Free ACE: Las Vegas Bad Boys by Frankie Love Page B

to talk about something. We can do that down here,” she says. The doors start to close on her and she raises an arm to stop them.
    “Get in here,” I tell her.
    “No, I don't know what you think this is … but it isn't.”
    “You’re in new clothes. Where'd you get those?” I ask.
    “Low blow, for one. And two, I'm wearing these because they’re fucking cute, not because they’re from you. You can't buy me. I'm not your whore.”
    Just then the elevator across the way opens and a short, balding man steps out with three female escorts: faux fur coats, fishnets, and minidresses, their cleavage spilling out. Surely he ordered them from the directory next to his bed.
    “I didn't say you were a whore.” My voice drops, and all I want is her in here with me. I want the doors to close on us. I want my sweaty body pressed against hers.
    She isn't a whore. She's mine.
    “Well, don't treat me like one then.”
    Her eyes are on mine, and I feel the electricity pulse between us. She may say she doesn't want to be treated like a whore, but I can tell by the way her lips quiver, the way her perfect tits rise and fall, the way she arches her back hungrily—that she wants to be fucked like one.
    “I'll treat you like you want to be treated,” I tell her.
    “Then let me go.” Her voice is soft, as if she's scared. Scared of what she wants. Needs.
    “You don't want that.”
    I tug on her arm, the final shove she needs to give in to what she is thinking about. In one fell swoop she steps inside, the doors close, and my mouth is on hers.

    * * *
EMMY
    Oh fuck.
    One second I'm all strong, resolved, and determined to tell Ace that in no shape or form am I his thing, a fuckable, disposable woman … and the next second I'm literally licking his neck.
    My hands are on his ass, pawing him as if I haven't touched a man in years. When he and I both know that is far from the fucking truth.
    His tongue grazes my ear, causing the heat between my legs to spread, making me squirm in his arms.
    He isn't dressed to kill right now, far from it. He's in workout clothes and smells like a man—all sweat and strength—and this low-key look turns me on.
    My fingers inch along the elastic waistband of his athletic shorts and I know a simple tug would reveal a hard, thick cock. The one I held last night. The one I rode in the early morning hours. The one that tempts me now.
    “I have to meet my friends. We have plans tonight.” I tell him, pushing away.
    “Plans with me tonight, right?” he asks.
    I shake my head. “I can't do this.”
    “Yes, yes you can.”
    “I'm not going to a hotel room with you again. Not doing this whole whore-dance. That's not me.”
    “We don't have to go to my room, then.” He unbuttons my pants.
    I'm still in my heels, still trying to figure out if I'm seriously going to do this again. My brain screams no , my pussy begs yes .
    I eye the elevator door, knowing it might open any moment. As if reading my mind, he bangs against the security button with his elbow, calling on an intercom.
    “This is Ace Royalle. I need you to lock the doors on this elevator until I say so.”
    “Roger that, boss,” a muffled voice replies over a speaker as the elevator stops.
    “You fuck everyone this way?” I ask, shaking my head at this man's power.
    “Not everyone,” he says. He pulls the skintight pants down to my knees. Eyeing me hungrily—I’m in that tiny little thong he got for me—he pushes the lace down, too. “But enough that the operator knows what to do when told.”
    I reflexively kick off my heels, knowing that this thing between Ace and I can't go on, but also knowing no way in hell am I stopping this elevator fuck-train. I want to ride this car until I come.
    “And you, do you do what you’re told?” I ask Ace, pulling down his shorts and boxer briefs. I moan, taking in his massive cock, stepping out of my pants, pulling my top over my head.
    “I'm never told what to do.” He pushes me against the