ACE: Las Vegas Bad Boys

by Frankie Love

  Looking down at her is a fucking miracle, her mouth filled with me as I thrust deeper in her. And she likes it. I watch as one of her hands slides between her legs. She rubs herself good as I make love to her mouth.

  I don’t know what’s better, her tight pussy or her warm mouth or watching her touch herself. It’s a fucking dream.

  And when I finish, I know she wants more. She stands, her legs still parted, her juice all over her hand. She presses a wet finger to my mouth and I suck what’s on it off. She tastes so sweet and so good, like a fucking honey pot.

  I flip her pretty little self around, ready to pound her from the back, knowing women like it this way, their pussies loving the way my massive rod hits their g-spot when I thrust into them.

  I know Emmy is no different—in fact she is gonna like it more than anyone before her, because this girl is wild in a way I know comes from depriving oneself for far too long. No one is getting deprived tonight. Tonight, everyone goes home fucked and full.

  One look at her round ass, and I feel my cock grow again.

  I roll on another condom and tug her legs farther apart, her back arched and her ass the only thing I see.

  I could take in this view all fucking day, it's so perfect. I push myself into her pussy as her hands and elbows lean against the door for support.

  My hands cup her breasts as I thrust into her over and over again. I ram myself into her nice and hard and I know she likes it. She fucking loves it.

  “Yes, yes, yes, Ace,” Emmy screams, asking for me. So I give it to her. “Ohhh yeah, fuck me Ace. Don't stop. Ever.”

  And then she loses her words, loses her breath. Because as she comes, with me pounding her gorgeous body from behind, her entire being crashes, then resurfaces, as the orgasm passes.

  I pull out as I begin to come, tear off the condom so I can come on her perfect ass. I came in her mouth for her—I’m coming all over her ass for me.

  I’m staking my claim on Emmy Rose and she needs to remember.

  I shoot my seed onto her flesh, liking the way I’m making my mark.

  She won't fucking forget me now.

  11

  EMMY

  He takes a paper towel, wipes my ass clean. I don't mind having his come on me, but the fact that he tries to clean me up feels sincere.

  He may be a womanizer, a player, but at least he didn't treat me like a piece of meat any more than I just treated him.

  “That was amazing.” I catch my breath, pulling down the skintight dress and attempting to adjust myself in the top half of the designer gown.

  “Amazing? Anything else? Because I hate to break it to you baby, but amazing is pretty standard.”

  Ace pulls up his boxers, his slacks. His chest is bare and the tattoo on his collarbone, the bone yard remnants, beg me to come closer. To ask questions. But I don't. Ace can't handle them, probably never has.

  “Don't be an ass,” I say, my chest heaving as I try to regain control of myself. It feels impossible. I'm exposed.

  Maybe I shouldn't have let him fuck me when I was upset. When I was broken.

  But Lord knows if I only fucked when I was put together, I'd never get off.

  “Do you always use guys like this?” Ace cocks an eyebrow at me.

  “And here I thought I was getting fucked by a man.” I smirk, wanting to tease. Knowing that when I do, all traces of my vulnerability are tucked away.

  Ace shakes his head, rubs his hand across his neck.

  “You are fucking unbelievable, Emmy Rose. You know that?”

  “Shush,” I tell him, pressing my finger to his lips. I don't want to go there with a guy like Ace. He isn't safe. He’s dangerous.

  I need secure. Or better yet, I don't need anyone. I've never needed anyone before.

  “I'm taking you out tomorrow night,” he tells me, completely catching me off guard.

  “I work tomorrow.”

  “So? I own this fucking place.”

  I shake my head, not wanting to admit how much I like it when he speaks to me that way. He isn't asking to take me out—he’s telling me.

  I wish I were able to give in to that sort of authority. I wish I was the kind of girl in a position to get swept up—but I’m not. I’m the sort of girl with a sister in the hospital, who needs to be responsible because there’s no one else here to pick up the pieces.

  If I let Ace sweep me away, I'll never land on my two feet.

  I worked my ass off to put myself through college, and I’m working my ass off now to keep my sister alive, so I don't think it’s cute when he tells me I an brush off work. I can't brush off anything.

  “Why didn't you tell me you were Ace Royalle last night?” I asked, taking me turn at keeping him on his toes.

  “I told you I was the Boss.” Ace runs his hands over my shoulders, taunting me with his touch.

  “You lied to me.” My words are hushed, and I don't know why I am even still in this back room. I came here to fuck him, and I did, and now I should go. Now I should walk away and never look back.

  “Would it have changed anything if you'd known?” he asks, taking hold of my chin with his hands. His thumbs stroke my cheeks and I feel my face lean into his hold. “Does it change anything now?”

  “No,” I whisper. “I don't care who you are. I'm not going out with you regardless.”

  Now I am the liar. I blink and then look away, not trusting myself to look in his deep green eyes.

  “Why not?”

  I will myself to look up. Biting my lip, I exhale, then say the opposite of what I mean, “Because you’re everything I don't want.”

  “That's where you're wrong Emmy. I think I’m exactly what you want, and you know it. That's why you ran earlier—you're scared.”

  “Don't talk like you know me.”

  But why does it feel like he does?

  “Then how do you want me to talk to you?” he asks. “Like I want you? Like I need you? I'll talk to you however you like.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you fucking had me at hello.”

  I threw my head back and gave a sharp laugh. “This isn't a romantic comedy, Ace. I'm not Renee Zellwegger and you sure as hell aren't Tom Cruise. This is my fucking life. And I get it—you're some mafia bad boy and made all this money and get pussy everyday of the week—but I don't want a guy like you.”

  Ace shakes his head, not even considering my words. This man is fucking persistent and I don't know why.

  All I know is I like it. A lot or too much or everything and more. I want him to want me. I want him to ask a second and a third time. I don't want him to let me go.

  It isn't about the chase; this isn't a game. This is about never having a man say he wanted me for more.

  “Yes, you do,” he leans his forehead against mine, our bodies quickly pressing together as if it was a ridiculous idea to think anything could keep them apart.

  “I don't,” I whisper, scared. Just like Ace guessed.

  “You do.”

  “I do.”

  And then he covers my mouth with a kiss that fucking takes my breath away.

  A kiss I'd write home about if there was a family waiting for me.

  ACE

  We fucked last night.

  We'd fucked harder tonight.

  But this? This is different.

  I swear Emmy is a kaleidoscope—every time I turn the lens a whole new color pours out of her. She'll be fire red or the saddest shade of blue. She'll turn crystal clear with the flick of the wrist, and then just like that she'll be melting in my arms, a puddle of tender purples, all bruised and broken, just wanting to be carried somewhere safe.

  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 t
he 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.

  “Where the hell have you been?” Claire asks Emmy as we find our way to a leather couch in the dimly lit club. I love that Emmy sits right down on my knee like she was fucking made to perch there for me.

  I meet her eye and she gives a small pouty shrug, as if knowing I'd love this choice of hers. I swear this woman has mastered the art of the sexy shrug. It gets me hard just watching her, not to mention the fact that her bare pussy is just inches from my covered cock.

  “We were busy having a discussion,” Emmy tells her friend, pursing her lips. “A work-related discussion. Very serious.”

  “Yeah, work discussion my ass,” Jack says, raising his beer in our direction. “Good to see you again, Emmy. This asshole treating you okay?”

  “I'd say so,” she answers, keeping her cards close.

  Landon hands us both tumblers of whiskey, neat, and I clink my glass against Emmy's.

  The smile spread between us lasts for only a minute.

  “What the fuck is that bastard doing here?” Landon asks, pointing across the club.

  Frank Grotto is making his way through the crowded room, headed straight toward me. He has a posse with him, all suited up. None of them should be here, and they know that.

  It's not cool to show up on my turf uninvited.

  “I'll get a bouncer to deal with him,” McQueen says, quickly assessing the situation.

  My hands are clenched, my body stiff. Two times in two days, this asshole shows up in my domain.

  “Fuck that, I can deal with him on my own,” I say, standing as Grotto approaches us.

  “You got a fucking PI following me?” Grotto asks.

  “It's none of your business what I do,” I say. I'm impressed Trenton followed through so quickly. We spoke briefly this evening about what I need—dirt on Grotto—and already he’s trailing him … though apparently he's being pretty obvious about it.

  “I think it is. And I think you'd be wise to pay a little closer attention to what I do, Bullet.”

  Emmy gasps at this exchange, and I shoot her a look, knowing my woman needs to keep quiet, otherwise she'll get hurt.

  The whole table around us has stilled, watching this showdown.

  “Besides,” Grotto continues, smugly. “I think Trenton is gonna be quiet for awhile.”

  “What did you do to him?” I ask, grabbing him by the collar of his suit.

  “I don't let pieces of shit follow me around, unlike you.” Grotto takes in the people who surrounded me. All my closest friends, and Emmy's too.

  “Fuck you,” I say, pushing him away. Landon, McQueen and Jack have my back, arms crossed, not letting these men intimidate us.

  “I'm out.” Grotto says, hands reaching for something in his pocket.

  For a split second I think it's a gun he's going after, but that’s just my past haunting me. Men like Frank Grotto are smarter than that. They aren't willing to go to jail for shit—they like money and power. None of those things are available behind bars.

  He pulls out a phone, flips it on, and brings the screen to my face.

  “Looks like your PI is out, too,” Grotto says, spitting the words in my face.

  It's a picture of a man, face covered in blood. Shot to the heart. It's from the online new source Vegas Weekly.

  “I'm gonna fucking get you for this,” I tell him.

  “I'd like to see you try, Bullet. I'd like to see you try.”

  EMMY

  I'm trying not to hyperventilate as I wa
tch Grotto and his posse leave the club. It's hard, though. Every inch of my skin is trembling. Every muscle in my body is screaming at me to run.

  I meet Claire’s and Tess’s eyes, searching, hoping they have hidden telepathic talents. And that I do, too.

  I need out of here. Now.

  They seem to register my panic, because they stand, grabbing their clutches and my hands. Leading me away as Ace tries to stop us.

  I don't pause. I can't.

  “Just keep walking, okay?” I tell my friends. They must see the panic written all over my face because they don't ask questions. They just do as I say. These girls are the best friends I could ever ask for.

  I need to tell them everything as soon as we get somewhere safer.

  When Grotto said the name Bullet the first time, I thought I misheard him.

  But then he said it again.

  Bullet. The same person my sister Janie was texting the day of her crash. The name of the person who picked her up. Who was driving the car.

  Ace, the man who put my sister in a coma.

  Ace, the man I slept with, the man I wanted to save me. The man I considered changing all my rules for.

  Ace, the man who walked away from the scene of the crime.

  Ace, the man I need to walk away from now.

  12

  ACE

  I tell the bouncers to shut the club down for the night. I don't trust Frank Grotto not to make a scene, and I fucking need the people at Spades Royalle to be as safe as possible. They are my number one concern.

  Frank walks away, his eyes on me. He just had a fucking PI murdered as a message for me to back the fuck off.

  He says he has shit on me, on my family, and fuck, yeah, it scares me. Scares the shit out of me.

  I know I'm not supposed to say that. Not supposed to show my fear—but I don't want to go back to where I came from, and it seems Grotto is fucking hell-bent on trying to make me.

  “It's bullshit,” Jack says, scanning the club as it empties out. “He can't fucking walk in here like that. Threaten you. You're fucking Ace Royalle.”