Читать книгу Wicked Wives - Anna-Lou Weatherley - Страница 17

Tom had been right about Candy; she was definitely a screamer in the sack.

‘Ohh yeah, baby! I’m almost there! Keep going … like that, yeah! Oh … ooooh …’

They’d been going at it ever since they’d checked into the penthouse suite at The Player, and she’d been ‘there’ at least twice already.

Tom looked down at the young woman bucking and squirming underneath him as he ploughed himself into her in long, slow strokes; her long blonde hair fanning the pillow like a yellow blanket as she laid it on a bit heavy with the vocals. She was very young and extremely sexy, yet he felt absolutely nothing as he blithely pumped himself inside her, running his hand over her toned stomach and shiny, albeit impressive, fake tits. Candy Wilson could hardly believe her luck. What had commenced as one of the shittiest days on record, getting fired from her deadbeat job at the diner by her asshole of a boss – strike that, ex-boss – had ended up here; in a luxury penthouse suite of a hotel in Las Vegas, Las fucking Vegas, with vintage champagne on tap and a rich, good-looking dude who was hung like a fucking horse and gave great oral. Jesus, the man’s tongue should come with a ‘Parental Advisory’ sticker. What’s more, he had promised to take her shopping in a limo later, maybe catch one of them fancy shows after a lobster and champagne dinner somewhere really posh. It was like something straight out of a frickin’ Julia Roberts movie! Life had been pretty shitty lately, Candy thought, what with the court case and a spell in the hospital thanks to those bastards she called parents. It looked as if things were finally beginning to go her way.

Candy had already sussed out that Tom had to be something of a high roller, simply by the unorthodox reaction they’d received upon arrival. The hotel staff had practically fallen over themselves to accommodate them in the penthouse suite – the frickin’ penthouse suite – it was at least ten times the size of her poky studio apartment back in LA and the soft furnishings were like something from one of those glossy interior magazines her mom was always reading; all gilt baroque gold mirrors, sumptuous Persian rugs, tactile suede couches, and a huge, gothic-looking bed with a ceiling mirror above it. Hel-lo Sin City!

‘This place is awesome!’ she’d squealed, wide-eyed, suddenly seeming her age as she had thrown herself down onto the bed, the pure silk and goose eiderdown making a satisfactory whoosh as she impacted onto it. ‘You some kind of face around here?’ Candy had enquired, intrigued. ‘Seems like everyone can’t do enough for you …’

Tom had smiled with a hefty display of false modesty.

‘Welcome to my hometown, honey,’ he’d laughed, throwing himself down on top of her, pushing her legs apart as his hands began to explore her young, tight body. ‘Welcome to Vegas. Playground of the rich!’

Tom had always enjoyed the physical release he experienced during sex, the rush of endorphins as he came, flooding his body and brain with dopamine and other feel-good chemicals – in fact he was addicted to it, but as with any kind of addiction, it was always such a transient, fleeting state, void of any real depth, the ultimately short-lived high making way for the inevitable crashing low.

Tom had only ever felt that deeper level of connection with a woman once in his life before, the kind of connection that transforms sex into the act of making love; the kind that touches you deep inside, leaving you with the feeling of having grown closer to another human being. Although the intensity of it had frightened the crap out of him, he had never since been able to replicate such a feeling with anyone else, though it would be fair to say he had certainly given it his best shot over the years.

As Candy loudly came for the fourth time that afternoon, Tom kept one surreptitious eye on the Louis Vuitton holdall next to the bed. It wasn’t too late to do the right thing and bank it, his voice of reason told him as he threw her around the bed like a rag doll – this one liked it on the rough side. But the other voice inside his head, the one that always seemed to lure him into trouble, was already attempting to talk him out of it. It’s just a little game of cards, it whispered to him, seductively, one that would allow you to double your money and make good your end of the deal with Jack.

No one played Five Card Draw like Tom Black; he’d been notorious in his day, a charming trickster who’d outsmarted the pros, even with the worst hand imaginable. Hell, not even Lady Gaga could read his poker face.

The internal phone unexpectedly rang, causing a post-coital Candy to jump.

Tom rolled off her spent young body and picked it up. He was convinced this one was a lucky talisman. He could see it in her eyes. When he won big tonight he’d treat her to a little spree in Gucci and Victoria’s Secret. Give her something to really scream about.

‘Tom Black.’

‘Tom! Jesus buddy! It’s been a while … they told me you were in town! How the fuck are you …?’

It was Marvin Katz, manager of The Player. The pair went way back to when Tom was a ten-dollar slots guy and Marvin was making his name on the tables, something of a player himself, or at least he would have everyone believe.

‘Jesus, how are you Marv?’ Tom stood naked, placing the phone between his ear and shoulder as he began to pace the room. ‘I hear you’re the big cheese these days … good for you buddy,’ he said, with as much sincerity as he could muster. The Marvin Katz he’d known back in the day could only just about manage to string a coherent sentence together, let alone run a chic, quality establishment like The Player.

‘It’s good to hear you, Tom,’ Marvin said, in his nasal New York accent that hadn’t seemed to soften with the passing of time. ‘I hope the guys have been looking after you with the comps so far … listen, whatever you want Tom, champagne, a limo, hookers … you just let me know, OK?’

‘Thanks Marv,’ Tom glanced at Candy who was now busy helping herself to the contents of a deluxe heart-shaped box of Godiva chocolates. ‘I appreciate it,’ he said, wondering just how far his offer of such generosity might stretch. Like a few million dollars’ worth of generous.

‘The guys tell me you’re looking for a big game, Tom.’

‘That’s right, Marv. I’m hoping you can hook me up.’

‘We’ve missed you, Tom,’ Marvin said with a healthy dose of sycophantic smarm that Tom immediately saw straight through.

‘Hey! Have you seen this?’ Candy’s shrill LA accent cut through the conversation like a shard of glass as she held up the glossy, gold-embossed menu card, her eyes wide and her exposed tits standing to attention like torpedoes. ‘It says here we got our very own butler, 24/7, like, you gotta be shitting me?’

Tom heard Marvin guffaw.

‘I take it you won’t be needing any extra services tonight then?’

‘Oh I don’t know, Marv … the night’s young,’ Tom reposted.

‘Yeah, but not as young as the broad I’ll bet,’ Marvin shot back, and Tom forced himself to laugh. Marvin Katz wasn’t nearly as amusing as he thought he was, but if laughing at Marv’s lame attempts at humour meant he would look into sorting him a game, then he’d suck it up all day long.

‘You kill me, Marvin,’ Tom chuckled, rolling his eyes at Candy, who giggled as she popped a truffle between her glossy blow job lips. ‘Let’s have a drink together later, celebrate my big win.’

‘I like your confidence my friend,’ Marvin replied dryly, with forced good humour. Some things never changed. Tom Black had always been a cocky little English fucker; way too big for his size nines, that was his problem. Gamblers like Black might think they’re the shit, but the house always won at the end of the day; they were just too fucking arrogant to want to believe it.

‘Leave it with me, Tom. I’ll put the word out, see who’s in town.’

‘I appreciate it Marv … And make mine a Bourbon on the rocks … a large one yeah?’ he added before hanging up.

Tom felt the first trickles of adrenaline stirring inside his guts, the kindling of that euphoric rush he always got right before a game. He’d played for money in the past, big money too, but nothing in this league … it was a heck of a lot of green that wasn’t even his to gamble but as far as Tom was concerned, what choice did he have? He’d given Jack his word he would get his share of the money and Tom’s fierce pride meant that he’d rather skip town than lose face in front of his friend. Tonight there could be no room for error; it was shit or bust.