KING: Las Vegas Bad Boys (2 page)

C
laire may be no-nonsense
—but she’s also rather hot. Her platinum-blonde hair and always-on bright red lipstick make her an absolute bombshell.

So why have I never attempted to shag her before? Mostly because Ace told me if I so much as tried, he would murder me. And considering he grew up in the mob, I tend to believe him.

And, secondly, Claire isn’t my typical conquest. She’s ... well, how do I put it? She’s quite adult. I’ve been out with her and the crew numerous times, but she’s never gotten drunk, never let any bloke get too close—certainly never gone home with anyone. She always pays her own tab and doesn’t chat about trivial things, like the celebrity sightings in the casino that get Tess and Emmy all bubbly.

She is, like I’ve said, much more mature for her age than I’ve ever been—than I am. Fuck. I’m twenty-seven, and a completely worthless asshole compared to her. And yet, as I lead Claire to the dance floor, I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to sleep with her.

She isn’t a stick-up-her-ass adult, mind you. She’s clever. And funny. And gorgeous. She’s just not frivolous. Which is actually quite an appealing combination.

She just seems a bit out of the league I usually play in.

Which isn’t to say I can’t have her. Ace is going to be off with Emmy, headed to a honeymoon in the South Pacific. He doesn’t bloody well need to know about Claire and me having a little post-wedding rendezvous.

“So, Claire, how are you this evening?” I ask, wrapping an arm around her waist. I’ve never been this close to her before, and as she places one hand on my shoulder and takes my hand in other, I can’t help but think that I like the way she fits against me.

I’m rather tall and lean, whereas Claire is average height and her body is quite slight—narrow shoulders, not curvy or voluptuous.

Rather, Claire is a classic beauty, save for her bright blonde hair. Still, even with her loud hair, she isn’t gaudy and excessive. And besides her signature red lips, there’s little make up on her face. Her skin is naturally bronzed from plenty of time in the Vegas heat, and her eyes are bright, alive. A gorgeous green.

And, being this close to her, I’m actually quite taken by the way she hums along with this old jazzy tune. The way her body seems to rest into mine as we glide over the dance floor. And she actually appears to know how to waltz. I haven’t waltzed in years—not since they forced us to learn at the boarding school mum and dad sent Geoffrey and me to—yet we’ve unconsciously found a rhythm.

“Are we waltzing?” I ask Claire, leaning close. My lips graze her ear as I speak, and a smile finds its way across my usually sharp and sarcastic face. Fuck, this woman smells amazing, too—honeysuckle and vanilla—and I would inhale her if that weren’t a very creepy thing to do in public.

Claire lets out a sigh, and I swear she’s just breathed me in, too. “I was obsessed with learning these stuffy dances when I was a girl. Forced my mother to get me lessons at a dance hall where a very old woman named Mrs. Macarthur taught me. No one else knows how to waltz. But you do,” she says, crinkling her eyes in surprise as we continue to float across the room.

“I do. I know quite a lot of things, actually.”

“What else do you know, Landon, blackjack player extraordinaire and self-proclaimed asshole?”

“Fucking bullocks. You already know all there is to know about me. I’m just a washed-up Englishman far from home.”

“You’re all talk, Landon,” Claire says, smirking. Her lip curls in such a teasing way that I’m sure when she’s in a bedroom she knows exactly how to play. “I heard you’ve taken the lead with the property investment that Ace was wrapped up with. That isn’t something a washed-up Englishman would do.”

“I suppose.” I shouldn’t be surprised Claire knows about the property, I’m sure Emmy tells her everything. “But I don’t even know what I’ll do with that half-burned down space.”

“I’m sure someone as smart as you will figure it out.” Claire squeezes my hand as the song comes to an end, and suddenly I don’t want to let her go.

I want to take off her dress, if I’m being honest.

We stand on the dance floor, arms still holding one another, and the MC calls everyone to watch as Ace and Emmy cut their cake.

I swallow, all of a sudden wanting Claire so badly. I want to see her glowing skin bare, her blonde tresses pulled down, my hands running over all of her.

Fuck. My cock twitches in desire.

Claire turns her head, and I follow her gaze. We watch as Ace and Emmy cut their cake, shoving it in one another’s faces. It’s sugary sweet, the entire thing.

“Do you want to go somewhere with me?” I ask Claire.

“Is it somewhere less ... I don’t know ... perfect?” She looks around the ballroom filled with bouquets of red roses—Emmy’s signature flower. There are piles of decadent food and glossy people and flawless ambience. “It’s an awful lot to take.”

I see then that the reason Claire doesn’t have eyes all starry like Tess and Ashley is because she’s jaded, bruised. Not like Emmy—not because of a sordid past full of drugs and whatnot. No, Claire has had her heart broken and she can only take so much love-at-first-sight nonsense.

Good. She’s even better to take to my suite than I thought. She won’t get clingy after tonight. She isn’t looking for forever, because she doesn’t believe in it.

“I’m taking you to my room, and we’re going to fuck ourselves silly. It won’t be rose petals and love notes. It will be hot sex, just one night.”

“I can’t do one night,” she says, and for a moment I wonder if I’ve read her all wrong. But then she licks her lips, smiles. “I can only do one hour.”

* * *

I don’t do hook-ups, mostly because the guys who offer them are creeps at the casino. And Landon is a casino junky, and an absolute no-go as far as boyfriend material is concerned. To be honest, what I’m really looking for is father material.

But I can’t help but feel myself get hot at the idea of his hands on my skin, his body pressed tight to mine ... oh, God, I’ve never been with anyone as sexy as Landon.

Those regular shmoes I’ve been dating don’t have ripped muscles and strong jawlines and absolutely panty-wetting accents. Beer bellies are kind of a guarantee.

Landon does not have a beer belly. He has a rock-hard chest, at least from what I could tell as he led me around the dance floor.

“Well,” Landon says. “If you can only spare one singular hour, we’d best be getting on.”

“We should wait until they’re off, shouldn’t we?”

“Look,” Landon says, pointing at the happy couple. “They’re ready for their wedding night to begin as much as we are. Watch.”

The MC directs everyone to wish the bride and groom a happy life, as Emmy tosses her bouquet into the crowd. Tess dives for it. Bless her heart, of course she does.

Then Ace sweeps his bride up in his arms and they’re off, toward the helicopter on the top of the casino, to the airport and Tahiti and most likely ridiculously amazing beach sex.

I’m not jealous, I’m just really, really horny all of a sudden. Standing so close to Landon is getting me all bothered.

Reaching for a flute of champagne that a waiter carries on a tray, I take a swig of liquid courage. I need it. Before today’s spa with Tess and Emmy, I hadn’t been properly trimmed down there in well, years.

To say I’m a bit rusty in the sex department is an understatement. Sex with hotties is never on my priority list. That’s usually taken up with Kindergarten drop-off and bedtime stories.

So. Okay. The truth is I haven’t had sex with anyone since Sophia was born.

Five years ago.

Sex is never on the agenda. And most of those guys I date don’t get past second base. Because if isn’t going to be the real deal, I don’t have time to waste.

“Let me grab my purse and you can do with me whatever you like.”

I mean it. I need it. I don’t even know if I know how to do it anymore. But for one hour, I want to try and remember.

Landon slides an arm across my back, smoothly guides me to our table where I grab my clutch, then expertly holds the door for me as we walk to the bank of elevators.

I don’t know how these hook-ups work. But from the looks of it, Landon is a player, a bad boy, who knows exactly how they operate.

If I’m going to have sex for the first time in an embarrassingly long time ... I’m actually very glad it’s with someone like him.

Someone who’s not a man I’d ever bring home, not a man I’d ever sleep with twice. Not a man I’d give more than one hour, one time.

“
A
re you nervous
?” I ask, tossing my suit coat on a chair in the corner. Claire bites her lip, seemingly very out of her element.

We’re standing in my suite. I’ve gotten myself a permanent space here, set up courtesy of Ace. Considering what I spend a month at the casino, the room rate is a joke. Being able to call myself a serious blackjack player—which is an oxymoron in and of itself—is a perk of being the son of a diamond tycoon.

“I just ... I haven’t done this in a while.”

“Done what?” I ask, my brows furrowing as I pop the cork on a bottle of champagne. It’s all she drank tonight, and the moment I let her in my room, it was clear she needs to loosen up some more.

Pouring a glass, I hand it to her, and she looks up at me with those piercing green eyes.

“It’s been
a
while
.” She shrugs, dropping her eyes to the floor.

“Ahh.” This is quite shocking, actually; Claire is confident and drips sex appeal. She’s classic and smart—and hell, her legs in those fishnets she wears around the casino each day ... there’s no way men aren’t shagging her left and right.

“I don’t know why I told you that. That was stupid. I
want
to do this. With you. I need to do this. I never do anything for myself. And so, I shouldn’t be weird about it. Or nervous. Right?”

Rambling women usually give me a headache, but Claire’s rambling reveals a softer side to her that I’ve never seen before. It’s actually quite precious.

“Claire, relax. It’s me. I’m not a stranger. And this is just sex. At least for me it is. Is that the problem? You want this to be ... more?”

“Oh, God no,” she says, so emphatically I actually start to laugh. My ego is impossible to bruise—but I do, however, appreciate her honesty. “This is for one hour. Only.”

“Got it, one hour,” I say. “And if you’re apprehensive about your ... err, skills ... I can take control of the situation.”

Claire swallows a sip of champagne and nods eagerly. “Yes, just—please, Landon, don’t make me feel like a idiot.”

“Never.”

I take the flute from her hand and set it on the table. Then I wrap my arms around her and find the zipper of her dress. I slide it down, inch by inch, and feel my cock grow in desire as the dress gives way and falls to the floor.

Claire takes a sharp indrawn breath, suddenly naked save for the strapless bra and tiny thong crossing her soft skin.

“You are divine,” I tell her.

“Shut up.”

“You are. Now don’t be coy with me.”

Her hands reach to the collar of my dress shirt and she slowly eases off my tie. It falls between her fingers as she drops it to the floor. Button by button, she moves her fingers down my chest. I tug off the shirt once she’s finished.

“Now the trousers,” I direct.

A soft smile plays on her face; she tugs on my belt, whipping it from the loops. It hits the floor, and she quickly unbuttons my pants. I know she’ll get wet when she sees what I have for her.

My cock is thick and massive, the kind a girl like Claire, who hasn’t been properly fucked in far too long, is going to love.

My trousers fall to the floor and my hard rod has sprung to life under my boxers.

“This is really happening,” Claire says, her voice full of soft surprise.

“Do you want it to happen?”

“Badly.”

I unclasp her bra and her perfect tits fall out. They are full and round, with faded stretch marks on the sides, reminding me that Claire is a fucking woman. Her breast are gorgeous and her hard little nipples beg me to lean in, kiss her skin.

She inhales as my lips reach her breast; her flat stomach pulls in as she holds her breath.

“It’s okay, Claire. You’re perfect.”

The tiniest hint of insecurity flashes over her body. Her hips pivot; her head turns away for a moment. I cup my hands on her face, reflexively, holding her still. Not wanting her to look away. I want to fuck her, sure. But I also want her to know it’s perfectly okay to enjoy it.

* * *

Tiny memories of the last time I had sex flash though my mind. Sophia’s father’s rough voice, bruises and tequila and shattered glass. A much younger me, a much stupider me.

Nothing about that night was soft. Not like this. Not like now. Landon may be a player ... but he isn’t treating me like a piece of meat. I think I knew that, deep down, the moment he started leading me around the dance floor.

He’s an ass, for sure—he sleeps with a different woman every night—but he’s also a decent man. He’s trustworthy, solid.

He knows how to waltz.

And, right now, I have to admit he is being a gentleman. That’s something I never thought I’d say about Landon, yet with his hands on my body and his hot breath in my ear, I know it’s the truth.

“Let yourself enjoy this, Claire,” he says, kneeling before me, his hands on the sides of my panties, tugging down the fabric, over my thighs, past my knees, to my feet.

I swallow, realizing this is really happening. The very thing I thought might never happen again is happening. I’ve been terrified of sleeping with someone again and getting pregnant on the first try, but it’s obvious Landon is the kind of bad boy who makes sure accidents don’t happen.

Landon’s face presses against my flesh, where my thighs meet my opening, and soft kisses flutter over my sensitive skin. I groan, my eyes closing, and instantly wish I’d been silent.

But Landon seems to respond to my voice. His mouth covers my mound, and his tender kisses become heated, and soon his hand slides between my thighs, inching my legs apart. His hand caresses my skin, grazing the lips of my entrance.

“Over here,” he says, standing and grabbing my ass, lifting me with what appears to be zero effort and laying me on the edge of the bed. He kneels on the floor, pulling my knees toward him, parting my legs as I try to catch up to what is happening.

The bedspread is soft and luxuriant, the light dim, a soft glow cast about the room. Landon’s face is covered in shadows that give him an even sexier, dark, and handsome look. His edges are hard, but his hands are so soft.

His head lowers between my legs, his mouth pressing into me. He licks my pussy up and down, fast, and then slips his tongue into me, slowly. He holds my thighs in his arms, as if he knows just how to maneuver my body into his face, so that he can get in me with the perfect mounting pressure.

My pussy drips, and I know I said it’s been a long time since anyone has touched me like this, there. But the truth is, I’ve never had a man kiss me this way.

This? This is a melt on the bed, better-than-my-vibrator,
I’ll never be the same again
sort of kiss. There is no way that I can believe it feels like this every time a girl has a man go down on her. They’d be grinning from the memory every moment of their lives.

Landon uses his hands to touch my folds as he sucks my clit, and then I feel myself soaking his face as my pussy comes in pleasure. My hands find his hair. I run my fingers through his locks, biting my lip as I foolishly attempt to suppress a moan.

There’s no point. My legs quiver as he refuses to stop the penetration with his perfect mouth. He flicks my clit, sliding his tongue across my opening again, faster and with more pressure. The movement fills my core with desire. My legs shake; my back arches. I gasp his name.

“Landon, this is ... so good.” I cover my face with my hands, sweat on my chest, goosebumps trailing my skin. He just gave me an orgasm I’ve only read about.

He stands, slips off his boxers, and crawls onto the bed, his eyes filled with hunger. When he straddles me, his stiff cock is more than impressive. Of course his rod is hard and long; he wouldn’t be a Vegas sex-King if he had nothing to work with.

I lick my lips, not even aware of the movement, but Landon is. His smile is cocky and smooth, and so gorgeous.

“Scoot back,” he tells me. “On the pillows. I want you to be comfortable.”

“I’m more than comfortable,” I tell him, doing as he asks. My head falls onto a pile of feather-filled pillows, and I sink into the decadence.

“I can see that,” he says hovering over me, his chest all molded, ripped muscles—complete strength.

“Will you come in me?” I ask him, my voice a whisper. I have never had a longing like this before, but his cock makes me wet all over again, as it presses against me. “I want this, Landon.”

“I do, too,” he says, leaning down, covering my mouth with a kiss, soft and sweet. My lips part, and our tongues mingle. I taste myself on him and it causes me to moan again.

My legs wrap around him, his hands push back my hair softly, and we roll over, so I’m on top of him. Our eyes meet; time seems to pause. I’m breathing hard and heavy, anticipating what comes next, him entering me with his thickness, his completely capable body melding against mine.

I thought I’d want dirty sex, hard and fast, to just get my first time post-baby out of the way. I always thought if I hooked up with a guy it would be against a wall, something rushed and off-the-cuff—but ever since I walked into this suite, it’s felt tender.

Every movement Landon makes feels sincere.

And maybe it’s because he’s just that good of a player.

Or maybe I just needed this time to be sweet and soft. And maybe the universe decided, for once in my fucking life, to give me what I needed.

Landon reaches over to the nightstand for a condom, rips it open. And every inch of my skin drips with longing for him to be inside me. I’ve never felt a man touch me like Landon does now. His fingers run across my breasts, my stomach, before he moves to slide on the protection.

He feels safe. He feels like the only kind of hook-up I could really have.

And, as he unrolls the condom over his thick cock, my phone rings.

The ringtone reserved for my mom—and she only ever calls if it is important.

“Oh, shit,” I say, climbing off him and his perfectly-formed body. I want him so bad, but Sophia is my everything. I reach for the phone in my clutch.

“Hello?” I say.

“So sorry, I hate to call, I know you’re at the wedding, but Sophia’s fever spiked again, sweetie. She’s begging for you.”

Swallowing, I look at Landon, who watches me confused. I’m sure women never stop that ride for a phone call.

But I doubt most women he hooks up with are mothers.

“No, I’m glad you called. I’ll leave now.”

Hanging up, I reach for my underclothes.

“Sorry, Landon, but ... I’ve—”

He sits up, raises his hands for me to stop. “No,” he says. “It’s fine. I don’t need an explanation.”

“But....” I start. The truth is, though, I don’t want to give him an explanation. How could I, when I haven’t even explained my situation to Emmy and Tess? “Okay. Well, thanks. For ... everything.” I know my voice hitches, and for a bizarre second I almost feel like I could cry.

I pick up my clothes from the floor, embarrassment flooding my chest. And I hate that. I shouldn’t be embarrassed that I let myself have this short escape with Landon, and I also shouldn’t feel embarrassed that I need to go home to my daughter.

If my life were different—if I were different—Landon and I would have made love all night, ordered room service and drank fancy French-pressed coffee in the morning, with buttery croissants.

But that isn’t my life. I’m not that girl. I’m a mom, and I need to get home to my daughter.