and she licks me as I come again. She pushes my cock in her mouth and swallows as I come.