KING: Las Vegas Bad Boys Page 5

  Her red lips open as if she’s about to admit something, but the elevator doors slide open and we’re deposited in the lobby of Spades.

  “Your room then?” she asks.

  I press the elevator button again and we fly back up to my floor.

  Grabbing her hand as the doors open, I lead us down the hall. I swipe my key to let us into my suite, not able to move fast enough. I want to push her inside and pull down her panties and finish what we’d started weeks ago.

  The moment we’re in the room, she reaches for a bottle of water and drinks it nearly in one gulp.

  “Thirsty?”

  “Just can’t afford to have a hang-over. I rarely drink so much. It was a bad idea.”

  “You seem sober enough now.”

  She doesn’t slur her words or seem to be overly emotional—both stereotypical tells of a woman nearly drunk.

  “I suppose I am. I had four glasses of champagne over the course of four hours, so I’m pretty good now.” She lets out a deep breath before adjusting her jean jacket.

  I don’t know much about Claire, but I can tell she could use some money. She serves drinks for a living, but her shifts are terrible ones, usually during the day, and anyone in Vegas knows the good tips are in the late hours, when there are plenty of drunken men. Working eight a.m. to three p.m. is not a lucrative job opportunity.

  “Landon,” she asks, setting down the water and walking toward me. “Can we finish what we started?”

  She’s caught me off guard—which is odd. That never happens with women.

  I’ve been so preoccupied with trying to understand who Claire is that I haven’t noticed the look of desire in her eyes, the longing.

  “Because, right now,” she whispers. “Right now, I need to feel ... more than I am.”

  “Oh, Claire, I’ll make you feel more than enough.”

  I pull her to me, and in one fell swoop my mouth is on hers.

  She tastes so sweet. She looks like a vixen, but each kiss on my lips is tender and soft and full of longing. The kisses of a woman who has never been properly loved or properly fucked.

  Her hands cup my face, as she pours herself into me. Her tongue finds its way into my mouth, encircling mine as we deepen our connection. The heat rises as she grinds against my growing cock, and I run my hands across her back, pulling off her coat, tugging down the straps of her black dress and her black bra.

  I fill my hands with her perfect tits. They aren’t massive and fake—Claire is one hundred percent real and it’s refreshing and fucking hot to be with someone who seems not to be at odds in their own skin.

  Massaging her tits, I watch her perky little nipples grow hard. I pull one into my mouth and suck as she pulls her dress off.

  “Oh, fuck, Claire, you’re so sexy,” I tell her as she undoes my belt and buttons. We tumble into the bed, and I’m on my back as she pushes my trousers down, off. I pull off my shirt, wanting to feel her skin against my chest.

  “You’re so hard,” she moans, taking my stiff cock in her hands as she presses her body on top of mine.

  Our bodies are hot, so close to one another; she holds my cock in her hand as our mouths collide again. We kiss hard as my hands push at her panties. I want to touch that soft pussy again. I want to see those pink lips part, only this time I want my cock to spread them.

  I want to feel her tightness around me as she swirls those hips of hers above.

  She runs her fingers over my cock, massaging her clit with my base as she pushes us against one another. She bites my lip as I slap her little ass, and I love that she’s getting wet as she touches me.

  I want to touch her. I push aside her panties, and dip a finger into her juicy folds, wanting to loosen her a little before I plunge my massive rod into her.

  Her entrance is so soft and warm, and my fingers flick slowly, wanting her to enjoy every moment of this. Her pussy is so ready for my cock—my hand is sopping wet when I take my fingers out.

  She wrestles the panties off herself, and I appreciate her desire to be completely bare. It’s exactly what I want, too.

  A slow grin spreads across my face as I take in her naked body, every inch of her skin smooth and soft and ready to be devoured.

  Her hands run over my chest, her blonde hair falling in her eyes. I brush it away, wanting to see her green eyes and heart-shaped lips, wanting to memorize the slight upturn of her nose and the subtle dimple in her left cheek.

  “You are so beautiful, Claire. I could look at you all night.”

  “Don’t,” she says. “Don’t say words that aren’t true.”

  “You are quite the jaded woman, aren’t you. Not into sentiment?” I kiss her shoulders, her protruding collarbone that for some reason is fucking making me hard as a rock.

  “Look, Landon, I’m not bitter. Just a realist. And I don’t need you to tell me I’m pretty to sleep with me. Right now, I just need to be fucked. It’s been way too long.”

  Her mouth is on mine again, and I love that she isn’t tiptoeing around what this is for her. This is about sex for her. And it can be about sex for me, too.

  But, damn, she really is gorgeous.

  I roll on a condom, and I see her eyes flash with fear for a moment. I watch as she quickly looks over to her purse on the floor.

  When no phone rings, when nothing threatens this moment, I hold her hips, and help ease her onto my base.

  “Landon, you’re so fucking hot,” she says, covering her face with her hands.

  “No sweet words, remember?” I tease, pulling her hands away from her face.

  “Calling you fucking hot isn’t romance, Landon,” she says, resting her hands on my chest.

  “That’s where you’re wrong. Even if it is just about sex, a man likes to be called fucking hot.”

  She whimpers as she lowers herself onto me, seeming to pause before letting herself sit all the way down on top of me.

  “That hurt? I ask.

  “I’m moaning because your accent is so sexy. And I swear, without the accent I’d think you were just a regular American guy—most of whom do nothing for me. Lucky for you, the accent is hot as hell.”

  I laugh. This woman has worked me over and she doesn’t even try.

  “Claire, it’s time for you to enjoy yourself. Sit down on me, on my cock, nice and hard,” I tell her. “You know you want to.”

  “I do,” she breathes in my ear, her tits heaving with each breath she takes, her arms wrapped around my neck.

  She eases down, and I grab her firm ass with my hands, my fingers grazing at her pussy, helping her down. “Landon, it’s too much. You’re so big.”

  “You can fit me. Your pussy needs to know what a real cock is. I’m gonna fucking teach you.”

  “I want you to teach me, Landon,” she moans as she sits herself down, groans escaping her mouth as her head falls back in pleasure. “Oh, fuck,” she pants. “Oh, fuck me, Landon.”

  A grin covers my face as her pussy starts to really love my cock. I thrust into her nice and slow, as we find a gentle rhythm so it doesn’t hurt her. Her pussy’s so tight I could swear she’s a virgin. My cock fucking loves filling her up.

  “Oh, yeah, baby, that’s good,” I tell her as sweet juice flows from her, soaking my base, my thighs.

  “Oh, yeah,” she says, her hands running through my hair, gripping me tightly as she comes, again and again. Her orgasm floods us and she moans loudly as my come shoots out. I hold her soft hips in my hands as I thrust again as I get off with her on top of me.

  She falls into my chest, both of us catching our breath. My cock is still hard as a rock, and I pull off the condom. She cups my balls in her hand, as she lies down next to me, as she catches her breath.

  Her head rests on my chest and my arms wrap around her, and for a moment it feels like more than a hook-up, more than a quickie.

  Claire

  I fall asleep, Landon’s arms wrapped around me, and the next thing I know I wake with a start. Switching on the lam
p, I try to get my bearings.

  “Landon,” I say, shaking him awake. A sheet is wrapped around us. Blackout curtains block out the lights of the Vegas strip.

  “What, woman?” he asks, groaning, covering his face with his forearm.

  I see the clock on the bedside table and breathe a sigh of relief. It’s 5:00 am. My internal clock is set for early rising, I’m always up two hours before Sophia to get ready for work, and I’m grateful that even on my day off I’m up when I should be.

  Holy crap. I really used a hall pass.

  A smile breaks across my face, realizing that sleeping over with a man is something I haven’t done in literally years.

  And it feels good.

  Like, hot damn good. Landon is does not disappoint.

  “Why are you smiling?” he says, easing himself up. “It’s not even morning yet. Are you headed out?”

  “I probably should.” I stand, grabbing the sheet as I move. I reach for my purse and see Mom never texted. Thank god. Nothing happened while I was out.

  My shoulders fall with the relief only a mother can know. Sophia is okay. I’m okay. I left her for the night and nothing happened.

  It’s only the third time I’ve ever done this. The first few were last month when Emmy had her world rocked and Tess and I stayed with her at her apartment. Those times, I never felt guilty, because I stayed out so I could support a friend.

  This time, I left Sophia for purely indulgent reasons.

  And maybe … just maybe … that is okay.

  “Well,” Landon says, sitting up now and reaching for the telephone. “When I have sleepovers I feed my guests. You can’t walk out of here without a proper breakfast.”

  “I think I can.”

  “No, it’s not fit, Claire. You need coffee. Toast. Eggs.”

  Setting my purse down, I tell him to go ahead and order room service.

  Settling back into the bed, I wonder why I’m going along with this charade.

  Maybe the only reason is because it feels really nice to be taken care of.

  And maybe that’s reason enough.

  Chapter Eight

  Landon

  While we wait for room service, we fuck again. This time it isn’t tender or sweet. It’s fast, hard; I come with the speed that only happens when you wake up with a hard-on.

  Claire falls into the pile of pillows on the king-sized bed. “Thank you for that.” Her eyes rest on my still-bulging cock.

  “Any time,” I say, meaning it. “Although, it is pretty fucking early in the morning. You always get up this time of day?”

  “I do.” She doesn’t expound on the early hour. Instead she explains the hook-up. “It needed to happen, you know—you and I finishing what we started. Otherwise, I think I’d always have wondered about it,” she admits. “And this way, when I see you at work, it doesn’t have to be awkward.”

  “There is literally nothing awkward about you,” I tell her. The knock on the door has me pulling on a robe, and letting in the breakfast cart.

  A few minutes later, she and I sit in bed with bacon and eggs. She uses a fork and knife, and cuts each bite with the precision of an English lady. A napkin is across her bare thigh, and she literally raises a pinky as she sips her coffee.

  Watching her eat, I can’t help but realize she really is the most laid-back woman I’ve ever been with. She isn’t high maintenance. She isn’t annoying. She’s polite, has manners, and knows how to dance.

  An idea formulates in my mind and, the instant it does, I know it’s the most ingenious idea I’ve ever had. I know exactly how I can show my parents that I’ve become a solid, reliable son.

  Obviously they won’t know I’m being dishonest.

  “So,” I say, spreading jam on my toast. “Do you have any plans next week?”

  “Just work,” she says, smiling at me. “Mostly.”

  We could work around work. Hell, with what I was prepared to offer her, she might not need to work for quite a while.

  “Do you have a passport?” I ask, wondering how tricky my idea might be to play out.

  “A what?”

  “A passport. A little blue book documenting your country of residence?”

  “I know what it is.”

  “I wasn’t implying you didn’t,” I tell her, realizing this might be a tricky proposition. I don’t want to offend her.

  “I do have a passport. Which is ridiculous.” She waves her hands in the air as if somehow I would know why it’s so insane for her to have identification to travel.

  “How so?”

  “I’ve never used it.”

  “Really?” I try to not sound surprised. I shouldn’t be. I know it costs money to travel. And, by the looks of things, Claire doesn’t have loads of that.

  “When I was little, I used to dream about traveling and going to the places I read about. So when I turned eighteen the first thing I did was apply for a passport. I thought that as an adult I could do anything, go anywhere.”

  “What happened?” I ask, shifting my body closer to hers on the bed.

  “Life?” Claire smiles sadly, as if wistful memories are all she has of her still-unlived life.

  I want to wipe that look away. I want to make Claire happy, to see her smile a real smile.

  “How old are you, Claire?” I ask.

  “Twenty-four.”

  “Well, I’m twenty-seven. And I sure as hell hope there’s time left to travel, to use the bloody passport. To see those forgotten dreams.”

  “Look at you,” she says, patting my knee. “Being all sweet to me.”

  “I mean it.” I take her hand in mine, and look in her emerald green eyes, straight on. “Claire, what would you say if I offered you a one week job opportunity?”

  “I already have a job.”

  “Well, this job would be in England. At my family estate. If we succeed in our job, you would be paid one hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

  She laughs and then, when she realizes I’m not joking, her eyes narrow in on me. “And what is the job I’d be doing?”

  “You’d be my one-week fiancé.”

  Chapter Nine

  Claire

  Landon is completely serious. His brows are slightly raised, waiting for my answer.

  A fake fiancée?

  The first thing to flash through my mind is the reason why I should say no: I can’t run off to England and leave Sophia.

  Still ... two hundred and fifty grand for a week’s worth of “work”?

  “Is there some weird catch to all of this?” I ask, setting down the cup of coffee, realizing that I need to get a clear picture of this proposal, distraction free. This is one of the biggest conversations of my life. It has the potential to change everything.

  Landon laughs, flips the hair from his eyes. His chin is covered in five-o’clock shadow and his jawline all the sexier because of it.

  “There’s no catch,” he says. “The job is fairly simple. And it should work as long as you don’t have any dirty secrets, because my brother will dig up any shit on you he can find. And that would ruin everything. My father needs to believe I’m living a blameless life.”

  “How dirty is too dirty?” I swallow. Sophia isn’t exactly dirt, but she isn’t something I want anyone to know about. And she isn’t everything I am hiding.

  “You have something in your past I should know about?”

  “Nothing comes to mind,” I tell him plainly, not wanting to say anything that could be a deal breaker. I want this job. Scratch that—need this job.

  “Good. Because when we convince them of our love, of our commitment, and most importantly make them believe that I’m a more stand-up guy than my brother, the money is yours.”

  “But what if they catch us?” I ask, not entirely sure I can play the part of a sophisticated bride-to-be.

  “If they catch us ... well, then they’ll be reminded of why they already think I’m an ass.”

  “But if they don’t? If we convince
them we’re the real thing, what’s in it for you?”

  “If we pull this off, then my father will name me his successor. I’ll be the owner of The King’s Diamond.”

  “Shit.” I shake my head. The stakes are high. I don’t know if I have the credentials to pull this off, but the idea of that much money makes me want to try.

  The problems that I don’t know how to solve—Mom running out of Dad’s life insurance money, my job barely making me enough to cover my expenses, knowing I’ll never truly get ahead while living paycheck to paycheck, and knowing I’ll never be able to give Sophia a life any bigger than the one she currently has—would all be fixed with this money.

  Hadn’t I been saying for weeks—years—that I wanted more? Maybe this “job” is exactly the opportunity I need.

  “You’re the only woman I’d trust to do this,” Landon says, taking my hand in his. “You’re smart, appear put-together enough to be something more than a fling, and you’re hot. Which my parents would consider a prerequisite for any girl I’d consider marrying.”

  “So basically I’m your perfect woman?” I tease, sitting back against the pile of pillows, really considering this offer.

  “I don’t believe in perfect girls, Claire.”

  “I didn’t know you were so jaded.”

  “Life has hardened me, you know, caused me to see the world as a pessimist.” Landon smirks. “What do you say? Pretend to be my fiancée. If it fails, you’ve finally put that passport to good use. And if we succeed, you’ll be a quarter of a million dollars richer.”

  “And you don’t feel bad about the scam?” I ask. “I don’t think I would want anyone to know what I’d be agreeing to.”

  “Taking this company from Geoffrey would make me feel like the fucking King of England. He’s a massive prick, Claire, and has completely convinced my parents otherwise.”

  “And when would we leave?”

  “Tomorrow.” He runs his hand over his jaw, considering his words. “Obviously you’ll need some decent clothing and luggage, but we can get that all sorted. I mean, the only hang up will be if you have some dodgy past you’re not telling me about. Are you up for the task?”