I take his cock deep in my mouth, hold it there as I flex my throat around him. At the same time, I massage his balls. After a couple of minutes I can feel him tense, and I’m sure he’s going to come. But he moans and pushes me forward, away from his erection. A second later his mouth is on my vagina from behind, running along the opening of my lips to my anus. And just like that, I’m writhing and panting, the tension inside me building.
“Oh, fuck. Rusty, I’m gonna come…again…”
My orgasm is a long and rapturous scream of pleasure.
“Fuuuuuuuuuuck!”
The sound of a door clicking shut has me whipping my head upward and effectively kills my orgasm. Since Rusty’s mouth is on my pussy, who the hell—
A man appears at the doorway to the bedroom. I recognize him instantly as Rusty’s friend. And instead of looking shocked, jumping backward and apologizing for intruding on us at this most intimate moment, he stands there with a smug smile on his face that gives me the creeps.
I quickly scramble backward, grab the bed’s comforter and cover what I can of my body. Then my eyes dart to Rusty. Why the hell isn’t he trying to cover himself? And more important—why he hasn’t he kicked his friend out already?
Horror slowly spreads over me. My God, Rusty is
smirking
at his friend. As if his being here is cool.
“You were right, Rusty,” the friend says. “She’s one hot bitch.”
Bitch?
Rusty referred to me as a hot
bitch?
Okay, so maybe Rusty did say that. I know how guys are. They don’t necessarily speak in loving terms when they describe their fuck partners. But still. I’m wondering why the fuck Rusty isn’t telling his friend to leave the room.
“Rusty?” I practically croak. Do I have to spell it out for him?
“It’s okay,” he finally says. “You remember my friend, Peter? The guy you’ve seen me with a couple times. We were kinda thinking that this would be fun—two guys to please you in every way possible.”
Peter starts to undo his belt, making it clear that he and Rusty have already made their decision without including me.
“Are you out of your mind?” I ask Rusty.
“Come on,” he says, a chortle in his voice. “You don’t strike me as a prude.”
“And you didn’t strike me as an asshole.”
Peter now unzips his dress pants. I edge slowly off the bed, my eyes scanning the floor for my dress. Shit, it’s across the room. But it’s not like I should be concerned about modesty right now. I have to get out of here.
“Trust me, sweetheart,” Peter says. “We are going to give you the best damn night of your life.” As if to emphasize his point, he flicks his tongue out in a circular motion.
“I don’t know what kind of game the two of you want to play, but I’m not interested.” I try not to sound scared, but the truth is, I am. Something has seriously changed right now, and I don’t like the vibe.
“I think we forgot to mention that we’d pay her,” Peter says to Rusty.
“Hell, yeah.” Rusty wiggles his eyebrows at me. “We’ll pay you, babe.”
“Like I’m some kind of whore?” I gape at Rusty. Where is the guy who was giving me one incredible orgasm after another?
“No one has ever paid you for sex?” Peter asks disbelievingly. “Come on. The minute I looked at you, I could tell you were some kind of pro. And what Rusty told me about how you fuck…”
“You do fuck like a pro,” Rusty agrees.
“A
pro?
That’s what you think of me?” Maybe I’m being stupid, but the way Rusty spoke to me before his friend arrived…the way he touched me…How can he think of me as a pro?
“So which one is it?” Peter goes on. “Stripper, hooker, porn star?”
Maybe this asshole’s been drinking, but how dare he talk to me that way?
“You’re a fucking creep,” I snap. “And so are you, Rusty.”
I drop the bedspread and hustle across the room, but before I make it to my dress, Peter grabs hold of my arm.
“Let go of me, you sick pig!” I jerk my arm, but his grip is too strong.
“Name your price.” Rusty, naked and hard, starts slowly toward me. “Whatever you want.”
“I don’t want shit from you.”
“Stop playing games. A woman like you always has a price.”
I want to belt him, but I’m too shocked. Too hurt. Too frightened.
Peter drops his pants, exposing an unimpressive erection.
Rusty says, “You told me you’ve experienced double penetration. That’s all we want to do.”
“And you can start by sucking my dick,” Peter tells me.
“Go to hell.” I hastily pull my dress over my head. Fuck, where are my shoes?
Peter grabs me again and roughly pushes me down onto my knees. “You do what I tell you, bitch.”
“Fuck you!” I ram my hand as hard as I can into his balls. He screams and goes down.
I scramble to my feet, but now Rusty grabs me by the hair. All this time, I’ve been hoping that Rusty simply didn’t have to guts to tell his friend to stop being an asshole. But he’s just as rough with me as Peter was.
“What the hell’s the matter with you?” Rusty spits out.
I thrust my elbow backward, and it lands in Rusty’s solar plexus. He groans, releases me.
And I take off. I pause only to scoop up my purse near the door before charging out of the room.
I stumble down the hallway, pulling up my dress strap as I do. Behind me I hear loud cursing, but I don’t turn around. And I’m not stupid enough to head for the elevator. I have to get out of here, escape before Rusty and his fucking freak of a friend come charging through the door.
I break into a panicked run and sprint to the left, where the door to the stairwell is. Moments later I push through the exit door and barrel down the stairs. I make it down three flights, panting and now crying, before I pause and look upward. No one is coming. I pause a moment longer, drag my hand over my face to dry my tears.
“Fuck you, Rusty.”
Certain that no one is following me, I head onto the eighth floor, for the elevators. When it opens and I step on, two twentysomething women eye me with scorn, both their gazes landing on my bare feet.
I ignore them and pound on the Lobby button so the door can hurry and close already.
I get to the lobby and burst through the elevator doors like the devil himself is chasing me. Immediately I’m surrounded by the dinging, ringing, and screams of excitement that fill the casino floor.
I spin one way, then another. It’s like I’m lost in a maze of neon lights and crazy sounds.
It finally dawns on me that I have no clue what I’m doing. I’m so distraught I’m not even thinking. I should be heading upstairs to my room, not to the friggin’ lobby.
Sniffling, I turn around. Forcing myself to be calm, I walk back to the bank of elevators. But as I press the Up button, a hand clamps down on my shoulder.
I scream.
“Fuck, Sammy. What the hell happened to you?”
Oh my God.
Slowly, I turn. And instantly, my heart fills with hope.
Reed.
Like he did in Costa Rica, my ex has completely shocked me with his appearance.
I don’t have to ask. I know that Maxine betrayed my whereabouts to Reed.
And for that, I could kiss her.
“Sammy?”
I want to speak, but I can’t. Instead, I step toward Reed and bury my face against his chest.
And then I break down. I sob in his arms.
“What happened?” Reed demands. “Who hurt you?”
I don’t speak. I can’t. I’m still crying.
“Damn it, Sammy. It was some guy, wasn’t it? I’m gonna kill him. What’d he do?”
“No!” I grab Reed’s arm when he starts for an open elevator. Not that he knows where he’s going, but I don’t need him getting all steamed and wanting to bash Rusty’s face in. “Look, just forget it.”
“Someone hurt you,” Reed says, anger simmering beneath his words.
“No, that’s not true.” At least not in the way he thinks. “I…I hurt myself.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“Please, Reed.” I don’t ask him why he’s here. Right now I don’t care. “I just need you to…” I don’t finish my statement. Instead, I rest my head against his shoulder, reveling in the comfort that it brings. Reed and I might not have ended things on a decent note, but the familiarity of his touch brings me comfort nonetheless.
“You’ve got a room upstairs, right?” he asks.
I catch a breath, nod. “Where are you staying?”
“At Bellagio. Jesus Christ, that place is expensive. But I came here for you, Sammy. Looks like I got here just in time.”
“Why don’t we go there?” I suggest.
“But you’re right upstairs.”
“And so is my sister. We’re sharing a room.”
“Ah. Gotcha.”
Reed offers me his arm, and I take it, resting my head against his shoulder as I walk with him.
“Miss,” someone calls out. I turn to see a man dressed in a hotel uniform walking briskly toward me. “You need to be wearing shoes in the hotel’s lobby.”
“Bite me,” I snap.
The man stops, jerking backward, as if afraid I might break his neck.
Reed scoops me into his arms. “How’s this?” he asks the bellman. “Is it legal for a guy to carry a girl across a hotel lobby? Or are you gonna sue me?”
Not surprisingly, the man doesn’t answer. I snuggle close to Reed as he carries me out the front door. Even though we’re outside now, he doesn’t release me, and I have to admit, it feels good to be in his familiar arms.
He doesn’t lower me to my feet until a taxi arrives for us. And even then, when we’re safely inside, he wraps his arm around me as though he wants to protect me from all the evil in the world.
I settle against his shoulder and close my eyes.
Annelise
W
here my sister’s concerned, I don’t tend to worry. Tough and feisty, she’s more than able to take care of herself. But now that a new day has dawned and I haven’t seen her since last night, my concern radar has shot right up.
Yeah, she could have spent the night in bed with some hot man. But since we arrived in Vegas, sex has been the farthest thing from her mind. Which is why I can’t relax this morning.
I’m really worried that something bad has happened.
As I finish the last of my coffee, paranoia takes total hold of me. I slip on a brown knit shirt and white skirt, then head across the hallway to Lishelle’s room. I guess I could just call her, but I need the company.
I ring the doorbell to Lishelle’s room. And only as the door swings open do I remember that she might not be alone.
Lishelle, dressed in a robe and her hair pulled back, smiles when she sees me. “Morning, babe.”
“Morning,” I reply. “Are you alone?”
“Yeah.” She stands back and pulls the door wide. “Come in.”
I walk into the suite. “So, how was your night?” I ask to be polite, but what I really want to do is ask about my sister.
“Ah, could have been better.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I was with someone, but things fizzled.”
“Nothing you want to talk about?”
“Maybe later. What’d you do?”
“I won twenty-five hundred at the dollar slots.”
“Get out.”
“Yeah, I did. Total long shot, but I won.”
“And you sound absolutely thrilled.” Lishelle frowns. “What’s up, hon?”
“Speaking of long shots—do you have any idea where Samera could be?”
Lishelle shakes her head. “No. I have no clue.”
“Damn.”
“What’s going on?” Lishelle asks.
I exhale loudly. “She didn’t come back to the suite last night.”
“Okay…But she’s a big girl.”
“I know. The thing is, she wasn’t interested in getting with anyone. So, what could have happened to her?”
“She changed her mind?” Lishelle suggests. “Found some hottie that made her melt?”
I suddenly remember the guy in the restaurant, the one she said had been flirting with her since our first day here. “There was someone.”
“Then they hooked up. And hell, they’re probably still fucking.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” I agree. Though there’s still part of me that can’t shake the worry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.
“You had coffee yet?” Lishelle asks.
“Yeah, but if you’re making a pot, I could use another cup.”
“How about I order room service so we can get a decent jolt of caffeine. Maybe a couple of cappuccinos. Have you eaten yet?”
“No.”
“Eggs, bacon, toast?”
“Sounds good,” I say.
I settle on the sofa while Lishelle orders breakfast. Because worry is still nagging at me, I reach for the remote control and turn on the television. I channel surf until I get to CNN.
“What are you doing?” Lishelle asks as she heads into the living room.
“You never know,” is my answer.
“You think Samera has made it onto CNN in twelve hours?”
I continue to flip through channels until I reach a local news station. And I swear, I’m as jittery as hell because when I see “Breaking news story” written below the newscaster, I immediately think this has to do with Samera.
“Hey, doesn’t that look like our hotel?” Lishelle asks.
“My God, it does.” I turn up the volume, expecting to hear the worst regarding my sister.
“…body was just removed. Again, if you’re just joining us, I’m standing outside of the Venetian hotel on the Las Vegas strip, where a body was discovered early this morning on the pool deck.”
My stomach lurches. “Oh my God.”
Lishelle squeezes my hand.
“According to witnesses, there was the sound of a loud crash, then a body was seen falling from a window. Whether the man committed suicide or was a victim of foul play, the police aren’t sure, but I can tell you, the scene here is gruesome.”
“The man. Did he say
the man?
” I ask Lishelle. I know it’s not even right to feel good about someone else’s death, but I desperately want to know that my sister wasn’t the victim.
“Yeah, it was a guy.”
An audible breath oozes out of me. If the victim is male, it can’t be my sister.
“I can’t believe it,” Lishelle goes on. “Right here at this hotel.”
I shush her as a picture flashes on the screen. And then my stomach lurches.
“…Rusty Nickell of Chicago.”
Now I point frantically at the television screen. “That’s him! That’s him!”
“Who?”
“The guy! The one who was flirting with Samera!” My mind starts to work overtime. “What if Samera was in his room, what if—” I can’t verbalize my fear. It’s too horrifying.
Lishelle’s hand tightens on mine in a gesture of support. “Did you call her?”
“I did, but I got her voice mail.”
“Call again,” Lishelle tells me.
“Okay.”
“But I can’t imagine your sister being in this guy’s room given the circumstances,” Lishelle says as I hurry to her phone.
“Unless she’s in custody! Shit, one minute I’m relieved, the next I’m more worried than ever.”
“Try not to panic until you know what’s going on.”
Easier said than done. As I punch in the digits to my sister’s cell phone, my hand is shaking.
“There’s no answer,” I say when the phone goes to voice mail. “What should I do?”
“Call the police?” Lishelle suggests. She shrugs before continuing. “But what would you say? We have no clue what’s happened, and you just might implicate your sister if it turns out this guy didn’t commit suicide.”
My head is pounding. “I know my sister isn’t a murderer. God, I can’t believe those words are even coming out of my mouth.”
Lishelle approaches me and wraps an arm around my shoulder. “And I know it, too. Let’s get real—Samera isn’t involved in this. But until we know where she is, I don’t think you should call the cops. If she wasn’t with Rusty, she was with someone else. And hey, we’ll call Claudia. Maybe she’s heard from her.”
I look at Lishelle doubtfully.
“Okay, maybe not. But, sweetie, don’t worry. Your sister will show up. And I bet she’ll have some crazy story about where she was.” Lishelle wiggles her eyebrows. “Who she spent the night with.”
I nod shakily. “Of course. You’re right.”
But despite my words I can’t help feeling spooked. Like something with my sister is very, very wrong.