The Strip Ch. 11

Kay began to move faster, urgently, as if the world was coming to an end.

When her umpteenth orgasm hit her, she made no attempt to stifle her screams. Carly felt it too. The journey came to an end, the waves inside her body crashing against the same rocks as the Agency Head had found.

Life was good.

***

It took a long time for Rosie's senses to return. She was disorientated at first, her throat and mouth parched. The evening was a blur - a drink and drug fuelled blur. She knew she'd done things she shouldn't, that weren't really her, but her hazy, bewildered mind told her it was all right. All around her people were still paired off, an orgy of grunts, moans and sex. It was natural, and all she'd done was what came naturally.

That was all right, wasn't it?

God knows how many orgasms she'd had, how much coke she'd consumed. But she was floating on a tide of sexual ecstasy that made her feel invincible, made her forget everything else that was going wrong in her life.

Water, she reminded herself, pulling herself to her feet and finding it easier to walk the more she did it. She'd never ridden a horse, but imagined this must be what it felt like to ride all day. Exhausted, sore, and filled with exciting memories of the most recent journey. No worries about life before or after.

Side tracked, Rosie gravitated over to a forgotten tray of champagne and picked up one of the flutes of bubbly. Leaning against the wall, she surveyed the room again, finally able to appreciate it as an outsider.

Yesterday, she'd sworn this life off. Yesterday, she'd been content. But that life wasn't in the cards, it seemed. She watched as Lisa Welles was fucked doggy-style by that dark haired male model as she buried her face between his dark-skinned girlfriend's thighs.

"Aperitif?" a waitress asked, drawing Rosie's attention off of the orgy before her. She recognized the Oriental beauty, the memory still clear of how sweet her lips had tasted all that time ago.

In her hand was a platter of coke, already cut into slender lines. Rosie ran her fingers through her long hair, damp from the night's exertions. "Do you want some before we fuck or after?" the beautiful server coyly asked.

***

Daniel hadn't slept. Not even a wink. How could he?

What time was it? Six in the morning! He'd tossed and turned all night long and now, staring blankly out of the hotel window at the rising sun, he felt no tiredness at all. He felt nothing, only numbness.

From time to time, he'd run through the Main Event in his head. Reaching the final table was an incredible achievement. He was now a millionaire. After all those arguments with Grace in the past, he'd proven himself. Two WSOP tournaments and top ten places in both. The irony was that the disagreements had been for nothing. Rosie was no longer here to share his success.

He missed his redheaded girlfriend way more than he could have imagined. The sweet, innocent woman had made such an impact on his life. In such a short time. Now she was gone.

His winnings would have paid off her debt to the club owner. She'd never told him how much it was, but the amount would be loose change to him now. He could have repaid what she owed, settled her worried mind, and then…

The 'then' didn't matter anymore. There wasn't any 'then.' He'd cocked up. Why the hell hadn't he just told Rosie the truth about him and Holly?

He and the blonde had talked into the early hours this morning. That woman was a good friend. A very good friend. It seemed as if they'd known each other much longer than just a few days. He was so glad she'd made it to the final table, too, though now the papers would have a field day talking about them. Not that it mattered any longer.

The damage was done.

He'd told Holly everything there was to tell about Rosie. How good the beautiful redhead made him feel. He'd never previously experienced such an intensity of warm feelings, not even with Grace, when things were going well.

Holly had listened to everything without comment, without judgement. Just a few occasional questions of clarification. Her advice made sense. You couldn't force these things. A relationship had to work for both people. If it were meant to be with Rosie, something would happen to bring them together again.

He'd been a little drunk when he walked Holly back to her room. She asked if he wanted to spend the night together. It didn't mean anything, she'd said—she knew his feelings for Rosie. But it might help him forget his pain. For the night, at least. He'd been tempted. What man wouldn't?

But how could he fuck another woman tonight—even a comfort fuck—when his Rosie was probably crying herself to sleep…