by Marie Wathen
It is time to get lost!
Once out of the shower I dress slowly. Noticing I have more than twenty missed calls and unread text messages, I disregard them all and leave my phone lying on the bedside table. I don't have time for any one's bullshit today, and I don't give a damn that they need me. Starting now, this life will be about what I want.
Sam and Marcus chose a life outside of the family business. Tristan will eventually make that decision too. As for me, I'm expected to take the reins at WC soon. No–not according to my father's plans; he wants me to fall in line behind him on the corporate ladder and do his bidding, but that isn’t everyone's plan. Granddad wants me to skip my father and uncle and preside over the company soon. In order for that to happen, I must first finish my graduate study at Stanford University. Upon graduation, Granddad will retire and I will assume the CEO position.
That was the plan. It no longer fits into what I desire; and what I desire at the moment is women, liquor and other random mind numbing bullshit.
“Vegas it is.”
Desperate to get away from her, my heart accuses.
Grabbing my cell eager to get the hell out of Willow, I aggressively punch in the number for the car service, giving them my location at the marina. I drop the cell back down on the nightstand forcefully, walking away from it and forgetting everyone.
An hour later I'm sitting on the family jet west bound to Nevada and my new freedom. I hate flying, but I'm too damn hung over to drive. I manage to make it through the takeoff just before crawling onto the bed in the back of the plane. My head feels somewhat better, but I am wiped out both mentally and physically. The nausea rolling through my body is from the movement of the plane and the high altitudes – not because the half bottle of bourbon I sopped up trying to drown my anguish. At least that's what I tell myself.
Resting my head on the pillow, watching the blue sky dotted with white gauzy clouds reminds me of crystal blue eyes so light they are nearly white. Releasing a heavy sigh, I mentally curse myself for thinking about Waverly again. I roll to my other side away from the absorbing view.
Like that will fucking get her off my mind.
We lost it all. I can't go back to her. She wouldn't take me back after the things I said to her while crumpled on the ground at my feet. I wouldn't blame her. I am pathetic and need her to do as I told her. Waverly needs to hate me so I can't hurt her anymore. Fluffing the pillow, I wrap my arm around it and after a short replay of last night’s fight I fade to a restless sleep.
Six hours later the cute thirty-something flight attendant wakes me from my short slumber, letting me know that we are landing at Las Vegas International. I thank her, roll off the bed and proceed to toward the main cabin so I can fasten my seat belt. However, the little hottie has something different in mind. She stands in the doorway, both hands resting on the door frame, flashing a devilish smirk, all which effectively blocks my path.
“If there's anything else I can do...” She trails off, licking her wine colored lips and raking her eyes down my body.
She's looking at me with hooded lids and scorching, desire invoking eyes that promise to rock my world. Mm, hell yeah. Moving on is going to be easier than I anticipated. I haven't even gotten off the damn plane yet. Tenderly placing a finger under her chin, I lift it upward to look her in the eyes. Deep brown irises encircled by a black ring with no depth quickly tamps out my desire–because they are not blue. Fuck me.
“Next time Sweetness.” I tease, sliding my thumb down the middle of her throat.
She bites down on her bottom lip and nods before whipping around, displaying her voluptuous ass. Before walking away she flips her long brown hair over one shoulder and glances back at me with a devilish grin. She winks then makes her way to the cockpit. I mentally slap myself for turning down that hot piece of ass. What the fuck is wrong with me? Sex with hoards of women is one of the reasons I came to Vegas, I remind myself. Technically, she wasn't in Vegas, I counter and that's the excuse I go with. I'm a fucking dumb ass who is arguing with himself over sex.
My car is waiting when I disembark the plane and soon we are moving along with heavy traffic on the world famous Vegas Strip. Accustom to all the finer things, I choose the MGM Grand for an unknown duration. The Sky-lofts at The Grand are audacious to say the least and offers exactly what I need to match my new lifestyle.
The private concierge says I was lucky that one of the penthouse suites happens to be available. Apparently Heff's girls canceled their all girl’s trip that was supposed to start today. Too bad. I could have easily persuaded them to share a room. Disappointed, I give them and myself a mental tongue lashing for the last minute cancellation.
Well, with my damn luck, it's a good fucking thing there’s other shit to do in Vegas besides gamble.
When I arrive in my room I notice the call ahead to the personal shopper was pure genius on my part. Several new designer suits along with all the other provisions I will require for the duration of my stay waits for my inspection. I check every detail and after seeing that she clearly followed my specific instructions I’m satisfied with my new start. Needing to relax and forget the bullshit back in Willow, I spend a lengthy amount of time in the luxurious steam shower.
Realizing it has been three, entirely too long days since I was last inside Waverly, I drop my forehead against the clear glass wall and groan through the cascading water, pouring from the large sprayer mounted in the ceiling. The night of the bonfire is the last time I tasted and explored her sweetness. The thoughts of being in her bed with her riding me while her head is thrown back, screaming my name gets me hard instantly. Now I must deal with my growing problem. Ah fuck, she is a damn vision of heaven, riding my cock. I love how every time we fuck and she's escalating in passion toward orgasm she begs me to flip her onto her stomach. In this submissive position (me taking her from behind), I draw out the residuals of her aftershocks and it gives her the most pleasurable physical high. This is Waverly’s favorite position. It drives her wild to climax under me and pleases the hell out of my controlling nature.
Visualizing Waverly needing me to dominate her while I force more pleasure from her body increases my current need for sexual release. Envisioning my greedy hands gripping into the creamy flesh of her hips, moving one hand up the line of her spine and gripping her shoulder to drive my dick in harder while the other hand slips around her waist, my fingers searching out her tiny bundle of sensitive nerves.
Fuck it. I can’t deny myself another second. My cock twitches hard in my fist, imploring with need. Without a woman here to bury myself in, I take matters into my own hands and indulge in self-gratification.
My mind flashes with dozens of images of Waverly’s perfect, little body. Scenes of her writhing under me, the moment I enter her, and then staring into her clear blue eyes just before our oblivion, has me stroking away some of the stress from last night’s fiasco. My hand clutches hard with the numerous memories of my mouth and tongue exploring her sizzling flesh, tasting every inch and comparing her creaminess to the most decadent desserts. In my world, Waverly’s pussy wins every damn time. Now hammering out a pleasurable rhythm, my breathing becomes labored panting, my balls tighten and I twist around, slamming my back against the shower wall. Suddenly the memory of seeing Waverly riding on that mother fucker at the club fuels my rage, increasing my need to come.
I throw my head back and frantically force my fist to move faster. “Mygod, I need you Waverly.” My voice is thick with lust, but my plea is unadulterated truth.
Now focused and determined my body begins to tremble with thoughts of her quivering at my touch instead of his. Adding the passionate scene at the club to leaving her behind, possibly in the arms of another man, and it doesn't take long before I reach a fantastic self-induced high off my release.
“Waverly.” Gutturally groaning and panting, my pleasure slices through the silence of the empty suite. My mind reels at the sated state my body is now in, but it still doesn't compare
to the real thing because I’m nowhere near satisfied.
I finish my shower then towel off quickly. I find a pair of ultra-faded blue jeans and soft light blue long sleeve button down. I am all about a causal look for my first night in Vegas. I spot the expensive Italian footwear lining the bottom of the closet, but opt for the brown cowboy boots instead. I'll save Armani for another night.
After dressing I step into the main room of the quiet penthouse and cross over to the large picture window. I place my forehead against the glass and close my eyes. The dessert nights lower temperatures cool the glass nicely and minutes pass as I absorb the serenity. I couldn't have picked a better night or place to say piss off to everyone and everything.
Running away from responsibility and staying here indefinitely will fulfill my selfish motives. Pleasing everyone else has been my life for nearly twenty-two years. Truthfully, escaping life and staying here may help me figure out what the hell I really want since being an heir no longer fits into my agenda. Until I do figure out what the hell I do want to do with my life, I'm going to play in the biggest sin playground of the world.
Searching the horizon for a sign of answers I reach a conclusion; I don't ever have to return to Willow Island again. I have more than enough money in my trust to stay here. Friends will visit just to experience this ultra-lux life with me. Enjoying the best of the best, every night I'll party with celebrities and drink my way through this notorious town. Strip clubs will have private seating for me with tabletops covered in Cristal champagne and strippers, motivated by my funds will keep me happy. What the hell do I care? Everything I desire will be at my fingertips.
I'll bring hot babes back to my penthouse every night and give them a taste of my sweet life. Scores of women will fill this room. One night stands. Hell yeah. It will be easy pickings, and I can have my flavor choice of the night; creamy to mocha, spicy to saucy, and all the exotics that span the flavor pallet. This is fucking awesome. Seriously, it's so perfect. Nothing will stop me. No responsibilities. I won't answer to a damn soul.
Masking the duplicity of my parent’s agenda, I will finally have true freedom. Freedom and fun, oh, and the other F word; fucking my way up the strip, with no commitments. Strangers toasting the great life–my great life will worship the name Morgan Walker. I’ll stay here for as long as I want. Until I'm done. Then I'll leave it all behind. I'll just fucking go. Hell, I can travel the world living out of suitcases. When I get bored I'll just move to the next scene. There are plenty of women out there waiting, so I'll take my time marveling in as many as I come across.
Waverly
Standing alone still looking out the window I watch the twinkling lights of the passing vehicles, and strobes illuminating the filled hotels on the busy strip below. My life can be summed up in this visual; flashy, busy and on top of the world. Staying here, I can be shameless, alive and living among the elite while sitting right on the top of the world…my world. I could be above all this indefinitely.
Keeping my head pressed against the glass, I turn a bit and the fully stocked bar entices me. I push off the window seal and step up to the cabinet, holding the answer to at least one of tonight's problems. Tipping the bottle, I pour enough to hit the rim of my glass. Careful not to swirl the bourbon and spill one drop of my portal toward happiness, I grasp the filled tumbler and lift it.
Nothing too cliché for me, I always toast to what I desire, “To the fucking great life.”
I gulp half of the burning liquid and then stare down at the remainder.
Smooth, “Only the best.”
Now, to start my life of freedom. On the agenda tonight; dinner and dancing to begin with and ending with screwing a hot babe until daybreak. I will wipe her from my memory, I promise myself.
I walk through the casino lobby, checking out the hotel watering holes. Stopping at one with hoards of people, I push my way through the vibrating crowd in search of the bar. A twenty something guy working his ass off spots me take the only open seat. He's busy as hell so he rushes over to me and leans across.
“What can I get you?” He yells over the pulsating music.
“Domestic draft,” I shout back and he nods.
He fills the frosty mug slowly allowing the foam to crest the rim then drops a cocktail napkin down in front of me, followed by my beer. I instruct him to start a tab then savor my first drink. Draft beer happens to be my drink of choice. Tonight I kick back and enjoy a few, reacquainting myself to the great life.
The vibes at this club are good and I’ve caught the eye of several good looking women, but I'm searching for better than good tonight. My search for something more exciting leads me away from here all too soon, and lands me at the hottest nightclub in the hotel. This old-world tavern replica reminds me of some of the local flare back home in England. This is right where I need to be, I smile.
The atmosphere is electric and it doesn't take long for me to resolve the problem of being alone. Most women are attracted to me like bees on honey and tonight they are buzzing like they love what I’m offering. Three sexy as fuck women give me so much attention every man in the bar is green with envy. I smile at the bastards, mentally flipping them off with both middle fingers.
Welcome to my world mother fuckers.
It is amazing how much better I feel. With the brilliant drink and naughty attention from the ladies, everything is going according to plan. I'll just pace myself and save the other mind numbing shit for another night. I don't anticipate leaving sin city for a while.
Waverly, my mind whispers. I push that thought away with another swig of my beer, and then tug one of the hot babes down onto my lap, grinding my needy dick against her. The great life, I remind myself.
Propelled by the rhythm of the hyper music, I spend most of the night on the dance floor with all three women. They rub their glistening bodies against me miming sex acts that begin to slowly grate on my nerves. I’m not sure what it is, but something about them just isn’t doing it for me. I'm all for girl on girl, but these ladies appear to be professionals. Not to mention I get the feeling that maybe they like my money more than me. Hell, I can't blame them, at the moment I think I do too.
However, as our nasty dancing status grows so does interest in knowing who I am. With each person that asks my name, I become more uncomfortable. Tonight is about getting lost and not being a fucking Walker. I don't give a shit what the ladies call me as long as by the end of the night at least one of them is screaming for me from the rooftop of this goddamn hotel.
The money and beer flow freely through the evening. I drain the last drop of draft beer from my sixth mug and as the alcohol settles, I decide rather than continuing to be a participant that I'll just watch the ladies perform. From my vantage point in the VIP upper level seating I can see the entire dance floor. Upon my absence the three beauties quickly attract several men, taking up where I left off and I find that I'm not bothered in the least with being replaced. As chummy as the ladies are, it appears that if I do end up taking one of them back to my room the other two will follow. I'm not saying I would turn down a foursome. I just think after the way they've performed all night that I may get excluded from the fun, and that shit won't do. I need to get laid. While these new men step in where I left off, I begin looking for an exit.
Scanning the room I notice a large group gathered near the lower level bar. From the chanting it appears that someone is being encouraged to do a shot. With a loud cheer confirming the challenge was accepted, another round of chants erupts, begging for a repeat performance. Curiosity gets the better of me. I rise from my seat and skulk through the wild crowd, needing to identify the shooter like a starving lion searching out dinner.
Approaching the glass-top bar, I notice the crowd begins to dissipate. Spotting an open seat, I sidle up and discover the shooter is an exotic beauty with black hair framing a heart shaped face and a curvy body. Watching her down another shot without encouragement from the dispersed group, I decide to send another her way.
Upon receipt of my gift, she follows the bartender’s finger, pointing in my direction. Her eyes flutter around as she searches out her donator. Finally, her gaze latches onto me and she holds it for just a beat before picking up the shot glass, filled with her preferred liquid poison.
With a wicked smile, she raises the shot glass in the air, offers a salute while mouthing the words thank you and then follows it up with a kiss in the air. Tossing it back without hesitation, she follows up the impressive act with the tip of her pink tongue sweeping out as she licks away a drop that tries to escape. Taken by her boldness, I stall completely mesmerized by her and she catches me staring. Her eyes roam the length of me appreciatively and when they finally stop, her gaze fixates on my lap through the see-through bar top. Her cheeks quickly darken to a hot pink shade, adding to her allure. She is sexy as hell and awakening a deep ache within me. I need to get laid, I remind myself. Shaking her head and lowering her eyes, her smile grows innocent while she appears to reprimand herself for flirting with a total stranger.
Chuckling softly to myself, I can only guess her talent in bed after that seductive symbolic performance with her sexy, little tongue. Having fun appears to be on her agenda for the night too. She could be just the right entertainment to finish out my night. I watch as she turns to the man next to her while her eyes lift once again, locking with mine. She places her mouth against his ear and I watch her lips move with her words. Nodding is the only reaction the bastard has to her nearness while he continues watching a basketball game on the television above his head. The man must be a machine to resist her.
Breaking our eye contact as she rises from her seat, she waves the bartender over. He leans toward her so that he’s able to hear her request, but he indicates with a waving hand toward his ear that he can’t hear over the loud atmosphere. Observing her while she rises on her toes to stretch closer, I smile at her light brown cowboy boots and glance down at my matching set. My smile broadens scanning up those sexy tan legs peeking out from under a fitted, black skirt. I continue to take her in noticing the sexy, white halter top hanging loosely over her shoulders. My breath stalls once again, imprisoned at the sight of her heavy breast pressing against the bar top.
