bought.
Grabbing my fishnets, I sit on the couch, determined to walk out of here—yeah, maybe in yesterday’s clothes, but my head will be held high.
As I start to roll the netting over my foot, I hear my cellphone ring. I grab it, wondering if it might be Boss-man .
Ugh. Like it would be. Like it matters.
I reach for my phone and a hotel magazine with the name SPADES ROYALLE splayed across the front tumbles to the floor. I grab my phone, answering it before it goes to voicemail.
“Hello?” I grab the fallen magazine, pausing on the article that it’s flipped open to.
What the fuck?
“Emmy? This is Detective Clark, down at the station.” His voice is gruff, the only way I’ve ever heard him speak.
“Detective Clark?” I ask, my voice catching. My eyes stuck on the article on the floor. Detective Clark is the last person I expected to hear from. “Is everything okay?” I pick up the article, completely distracted by the picture of Ace, the owner of Spades Royalle Casino.
Completely overwhelmed. Dizzy.
I sit down, trying to focus on the detective.
“Yeah, it’s Clark. There’s been some development on your sister’s case. You need to get down the station, stat.”
“Do you know who the driver is?” I ask, hoping the answer is yes. Finally, yes.
“Just get down here and I’ll fill you in.”
“Okay, I’ll be there as soon as possible.” Finally, something about my sister. I’ve waited two months for this phone call.
I hang up the phone, my eyes absorbed with the picture of Ace.
The smoldering green eyes that had locked with mine all last night.
Ace, the man I slept with. The man who fucked me silly.
Ace is Boss-man.
I’ve been royally screwed by a bad boy.
6
ACE
L eaving Emmy in that bed this morning was one of the hardest fucking things I’ve ever done in my life. And I don't care if thinking that makes me a pussy.
Her goddamned bare skin, smooth and supple, curled against mine, teased me into the early hours of the morning. And when I inhaled the scent of her citrus shampoo, I would have bought a motherfucking orange orchard so I could bottle up that goodness and smell her every day of my life.
But I didn't need any lemon trees. I could just have her. Take her. Keep her.
If I didn't have to meet with my lawyer to try and get that asshole Frank Grotto off my back, I would have stayed in that suite, in that bed, waited until she woke and then ridden her all day long.
But I don't own this casino because I sleep on Egyptian cotton until noon. I own this goddamned place because I don't let up, don't wait on people to come to me.
I come when I want it, where I want.
The same way I fuck women. However the hell I please.
And Emmy is no different. I want her, so I'll have her. That's why she's in my hotel suite, wrapped up in sheets covered with my come. Because she isn't going anywhere.
She's gonna wear those clothes I told Denise to get for her, she's gonna shave her legs and trim her pussy, and she’s gonna put lipstick on her perfect pouty lips.
And then those lips are gonna wrap around my cock, and she's gonna suck me hard until I tell her to stop.
I won't take no for an answer.
Not that I think she'll say no, not now that she's had a taste of me. That woman knows my hungry cock is the only thing she ever wants in her mouth again.
Walking into the law office of Denzel & Swopes, I pull my shoulders back, straighten my tie. I play a hard game, but fuck—I know where I come from, know these guys still think they can't entirely trust me.
But I also know my money is clean, my casino is tight. The IRS can fucking audit me everyday of the week.
I'm not my father's son.
Mark Denzel is sitting at his desk as I stride into his office. “Ace, did we have an appointment?” he asks. His secretary trails after me, but Mark knows I don't come here unless there’s a reason.
He waves her off, and I take a seat in a leather chair across from him.
“Doesn't look like you have a
Grabbing my fishnets, I sit on the couch, determined to walk out of here—yeah, maybe in yesterday’s clothes, but my head will be held high.
As I start to roll the netting over my foot, I hear my cellphone ring. I grab it, wondering if it might be Boss-man .
Ugh. Like it would be. Like it matters.
I reach for my phone and a hotel magazine with the name SPADES ROYALLE splayed across the front tumbles to the floor. I grab my phone, answering it before it goes to voicemail.
“Hello?” I grab the fallen magazine, pausing on the article that it’s flipped open to.
What the fuck?
“Emmy? This is Detective Clark, down at the station.” His voice is gruff, the only way I’ve ever heard him speak.
“Detective Clark?” I ask, my voice catching. My eyes stuck on the article on the floor. Detective Clark is the last person I expected to hear from. “Is everything okay?” I pick up the article, completely distracted by the picture of Ace, the owner of Spades Royalle Casino.
Completely overwhelmed. Dizzy.
I sit down, trying to focus on the detective.
“Yeah, it’s Clark. There’s been some development on your sister’s case. You need to get down the station, stat.”
“Do you know who the driver is?” I ask, hoping the answer is yes. Finally, yes.
“Just get down here and I’ll fill you in.”
“Okay, I’ll be there as soon as possible.” Finally, something about my sister. I’ve waited two months for this phone call.
I hang up the phone, my eyes absorbed with the picture of Ace.
The smoldering green eyes that had locked with mine all last night.
Ace, the man I slept with. The man who fucked me silly.
Ace is Boss-man.
I’ve been royally screwed by a bad boy.
6
ACE
L eaving Emmy in that bed this morning was one of the hardest fucking things I’ve ever done in my life. And I don't care if thinking that makes me a pussy.
Her goddamned bare skin, smooth and supple, curled against mine, teased me into the early hours of the morning. And when I inhaled the scent of her citrus shampoo, I would have bought a motherfucking orange orchard so I could bottle up that goodness and smell her every day of my life.
But I didn't need any lemon trees. I could just have her. Take her. Keep her.
If I didn't have to meet with my lawyer to try and get that asshole Frank Grotto off my back, I would have stayed in that suite, in that bed, waited until she woke and then ridden her all day long.
But I don't own this casino because I sleep on Egyptian cotton until noon. I own this goddamned place because I don't let up, don't wait on people to come to me.
I come when I want it, where I want.
The same way I fuck women. However the hell I please.
And Emmy is no different. I want her, so I'll have her. That's why she's in my hotel suite, wrapped up in sheets covered with my come. Because she isn't going anywhere.
She's gonna wear those clothes I told Denise to get for her, she's gonna shave her legs and trim her pussy, and she’s gonna put lipstick on her perfect pouty lips.
And then those lips are gonna wrap around my cock, and she's gonna suck me hard until I tell her to stop.
I won't take no for an answer.
Not that I think she'll say no, not now that she's had a taste of me. That woman knows my hungry cock is the only thing she ever wants in her mouth again.
Walking into the law office of Denzel & Swopes, I pull my shoulders back, straighten my tie. I play a hard game, but fuck—I know where I come from, know these guys still think they can't entirely trust me.
But I also know my money is clean, my casino is tight. The IRS can fucking audit me everyday of the week.
I'm not my father's son.
Mark Denzel is sitting at his desk as I stride into his office. “Ace, did we have an appointment?” he asks. His secretary trails after me, but Mark knows I don't come here unless there’s a reason.
He waves her off, and I take a seat in a leather chair across from him.
“Doesn't look like you have a
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