by Celia Loren
Addison let him kiss her briefly, then moved away from him. She just wanted to let loose tonight. If the Reapers were planning on turning her over, she at least wanted her last night to be fun. She closed her eyes, letting the music wash over her, and moving her body unthinkingly to the rhythm. Cutler stopped moving, entranced by Addison’s body and the hypnotic way she moved. Her body looked amazing in that dress, and her hair fell over her breasts, lit up by the colored lights of the club. She was mesmerizing. He didn’t understand her, and that made her even more intriguing to him. This seemingly timid little British girl kept surprising him, and all he knew was that he wanted her.
He walked over to her and slid his hands around her ass. Addison’s eyes flew open and she smiled up at him. He guided her from side to side, then dipped her backward, and she slowly peeled her body up his. Cutler ran his hand down her neck to her chest, then back around her waist. She leaned up to kiss him again, gently parting his lips with her own, and playfully flicking her tongue into his mouth. The shots were starting to catch up with them...
“Let’s get some air,” she whispered in his ear. She took his hand, and they made their way across the rest of the dance floor toward the balcony. She felt the breeze as they stepped outside, and made their way to the railing. They leaned against it together, looking out over the strip. Another casino was visible to their right, and then the lights began to fade out past that. Addison wondered what was out there—maybe just more mountains like she’d seen on the ride from the airport. She really didn’t know much about this country she was in, and hoped she’d have some time to come back one day and explore those mountains, and all that sand.
Cutler leaned against her. She seemed lost in her thoughts, and he didn’t want to bother her. He still couldn’t get a read on her tonight. He looked around. The place was packed, even on a Sunday night. Dallas and Greyson were probably right, though. Devlin and the Mafia wouldn’t be able to do anything in front of all these people, and if it made the Reapers feel like they were accomplishing something and blowing off a little steam, fine. Addison turned around, leaning her back on the railing.
“When I was fourteen,” she said, “my mum told me about some professional basketball player that smoked a joint when he was in high school, and then like, four years later, he dropped dead of a heart attack in the middle of a college game. This amazing athlete, in his physical prime, all because he’d smoked this one joint, years ago. How the medical examiner figured out that link, I’ll never know. But it scared me so much that I’ve never done anything more than try a cigarette, one cigarette, on my friend Jeanna’s 21st birthday.”
Cutler raised his eyebrows at her, waiting for her to continue.
“I guess what I’m saying is…I want to smoke the doobie.”
Cutler laughed out loud, and people near them turned to see what was going on.
“Shhh!” Addison cautioned. “I don’t want to get in trouble.”
“Just promise me you’ll never call it that again. Pot. Weed. Not doobie. Where did you even hear that?” Cutler asked, wiping his eyes.
“I don’t know…a movie, maybe. I thought that was what Americans said. How do we get some? Do you have a contact?”
“I’ll do you one better,” Cutler said, smiling as he pulled a joint from the front pocket of his t-shirt. Addison gasped.
“Have you had that with you this whole time?”
Cutler nodded. “I smoke now and then… I’d forgotten I had it in here until you said something. You sure you want to do this? You're not too drunk? This shit'll give you the spins if you're too drunk.”
Addison nodded emphatically back at him. “Fuck it, I could be dead tomorrow. How sad would that be to die and never have tried a drug besides Aspirin before?”
He took her hand, and led her along the railing to a corner of the balcony where a large potted palm provided a little coverage. They sat knee-to-knee on a lounge chair facing outward. Cutler took a lighter from his back jeans pocket and, placing the joint between his lips, sucked air through it as he held the flame to its end. As it started to smoke, he took a hit, and passed it to Addison. She took it from him, a little gingerly, and placed it between her lips. She held it delicately as she took a breath in, and immediately began coughing.
“Oh, shit,” she said, between gasps. Cutler smiled, and rubbed her back.
“Sorry, I should have warned you.” She waved her hand at him, and he took the joint back from her and took another hit.
“I can’t believe you’ve never done this before, I thought that's what college was all about.” he said. She shrugged, and he passed the joint back to her.
“I guess I was always sort of the ‘good girl,’” Addison explained. “Salem was always trying to get me to loosen up—or corrupt me, as my parents thought. I know she went through sort of a rough patch in high school, but it seemed like she settled down, found herself, with Kyle. Hey, you weren’t at their wedding, were you? No, I would have remembered.” She took another hit off the joint, and just managed not to cough.
“Oh, yeah?”
“I mean, come on. You’re a six-foot something biker.”
“There were lots of bikers there,” Cutler pointed out. “Big ones.”
“Yes…but they were quite hairy, and not so…”
“What?” Cutler asked her with a playful glint in his eye.
“Good-looking! OK? Good-looking. Is that what you want to hear?”
“Yep, that's what I was lookin’ for.” Cutler said, pulling a long hit off the joint. “Kyle knew I was still messing around with my old club. He didn’t want me around until I was ready to commit to leaving it.”
“He seemed like a good man.”
“He was.”
Addison took the joint from his hand and raised it to her mouth.
“You sure you want to do that?” Cutler asked. “It doesn’t hit you right away.” Addison shrugged and took another drag.
“It doesn’t really matter.” He said.
“What?”
Cutler looked at her out of the corner of his eye.
“After I got in that bar fight that gave me this scar, I was in this clinic getting stitched up. I was alone. None of my brothers at the time showed up for me. Doctors weren’t sure if I would ever regain my vision in that eye. I would like to say that was my lowest point, but after that, I went out even harder. Like I had a death wish—nowhere lower to sink to. I was trying to put my finger on what you reminded me of tonight, and it was that. Even though it looks different than what I did, and you’re joking around and all, getting in fewer fights than I did back in the day, that’s what it reminds me of.”
Addison felt herself stiffen up. She’d put a fun little veneer over what she’d been feeling, but he’d seen right through it.
“I’m not stupid, Cutler,” she said quietly. “Just a fun night out at the casino owned by the Devlins? You’re planning on giving me up tonight. I get it. I’m a liability. But you could have told me to my face. I told you I wouldn’t go anywhere. So whatever, it’s my last night to have fun. My last night to do anything, so I might as well do it.” She tossed the joint on the ground and walked quickly across the balcony and into the club’s interior.
“Wait, Addison!” Cutler called after her. Fuck. How could he make her believe him? He would never let the Devlins take her. He crushed the still-lit joint beneath the toe of his boot and followed her back into the club’s interior. He made his way through the dance floor, looking around for Addison. He spotted Dallas on a pay phone by the men’s room, and shouted to him, “You seen Addison?” Dallas shook his head, no.
Cutler walked back to the tables of Reapers. They were really making a scene now. Ajax had managed to corral a bunch of hot young women to come back to their table and share their drinks. A couple of the Reapers had already paired off with them and were making out in shadowy corners, and the rest were whooping it up at the tables. Cutler sank into the booth next to Greyson, who was nursing a
whiskey. Cutler took it from him and knocked the rest of it back.
“Woah, take it easy there,” Greyson said, pouring himself another drink.
“You seen Addison?” Cutler asked. Greyson pointed the edge of the dance floor, where Addison was grinding between two very douchey-looking young men. Cutler groaned, and drank the lowball that Greyson had just poured for himself.
“Fuck, man,” Greyson said, pouring himself yet another drink. “This one’s mine.” Cutler reached for the tequila and poured himself a couple fingers worth into a glass. “Don’t get too attached,” Greyson said cautiously.
“I’m not,” Cutler responded shortly.
“What do you think she’s going to do after this? Let’s say the Devlins back off and she’s free, you think she’s just going to hang out here and play house, maybe jump on the back of your bike for weekend rides? She doesn’t seem the type.”
“She’s not. That’s why I like her.”
Cutler felt the alcohol and pot beginning to work on him, and let the sounds of the club meld together until they became like one continuous song. It looked like the whole gang was here now, and he saw the bartenders and bouncers eying this group of bikers nervously. The Devlins had to know they were here by now. Probably did piss them off to know that they were in their own casino and they couldn’t touch them. They’d have to be careful when they were leaving tonight—that’s when they’d be the most vulnerable, in the parking garage. They’d have to leave in a big group, make it very public, for it to be safe.
He glanced over his shoulder to look for Addison. She was leaning over the bar, and one of the male bartenders was pouring shots for the two of them. He watched as they did the shot together, and the bartender reached over to touch Addison’s cheek. He turned back around, unable to watch anymore. Well, if Addison wanted to have a good time tonight, fine. He’d have a good time, too. As if on cue, one of the girls Ajax had lured over plopped herself down on his lap.
“Whoops! Sorry, I just tripped over my friend’s bag,” she said, not moving. “I’m Lydia, by the way.”
“Cutler,” he said, sliding his arm around her, and admiring her body. She was spilling out of her top, and her jeans were painted on. She tossed her blonde hair behind her and ran her fingers through it.
“Cutler,” she repeated, “that’s a sexy name. So, do you guys come here a lot?”
“Not really.”
“Me either. I’m visiting with my girlfriends from Phoenix. That’s my friend Stacy,” she said, pointing to a girl wearing a plastic pink tiara, and falling all over herself, “she’s getting married next weekend so this is, like, her bachelorette party weekend. God, you’re hot.” She ran her hand up and down his arms. “You must go to the gym, like, all the time.”
Cutler glanced back toward Addison. The bartender was now whispering something in her ear. He saw her glance up and they made eye contact. Did Addison frown slightly?
“Hey, are you listening to me?” Lydia prodded him.
“Yup. I don’t go to the gym, really. I work construction.”
“That is so hot. OK, I’m going to tell you my room number, but I don’t want you to think I’m some kind of slut…”
Cutler looked up as Addison appeared by their table, holding a drink tray.
“Sir, I’m so sorry to bother you,” she said, “but there seems to be a problem with your bike.”
“Oh, really?” he asked her, not moving.
“Yes. Some young hooligans have vandalized it, I’m afraid, and you’re going to have to come with me immediately.”
“Hey, how come you’re not wearing black like the other servers?” Lydia slurred.
“I’m…the manager,” Addison countered. “I’m so sorry to break this up, but the hooligans have spray-painted some really atrocious things on your bike, and the hotel can’t have such profanity just sitting in its parking garage. You’re going to have to come with me.”
“You heard the lady,” Cutler said, lifting Lydia off his lap and standing up.
“Thank you, sir. Please follow me.” Addison walked off toward a corner of the club with more tables, away from the dance floor.
“Nice to meet you, Lydia,” Cutler said as he followed Addison. Addison led him to a corner of the club with an unoccupied table, partially hidden with a floor-to-ceiling curtain.
“Is this where my bike is, ma’am?” Cutler asked innocently.
“Sit,” Addison commanded, pointing to a chair.
“Where did you get that tray?” Cutler asked, as she tossed it on a table.
“Took it from the bar.”
“Stealing…tsk tsk,” Cutler jokingly admonished her. Addison walked up to him and pushed him down into the chair. “You’re drunk.”
“So are you,” she whispered to him. Her eyes were a little glazed over, but still bright, and alive with energy. He leaned forward and took her face in his hands.
“I would never give you up,” he whispered back.
“Shut up,” she said, and sat down on him, straddling him with her legs. She kissed him, hard, and Cutler wrapped his arms around her, feeling himself get hard. She pulled her mouth away from his, and began moving on top of him to the music. Cutler leaned back and watched her body. The sides of her breasts were visible in the low-cut “v” of her dress, and he leaned forward and ran his mouth along the edge of the fabric. Addison ran her fingers through the hair on the back of his head as he delicately kissed her neck.
Then she stood up over him, and slowly sank down, rubbing her body down his chest. Cutler groaned, and she stood and turned around, taking his hands and wrapping them around her waist. She sat back down on him and circled her hips on his cock. She could feel how hard he was through his pants, and she loved feeling in control. She felt lightheaded from the weed, but so alive, like every sensation was magnified. She leaned back onto him, and Cutler kissed her neck.
Addison felt herself getting wet as he pulled and nibbled on her earlobe. He slipped one hand under the fabric of her dress and slid it across her nipple. He firmly massaged her breasts, letting his fingers cross her nipple. She relaxed into him, and turned to kiss him again, parting his lips and circling his tongue with hers. She ran her hand down the top of his pants, feeling his engorged dick. She pushed down on it, feeling the outline of it beneath the denim.
“I want to fuck you right here,” she whispered throatily, and let her hand move to the top of his zipper. Suddenly they heard a glass break, and Cutler snapped his head to the side. They could see through the gauzy curtain that there was a commotion at the Reapers table. Cutler leaned over and kissed her quickly.
“Hold that thought,” he said. Addison stood up, and Cutler rushed back through the club to their table, Addison close behind him. Ajax and a beefy Jersey type were circling each other, and the Jersey guy’s friends were behind him, egging him on. A glass lay in shards on the floor, and they were crunching the pieces underneath their feet as they moved.
Cutler moved quickly through the people around them and got in between them, arms stretched out.
“Everybody calm down,” he ordered, glancing toward the bouncers by the front door, who were speaking into their radios.
“This prick spilled my drink!” the Jersey guy yelled. Cutler turned toward Ajax.
“Apologize,” he growled.
“Oh, come on,” Ajax protested.
“The club doesn’t need this right now. You don’t need this right now,” Cutler said. He watched Ajax’s jaw clench, then relax.
“Fine, look, I’m sorry man, I’ll buy you and your friends a round.”
“Fuck it,” the Jersey guy said, waving him off as he retreated with his friends. Cutler clapped Ajax on the back, as the Reapers surrounded them, pulling them back into the party. Addison watched him, smiling, and Cutler reached out to her, grabbing her hand and pulling her to him. Dallas came up to them and draped his arms around their shoulders.
“Looks like you two could use a little privacy,” he sa
id. “Here,” he continued, producing a room key out of his pocket.
“Don’t you want it for you and Greta?” Cutler asked. Dallas looked away.
“Naw, she couldn’t make it tonight. You guys take it. I already paid for it.” Cutler took the key card, turning it over in his hand.
“That’s so nice of you, Dallas,” Addison said.
“Well, I know I gave you a hard time at first, but you seem all right,” Dallas mumbled.
“I don’t know if it’s safe,” Cutler said. “They know we’re here by now, so we all need to stay together, leave together.”
“I put it under a fake name—how’re they gonna know?”
Cutler wondered if he should protest more, but Addison looked so good in that dress, and he was having a hard time thinking straight between her, the weed, and the booze.
“All right, thanks man. We’ll see you later. Don’t leave without us.”
“'Course not,” Dallas said, as Cutler began to lead Addison off to the club’s entrance. “Hey…” Cutler turned back, but Dallas didn’t say anything else. He shook his head then continued, “Never mind. Have fun.” Cutler nodded, and he and Addison snaked their way through the crowd to the glass doors.
He pulled her hand around his waist and then draped his arm across her shoulders. They walked in silent anticipation around the balcony that circled the lobby to the elevator bank on the opposite side. They both stared straight ahead. Addison wondered how it was possible that the people she passed couldn’t tell how much she wanted this man. She felt like she was radiating heat. She tried to keep her expression calm and poised.
They arrived at the elevator bank and Cutler looked at the paper slip around the key card to the room number drawn in pen, 1632. He pressed the elevator button and the doors slid noiselessly open. He pressed the button for the sixteenth floor and teasingly leaned into Addison, his mouth just millimeters from hers. Addison parted her lips and smiled up at him.
“How ‘bout I fuck you right here?” he whispered, picking up the hem of her dress and running his thumb along the front of her thigh. Addison felt a jolt of desire run through her, almost taking her breath away.
