Vegas Curves (A Masters of the Game BBW Erotic Romance) (11 page)

"Do you know how I got this?" He sweeps his head so that I know he is talking about the casino and not the picture.

"No." I haven't had access to a computer in a week and my phone doesn't do internet browsing. Nor did Ortiz give me time to research the casino -- he just gave me the lenses and told me the name, expecting me to go straight to the tables from his warehouse. "All I know is it's a couple of years old."

Luke nods briefly, his thumb smoothing one wrinkled corner of the photograph. He stands, crosses to the couch and hands me the picture. It is a young man, with blond hair that falls almost to his shoulders. He looks about Tommy's age, but there is a certain vulnerability in his expression that makes him seem much younger.

"Who is he?"

"Carl Haberlin. He was twenty-four when the picture was taken."

I shake my head. The name is unfamiliar. "He looks younger."

"He was autistic." The words come out raw. He takes the photo from me and returns to the fireplace. "His father owned 40% of the Zurich Gaming Group."

This time, I nod, I know the company, but not its stakeholders.

"Long story short -- I rescued Carl from a group holding him for ransom." Luke opens the fire's grate and slowly feeds the picture into the flames. "An earlier team botched the first attempt and the kidnappers took it out the boy before I reached him."

I don't ask what the kidnappers did as retribution. Anyone going after a billionaire's family likely is both an expert and a sociopath -- a criminal's criminal. Instead, I get up from the couch and sit next to Luke. I place my palm against his back, wordlessly asking him about Carl's fate and how it is connected to mine.

"I gave the old man two more month's with his son before Carl committed suicide because of what they did to him." Another gesture at the walls surrounding us. "He was grateful for the time."

I cannot hold back the small cry that escapes me. I have only spent a few days in Luke's presence, but I know his intensity and professionalism. That he has kept the picture tells me the loss affected him on a deeply personal level, as if, despite rescuing the boy, Luke somehow let him and the father down.

Turning, Luke embraces me and strokes my hair. "I didn't tell you the story to make you cry, baby."

"I know." I burrow closer, my hands snaking and pushing until my arms are around Luke's waist. "I'm sorry."

I truly am sorry -- sorry for poor Carl and his father and that Luke has opened up this wound for some reason connected to me.

He kisses my forehead and my heart hurts even harder, if that is possible.

"Vincent thinks I'm chasing ghosts, Marie." He pulls back and cups the sides of my face. "I'm not."

He kisses a spot on my cheek wet from the lone tear that has managed to escape me. He kisses lower, a thumb's width above the corner of my mouth. I tilt my head back before he can break contact with my skin.

His tongue teases my lips with a slow lick at their center. I open to him, heart galloping in my chest after the painful absence of his touch. Continuing to kiss me, Luke runs his hands down my arms. One hand captures my hip and the other a breast as the heat of the kiss burns hotter.

I lean into his touch, my breast filling his palm and my hip flexing against his hand. Grabbing the lapels of his jacket, I hold on as if my life depends on not letting go.

The kiss ends and Luke pulls back to stare at me. The scrutiny, as gentle as it is, undoes me and I start to softly cry.

Between sobs, I ask him, "Do you want me to leave?"

He pulls me in for a longer, slower kiss that will take all night to finish, but not before he answers.

"No, baby, I want you to stay."

**********

Stay
doesn't mean forever. Foolishly, I thought it might, but three weeks have passed and Luke has not repeated the request. He has fucked me, pleased me, taught me more about my needs and endurance than I learned on my own in the last twenty-six years -- but he has not asked me to stay beyond the thirty days of our original agreement.

Sitting on a padded bench a few feet from his bed in nothing but black silk panties and thigh high stockings, I know that tonight is my last night with him. Tomorrow, I will be somewhere else, although I don't know where that will be.

Finished lighting the last candle, Luke turns to me and I lift my gaze. His lips purse as he stares at me and blows out the match. "You know how I realized you were cheating?"

I straighten my spine, my breasts lifting as I square my shoulders. "I can't even imagine how many mistakes I made."

Clearly I made a lot, not only that first night at the table but all the nights I have spent with him since then. Otherwise, tomorrow would not be a giant question mark.

"This many." He raises his index finger and briefly touches it against his nose. "You were damn near perfect, Marie."

Lowering his hand, he places his palm against his flat, muscled stomach. He has on black silk pajama bottoms and nothing else. Looking at him and knowing it will be the last time I see him like this is too painful. My gaze sinks down his body until it settles on the carpet in front of his bare feet.

Emotionally exhausted, I take a random guess. "Was it my clothes?"

He walks along my line of sight until he stands directly in front of me. Placing one finger beneath my chin, he tilts my head back. He studies me for a second then his shoulders push forward in an almost shrug. "Sort of. Most cons come in camouflaged in mediocrity."

He strokes my cheek, my attention diverted from his explanation by the simple act.

"But you, baby..." He lightly squeezes and pinches the side of my face, a growl rumbling inside his wide chest. "You came in like a 1950s' screen goddess. You kept the dealer -- and my security camera -- focused entirely too much on these."

Reaching down, he cups my breasts. His fingers draw forward, finding and twisting the nipples until a faint mewl escapes me. "If I hadn't been watching you so intently, I never would have noticed your tells or realized you were cheating. You made me want you. That was your mistake, Marie."

My mistake and my salvation. Without Masters, Rose and Solandro would have pulled me deeper into their con. He saved me from that and my life.

"Lucky me," I whisper before rule number 3 slaps me in the face.

Luck never gives, it only lends.

The loan period is almost over. I have one last night with Luke and then my marker is wiped clean.

Straddling my legs, he cups both sides of my face and forces me to look at him. "Why the sadness, baby?"

I close my eyes and hope he won't go so far as to pry my eyelids open to keep me from hiding. That he doesn't understand why I am sad tells me my leaving tomorrow means nothing to him. Nothing more to him than a drama-filled thirty-day fling, Luke Masters will soon forget me and have another woman warming his bed.

There have been plenty of warning signs of this outcome over the last few weeks. Not only did he stay away for five days after the shootout at Solandro's warehouse, but not once since my rescue has Luke called me love. He showers the word "baby" and kisses on me, tells me I'm beautiful and how badly he wants me, but he doesn't tell me he loves me.

How can I be all that and nothing at the same time?

"Not going to tell me?" Luke steps back, gripping my shoulders as he pushes my legs apart with the sweeping pressure of his foot.

Leaning forward, I press my forehead against the flat of his stomach. I could admit my feelings to him, but that will only increase my heartache when he sends me away. So I offer an explanation that I hope will end the conversation. "Endings are always a little sad, don't you think?"

His fingers knot in my hair to cinch my head against him. "If you only think of endings as endings."

I don't. The end of my relationship with Luke Masters marks the beginning of his relationship with another woman and the beginning of my return to loneliness. Knowing this doesn't drive away my sadness, it deepens it.

I take a ragged breath in, the fresh rush of oxygen easing my need to cry.

"Shhh..." He combs his fingers through my hair, his stomach pressing harder against my forehead as he rocks lightly from his heels to his toes. "You're way too stressed, baby."

"So relax me," I rasp. With my mouth concealed from Luke's view, I lick my lips. I know what comes next, where he can take me with his body and toys. Tonight, I need that trip more than ever.

His hand cradles the back of my skull. He arches his spine, the motion bringing the waistband of his pajama pants closer to my face. I want to unknot the ties, curl my fingers inside the fabric and drag it down his hips. Tomorrow will come no matter what, so we are only wasting time talking right now when I can instead have him halfway down my throat.

I nuzzle his stomach, my lips pressing against his navel as I tongue it.

"Relax you?" He chuckles, the sound pushing at me like a warm blast of air from an open oven door. "Baby, I'm going to exhaust you."

He breaks from me. I feel the hook and drag of each step he takes toward the dresser. Seeing him open the top left drawer, I focus on taking slow, deep breaths as my pussy works itself into a thick knot.

In his expert hands, the objects inside that drawer have the power to drive me wild and leave me floating in a blank abyss. The suede strands of the flogger will warm my skin, making my flesh extra sensitive to his touch. Nipple clamps and clit clips will bring even more sensitivity, his careful placement of them on my body achingly intimate.

Squirming in anticipation at what Luke will pull out, I hold my breath as he turns.

A blindfold.

I shake my head, something I am forbidden to do in response to play. My safe word is my only out, anything else and he will discipline me -- denying my climax until I am one contraction away from fainting if he doesn't permit me to come.

Seeing that bratty shake of my head, Luke lifts one dark brow at me.

That he would keep me in the dark on our last night of play makes me want to cry. I bite at my lip until I am certain I can contain the tears. "I want to see you tonight."

"You will, baby." Unraveling the fabric, he prowls toward me. "When the time is right."

Briefly closing my eyes, I nod. I know he will offer me only pleasure tonight. Tomorrow, I will deal with the heartache on my own. I lift my chin, silently accepting the blindfold. When he has it secured, Luke tells me to stand.

I rise as he drops to his feet. With no seeming agenda or fixed route, his hands roam my hips and thighs. His beard brushes against my stomach as he noses and kisses along the waistband of my underwear. His head dips, his nose and mouth landing halfway down my thigh. Keeping contact with my flesh, they move up toward the bottom of my panties.

Bunching the sides of the fabric, he slowly tugs as his mouth moves higher. I hear him inhaling and then his nose presses against the crotch of my panties. Scenting my arousal, he lips my plump labia through the fabric, the bottom half of his face manipulating my flesh until my need soaks through the material.

Groaning, he gnaws the thick folds of my sex then finishes unveiling my mound. On his order, I removed the dark triangle of pubic hair last week so that bald perfection greets his lips and tongue. Taking a second to part my labia with his thumbs, he presses a kiss to my clit and starts to suckle as his hands sweep my panties down to my ankles and guide me from them. The nylons remain in place.

His hands return to my thighs and wedge them apart. Fingers push up into my cunt and emerge covered in my juices to coat my thighs. "Every bit as wet as the first time."

I will always be this wet for him. I sigh, trying not to think about this being the last time he will experience my arousal. Hearing me, he growls softly and places his palm against my stomach. His other hand stays between my legs, his fingers pressed tightly together as they invade my cunt.

"Hands behind your back, baby."

Tilting my head back, I widen my stance and fold my arms behind me. Luke leans in, his body angling so that he can continue sucking at my clit as he increases the number of fingers fucking into me. Feeling the soft tissue inside me swelling, I moan at the pressure.

He responds with raspy groans and a fourth finger. "Such a sweet, malleable cunt, baby. You take everything I give you and you're still so tight."

I lift onto my tiptoes, my mound straining forward with the need to come.

"Can you take more?"

"Yes," I whisper.

Holding knuckle deep at four fingers, Luke returns to sucking my clit, his tongue dancing against the slow rocking waves of my body. My thighs flex, my mound pushes forward. Small tremors wrack my torso. Fluid seeps from me to run warmly down my thighs.

He licks me to my first climax then orders me over to the chair.

The chair arrived two weeks ago. It can only rightly be called a chair in some futuristic office where the secretaries take a very special form of dictation. A center beam rises up from a large metal base. From that beam, two more bars spread out to end in thick pads. These are where my knees go. On the other side are two more padded bars. These are where I rest my arms and upper body weight. A lever allows the height of the chair to rest anywhere from thirty to fifty inches off the ground.

When I am on it, my legs are forced apart, my ass is kept high, my back is exposed, and my breasts hang unencumbered. No chair back or seat exists to block Luke, leaving all my holes -- mouth, ass, and cunt -- available to him. It is a chair meant for flogging, sucking and fucking.

I move blindly toward the chair, my legs already shaking. I am amazed each time I climb on that it holds me and never threatens to tip, but the manufacture is solid. Even sightless from the cloth around my eyes, I easily settle onto it.

Contractions from my earlier climax continue to ripple through my pussy. The chair forces my body into a position that magnifies those ripples. My hips and ass do a little dance of need, but Luke is on the other side of the room. Over my excited breathing, I hear him slide the drawer shut.