by Jenna Kelly
He responded with another grunt as his hands grasped her buttocks in an attempt to steady her. She ignored the attempt at control, increasing the pace of her undulating thrusts. She needed this and knew from the low moans beneath her that the giant wouldn't last long.
"Can't hold back," he gasped.
She dropped a frantic hand to rub her stimulated clitoris, sprinting to catch up with him. She heard him croak underneath her and suddenly felt his hot seed splash inside her. Rapid bursts fired against her inner walls. She exploded, too, burying her head against his broad shoulder to drown her low wails of pleasure.
"You're an Angel now, Missy," he gasped as she collapsed on top of his half dressed body. "And you're the best Angel yet."
***
"You want to what?" Big Jack screamed across the bar, his voice rising even above the music. Ignoring the stares from those around him, he used the back of his hand to wipe away the spittle hanging from the bottom of his lips. The staff had more sense than to look across at their boss when he was in this mood, but the sudden stares from customers told him to control his emotions.
That wasn't easy. This redheaded bitch owed him fifty g's and here she was, in front of him, telling him she was quitting the club!
What the fuck was going on? Wasn't it bad enough that he'd been waiting all day for news of Kyle? The gangster had been forced into calling his police contacts and neither had got back to him yet. Something bad had happened, he just didn't know what. Maybe his number two had been taken in for questioning?
Nerves frayed, he sneered at Reagan. "You ain't quitting the club, you bitch," he snapped, pushing his face into hers. "Not with what you owe me. No… fucking… way!"
The fact she didn't actually owe him a cent never entered his mind. The friends who'd taken part in the poker scam had paid him back. Naturally enough, that was the arrangement. Minus a few dollars for their troubles, of course. But that wasn't the fucking point. This dame thought she owed him fifty thousand bucks, and yet she was trying to walk out on him! Trying to make some sort of deal!
She must have shit for brains. No fucking way!
No one crossed Big Jack and got away with it. No one! If they hadn't been in the middle of his club, he'd have her by the throat right now. Make her beg for forgiveness. Well, the fucking bitch would be begging him soon, because he was about to make her life a fucking misery. Just as soon as he found out what was going on with Kyle, she'd get his full attention!
"Listen," he snapped, pushing a finger into Reagan's chest. "I'm the one who—"
"Phone call, Jack." It was a voice from the bar that interrupted him. Pedro. It was a brave thing to do. "Police Department," the bar manager added.
That was code for his contacts at the police. Johnson or Wilson. It meant an unofficial call—something to do with Kyle. At fucking last!
"You fucking stay there," he snarled at Reagan, his face curled in anger as he jabbed a finger into her chest again. "Transfer it to my office," he spat at Pedro, turning on his heels.
***
Tell him in the bar area, Carrie had suggested. That way, he can't try and harm you. Not with witnesses around. That girl was smart. She was becoming a good friend. Despite the fact that she didn't understand what made Reagan tick.
What was it she'd said? You are cut out for this. Watching you dance on stage, seeing you around other men—you come alive, honey. This is what you were made for, we're much more alike than you think.
The spiky haired woman was as wide of the mark as it was possible to get. But her advice on how to deal with Big Jack had been valuable. Stay in the bar until he comes out of his office. Then hit him with it.
The brunette knew her way around, knew the way things worked. She'd been so right. Reagan had never seen her employer in such a rage. How stupid she'd been to think he'd understand. Men like that never understood. He was from the same stable as Charles.
That's why she'd headed for the exit the very moment he turned to take that phone call. Police Department? What was all that about? It didn't matter. She had two choices. Get out of Vegas herself, and keep running. Or let the dust settle, get another job, and hope that Jack would allow her to get on with her life and pay him back over time.
She might talk to David about it if she got to know him a little better. But not yet. She didn't want to scare him off, and she didn't want to burden him either. Maybe Carrie would be able to help her with the next steps?
***
"Know who that is?" Samson Smith drawled to anyone who would listen. He nodded at the thickset man who was walking away from the table. His Ace on the river had been enough to send the Greek packing. "Archie Karas."
"Who's Archie Karas?" the guy in a baseball shirt asked.
Smith sneered. "Who's Archie Karas? Nobody knows?"
A table full of vacant faces stared at him. "Go on, then," baseball shirt told him. "Enlighten us."
The African American took his time, staring around the table. "That man lost two million in California and came to Vegas with fifty dollars in his pocket. Found a backer and tripled the money he'd been loaned."
"You hear stories like that all the time," a young Scandinavian laughed.
"Not like this one," Samson Smith continued. "He paid back the loan, and turned what he had left into forty million. Forty million! Can you believe that? That's a hell of a lot of money now, but can you imagine how much it was in those days?"
"Geez, yes," baseball shirt cut in. "I remember now. Didn't recognise his name but I know the story. He lost it all, didn't he?"
"Lost it all?" the young Scandinavian repeated. "What a loser!"
Samson Smith gave him a withering glare. "Loser? Well, that's one way to put it. But that man took on every one of the top players—Brunson, Moss, Reese—and beat 'em all. At that time, he was the greatest poker player of all time."
"Thought Stu Unger was," baseball shirt said.
"Archie Karas took Unger for almost a million in six months," Smith explained, raising his eyebrows to reinforce the point. "That's how good he was."
The young Scandinavian laughed. "And you've just sent him packing with a bad call and an Ace on the river."
Smith joined in the laughter, glancing at his hand and instantly pushing all-in. "Aggression's the key gentlemen. That's why I have this big stack in front of me. Because I'm willing to bet big and take my chances. No fear of losing. Just think of that before you think of calling, gentlemen—"
They did, the consecutive folds allowing him to rake in the pot. With a superior smile, he tossed his Seven-Two into the middle of the table.
***
"I know, honey," Carrie sympathised, even as her sinewy hips danced in Big Jack's lap. She'd called in to check his reaction to Reagan's decision, only to find he was still recovering from the news of Kyle's demise.
Sex was always such a comfort at times like this, she thought, increasing the pace of her downward jerks. It hadn't taken much persuasion for the gangster to allow her to blow, and then mount him. She needed this as much as he did, though for different reasons. What better time to gain his confidence?
The thrill of being in the car when Kyle was hit, was still with her. The recollection of his jerking body firing the last of his seed into her, even as the assassin blew his brains out, was such a fucking turn-on. She'd already masturbated a couple of times to the thought, and now she was here. Fucking Kyle's employer, knowing it was her information that had led to the hit.
This was all simply too good to be true. She'd cum twice on Big Jack's cock already and a third orgasm was boiling inside her. Enhanced by the coke she'd taken before entering the gangster's office, she felt invincible!
"Someone will pay," the club owner was muttering. "That bastard Samson Smith will pay—I'll make fucking sure of that!"
"Yes, honey," she agreed, feeling another surge of arousal at the thought that this might happen all over again. If she egged the gangster on far enough, he might try something else. She'd tell Sa
mson everything, and make sure she was the instrument again. Maybe she could even find a way to pull the trigger?
She laid back against his chest, increasing her gyrations, her peach-like ass making tight little circles in his lap. Geez, she was cumming again…
"And that bitch," the gangster growled, oblivious to her sexual high and starting to seek his own. "I'll fuck her brains out when I catch up with her!"
His frantic thrusts felt like a rehearsal for what was in store for Reagan. Ramming the brunette down against his legs, his rampant cock burrowed deeper and deeper into her overflowing sex. The dancer loved every brutal touch.
"No fucker walks out on Big Jack," he grunted, letting out a gasp as Carrie flexed her legs and moved in rhythm with his thrusts. "Especially not a fucking dancer who owes me money!"
"Yeah, baby," her vibrating voice gasped. "Fuck the bitch," she encouraged, revelling in his rough treatment and playing her part to perfection. "Fuck her, Jack. Cum inside her, make her yours!"
He grunted, over and over, "Bitch, bitch…" as he pounded the spiky haired woman. Her breasts bounced lewdly with each of his thrusts. He became a fucking machine, whipping her body harder and harder on his lap as he searched for revenge against all the bastards who were attempting to cheat him.
Carrie loved it, the throaty gurgle she gave with each deep thrust increasing in intensity. She arched her back, pushing her shoulders against his. The sweat poured from her. The angry man was fucking her with every ounce of energy he had. It was hard, brutal, and violent—and she loved it.
When he detonated, he screamed "bastards!" at the top of his voice.
Carrie twitched with each burst, the slick muscles tightening each time she sucked another rope of pearly seed. He couldn't stop cumming inside her and her throbbing body milked his manjuice for all she was worth.
Life was so just good right now!
***
Getting the three models naked had energised them. The shoot had been sensational, sex and arousal written over each shot. Each model had been in competition to demonstrate who could be the sexiest and the excitement had built from there. Daryl built another one of his stories with his lens, a tale of three lovers vying for each other's attention.
It was exactly as Kaitlyn had planned. With the surprise she had laid on for Marissa, she needed the young woman to be on a sexual high. And she was. The poses had brought the three of them in constant contact, their oily bodies constantly sliding against one another. Rachel and Jake played their parts to perfection.
Time to ramp up the heat. If this didn't do it, nothing would.
"That's no good," Kaitlyn called from her position beside Daryl. "You're supposed to be three lovers in this story. I need more from you, Marissa. Forget that Jake's Rach's boyfriend, this is a shoot, not a party. Make it real. Jake, sit on the lounger with Marissa. I want to see you kiss her."
The Tom Cruise-like model grinned at Marissa as Daryl raised his eyebrows in silent expectation. "Well," the photographer asked as Marissa hesitated. "What are you waiting for?"
The blonde felt Jake's breath on her lips as he pulled her down onto the rectangular lounger and closed in. His dark eyes were smouldering. She could feel her arousal all the way down to her pussy. Glancing at Rachel out of the corner of her eye, she saw the exotic looking model nod at her.
"Go for it, honey," she breathed, her voice a potpourri of sultriness and sexiness.
In seconds, she had no option. Jake reached behind her head and pulled her mouth against his. Their tongues devoured one another's with an urgent, passionate frenzy that summed up Marissa's need.
"Wonderful, wonderful," Daryl murmured, moving around them, snapping off shot after shot. "More, kiddies. More!"
Marissa had no idea how long he kissed her. It was a long time, but not long enough. She needed this, needed more of it. When Daryl told them to break, Jake's lips pulled away. Marissa let out a soft groan and Kaitlyn acted instantly.
"That was better!" the Agency Head called from their left. Marissa had no idea she was that close. "That's what I want, passion. More, Daryl, more shots. Get in on the act, Rach. Get involved."
Jake's exotic girlfriend was already ahead of the game, ghosting across the white Sterak slabs to the lounger. Marissa saw her coming, her eyes glued to the wonderful breasts that swayed ever so slightly as she covered the distance between them. She remembered what it felt like to cup them, to run her fingers across the hard, dark brown nipples.
Then the warm, chocolate brown skin was brushing against hers. Rachel sank between them and covered her boyfriend's face with her own.
"That's it," Kaitlyn continued to encourage, taking control. This part was premeditated. "Lie back, Jake—that's it," she instructed, her voice alive, keeping up the sexual tension. "Straddle him, Rach—imagine you're fucking!"
Marissa let out a gasp. It combined with arousal. There was imagination required. The model took her boyfriend's fully erect cock and guided it easily into her wet opening. It happened quickly that Marissa couldn't take it in at first.
The Daryl was around the three of them, firing off shots. Kaitlyn was there, too. "Cup her tits from behind, Marissa," she told the blonde model.
Marissa did as she was bid, sliding so that her own swells pressed into Rachel's back. Her hands snaked underneath the other model's arms and up onto her bouncing breasts. She kneaded them and ran her tongue along the chocolate brown shoulder. God, she so needed a cock, too.
Rachel sent a sinful glance over her shoulder and snaked a hand upwards and behind Marissa's neck, pulling her into a sideways kiss. She relaxed her pace to keep her there, slowly undulating on her boyfriend as the two women's tongues jammed down one another's throat.
When Jake let out a gurgling noise, Rachel understood what it meant. Turning her attention back to the man underneath her, she planted both hands in the middle of her boyfriend's chest and went for broke. Marissa jammed her pussy against the thrusting woman's ass, seeking her own orgasm as the dark haired model set about taking herself and Jake to theirs.
***
Statistics indicate that pocket Aces are dealt to a player only once in every two hundred and twenty hands. If that were true, David was long overdue. The pocket rockets in front of him were the first he'd seen in almost two solid days at the Main Event. Remarkably, he hadn't had anything higher than tens.
Making the occasional move had kept himself ticking over. But without any sort of hand he'd been slowly heading backwards. The Aces were timely. This hand was pretty much make-or-break. Double up and he was still in the game. Anything else and the chances were he wouldn't last the day.
His preference was to play them aggressively pre-flop. You either won a little or lost a lot with pocket Aces, right? This time, in early position, he simply flat called. He needed action, it was as simple as that. More accurately, he wanted a raise, so that he could re-raise and isolate someone.
Several calls would likely work against him.
The guy to his left obliged. He was pretty solid, too, so his raise was more than just an attempt to steal the blinds. The raise promised more action. Great! When the Frenchwoman in the Big Blind pushed all in, David knew this was it. In a few seconds his chip stack would, for the first time, be in a healthy position. Or he'd be going home…
He pushed all-in.
The Big Blind thought for some time. With a re-raise and a call, his hand now looked vulnerable. David expected him to fold, but wasn't sure whether he wanted a call. With Aces, he preferred to be heads up. But he needed to triple up and on balance, he was willing to take his chances.
The Big Blind obliged.
With the all-ins announced, David's two opponents turned over Big Slick. His chances had just dramatically increased.
The pause before the flop lasted an eternity. Or so it seemed. Maybe the feeling had something to do with David's Main Event ambitions being on the line?
He needn't have worried. The flop was unbelievably perfect. Nine--Ei
ght--Three.
His two opponents needed runners! King-King.
The Jack on the turn brought a long sigh of relief. As a result of that one hand, his stack had tripled. Effectively, he was back in the game. Not in great shape admittedly, but much healthier than he could have hoped even five minutes ago.
The crystal felt like it was vibrating in his pocket. Perhaps there was something in what his benefactor had told him. When needed, it had come up trumps—
***
"Kaitlyn!" the blonde exclaimed as the Agency Head parked outside of the building. "You never said… I mean… this is yours?"
The sophisticated brunette pointed at the name above the door as the two women walked towards the entrance. Kristen's Adult Movies Inc. "All mine, darling," she smiled, striding through the clinical white reception area. "Evening, Marjorie," she smiled at the dyed blonde behind the desk on her way past. "We'll be in the viewing room."
