ACE: Las Vegas Bad Boys Read Online Free

who’s pretty devoted, but the relationships don’t last long. I’m guessing he’s into that BDSM shit, which is probably hot as hell, but I prefer to fuck without the handcuffs.
    I’ve rarely had a problem getting a woman right where I want her—I don’t need a lock and key to get a pussy in place.
    “I’ll get us a table.” Turning to McQueen I ask, “You working Friday’s show? Or are you free?”
    “I’m working, but fuck yeah, I’m in. I’ll come when I get done, maybe midnight or one.”
    “Cool, I’ll put you on the list,” I say, happy to hook up my friends. My table at Stacked is prime, and I’ll be sure to tell my personal assistant, Denise, to fill the table with plenty of hot women. Jack will appreciate my forethought when he gets off stage.
    “Let’s get you boys some drinks,” I say, looking around for the cocktail waitress. Not seeing anyone, I look at Carla, who holds up one finger, signaling that she’ll go figure out where our waitress is.
    I specifically only have one girl working our game, and Carla is the one who picks her out. She has a good pulse on the waitresses working, since she’s been a manager here as long as I’ve owned the place.
    The last thing I need is rumors flying about any of us. Discretion is important in my private space, and Carla knows that. Which is why it pisses me off that the person she hired tonight hasn’t shown.
    A minute later Carla returns. “She’ll be here in a moment. Sorry about that, boss, I guess the shift got traded.” Carla gives me an apologetic look, and I know she won’t let this happen again.
    “This new girl, we can trust her?” I ask, speaking low.
    “I think so. She’s new, but seems eager to please, and she’s never been late to work before.” She begins dealing the cards and we take our seats.
    “Eager to please, huh?” Landon asks. “I like the sound of that.”
    Carla smirks, and we all look down at our hands. We start making bets based on what we’re holding, and I smile, liking the way the deal went.
    A moment later the door to the lounge opens and my eyes flick up, remembering those long fish-netted legs from earlier. Remembering the tendrils of brunette hair out of place, remembering how Emmy said she was going to be late if she didn’t hurry.
    Late for this poker game.
    I wouldn’t have minded her being late if it meant I could have pushed her panties aside and pressed a finger into her wetness.
    Not that she’s any wearing panties, not in that skin-tight uniform, the thonged back sliding between her perfect ass cheeks. I chose those cocktail uniforms for that specific reason—I don’t want anything left to the imagination. I want to know exactly what sort of pussy is walking around my casino.
    I want to know what sort of pussy is walking into my private suite. And, god—hers is exactly what I want.
    She meets my eyes, and I see her take a sharp intake of breath. She wants me too. Earlier, the only reason she walked away was because she didn’t want to get fired.
    In her hand, she still holds that damn cocktail tray, and I want to push it aside, wrap those legs around me, and press her into the wall, my cock leading the way.
    I don’t like that she denied me, but I think it’s cute how she takes this job seriously. I like that she doesn’t know who I am, because it means she hasn’t heard the rumors that I know circulate about the size of my cock, the way I pound women until they cry out in ecstasy.
    I grin, knowing she’ll find out all on her own

3
    EMMY
    O h shit .
    The guy from the hallway is here. I try not to look surprised, hoping my flushed cheeks don’t reveal the real reason I was late. You know, because I was busy getting off like a total horn-dog.
    Oh my god, I am so over my head with my life.
    Standing in the private suite, I know my eyes get wide. Because, oh my word, this place is amazeballs—the carpet is plush and black, the walls are painted a dark purple, and gorgeous sconces hug