The Strip Ch. 12

This is a rewrite of 'Vegas', combining both Books. While maintaining the theme, it offers a completely different and fresh take for the main characters.

Grateful thanks go to the best editor in the world – thesoundandfury - not only for his editing, but also for the constant encouragement, suggestions, and for helping me to become a better writer.

Chapter 12: Three Months Later

Three months had slowly passed since Daniel had reached the World Series of Poker final table. In that time he'd left his job back in England, moved out of the London apartment he and Grace had been renting, found a temporary bedsit, and spent most of his time playing poker… and drinking.

He was better at poker than even he had suspected, judging by his results. His drinking habits were rapidly improving, too—he often started in the morning and continued 'til late at night.

Two days back in Las Vegas, all the old memories had returned. Contrary to his expectations, the excitement of the City that never sleeps was still there. Excitement… and also anticipation of what tomorrow would bring. Whether two days reacclimatizion was enough, he wasn't sure. But then, Holly had only returned last night. He hadn't been in good enough condition to see her, too much drink. Instead, they'd arranged lunch today.

Daniel made a pact with himself to stay off the booze until the afternoon. Or maybe 'til after the Main Event? If he could…

Bobby Baldwin's poker room at the Bellagio was becoming to feel like home. He'd seen more of it than the inside of his hotel suite, though they were about the only two sights he had enjoyed so far. What else was there to see?

Yes, it was true he'd twice found himself outside of Midnight Hot. He had no intention of entering, of course. Why would he? Rosie had made her feelings clear and he understood why. He'd lied. And he was a deadbeat poker player. With all that had happened with her previous boyfriend, the sweet redhead had had her fill of that combination.

Hell, he didn't even know if she'd returned to work there. She might not even be in Vegas. He had no idea where she was. All he did know was how much he missed the redhead. That feeling hadn't gone away.

It increased with each passing day...

***

The giant's bushy beard provided quite a contrast to his baldhead. Grace remembered the interesting combination so well. She loved every aspect of his roughness. That was why she'd returned to his shop, she guessed. Yes, she wanted the tattoos. But she craved the rough, dirty sex, too.

"Well, Missy," the grizzly man's deep voice growled. "There we go, two more angel tattoos. What d'you think—old Sam's done a good job?"

Grace sat cross-legged on the long table to check her ankles. "Perfect," she answered, with that little come-on smile of hers.

The short, black skirt rode up to her waist, allowing the bear of a man a clear view of her thong covered crotch. The black lace disguised very little, but that was part of the excitement. Could he see how wet she was?

With her three-month contract at Samuel Smith's now completed, she had several producers clamouring with record deals. If the number of hits on You Tube and My Space were an indicator, she was already an international star. That first album was a guaranteed success. The competing money on the table for her was mind boggling, but it was only the start.

Grace Lane—Superstar! Fame and fortune was just around the corner.

Her idea for the additional two ankle tattoos was to emphasise she was the best angel of all. Not yet, okay. But soon she would be. The side benefit was seeing old Sam again. Despite moving in her sophisticated new world, the idea of seeing the worldly-wise biker again was almost too good to resist.

"Perfect is right, Missy," he grinned, his eyes drawn to her crotch.

Grace remembered that grin… the stained smokers' teeth. The sleeveless black tee shirt with its skull and crossbones design fitted him so well. She adored tattoos and his muscular arms were covered with them.

So rough… so dirty… so dangerous.

Hot flushes of arousal were already pumping through her hot body. They changed to a fiery furnace as his hand sneaked under her skirt and homed in on her sex.

"Ngh!" she cried, tossing her long dark hair as his probing fingers stroked her through the lacy thong. Her body arched up, bucking her hips up into the penetrating fingers. She came so hard that his other hand needed to steady her shuddering body.

"Nice, Missy," he muttered. "You're nice and ready for old Sam, aren't you? You want a bit of this rough old bastard again, right?" Pulling his hand from between her thighs, he fed his fingers to her lips, smiling as the woman lustfully licked her juices from them. This was one hot bitch! "Now why don't you slip off that top for me? Let me see them tits again—"

With a lustful groan, Grace pulled her top free of her skirt, and then yanked it clean over her head, her breasts bouncing deliciously. Sam's head instantly dipped and his lips sucked in a hard nipple. His hand raised to her other swell, his thumb gently flicking back and forth across her extended dark bud.

Grace moaned again as he suckled her. His tongue flicked and licked around her hard nipple. Her hands found his head, encouragingly rubbing across his bald skin. For such a large man, he could be incredibly gentle.

Suddenly his other hand was between her thighs again, gripping the waistband of her thong. With a grunt, he ripped the flimsy covering from her body, holding it up in front of her, as if displaying his prize confirmed his control.

Grace's lips quivered as he dipped his head again, both hands roughly cupping her breasts, pushing them inwards towards his sucking mouth. The torn thong fluttered to the floor.

Both her hard buds were swelling in his mouth, reacting as he swept between one and the other. The feeling of his saliva dripping from her breasts onto her stomach only added to her arousal. Her hands left his head and dropped to his waist, yanking his belt free and pushing open his dirty black jeans.

The bear's mouth left her breasts. "Gonna take 'im out, Missy?" he grunted, his eyes narrowing as she did exactly that.

She rubbed her clit with the crown of his cock, using him like a dildo. "Ngh. Fuck…" That felt soooo good.

Grace couldn't hold back. She needed him inside her. The brunette pulled him one last time across her silky wetness, then set his purple crown against her opening. He instantly pushed inside, ball-deep in her with three grunting passes. "Oh fuck…"

Her hands instantly fell to his pumping ass, her fingernails digging into his skin. The table bounced under her with each thrust, threatening to collapse. The giant's response was immediate, digging his hands under Grace's buttocks and lifting the lithe body upwards. His meaty legs spread to maintain his balance, the soles of his feet digging into the floor through his boots.

Grace's hands left his ass to lock around his neck. "Yessss…"

Their hooded eyes staring into one another's as he began to thrust again. Grace felt like she was perching on the edge of a cliff, threatening to fall backwards into the depths beyond. The feeling only added to the intensity of the situation. The big bear continued to fuck her through her immediate orgasm, not even letting up as a second rippled its way inside her heavily sweating body. That made three so far, but who was counting?

"Ohfuck..." she gasped, the words merging into one and reverberating around her voice box.

Old Sam grunted, gripping her ass more tightly with his aching hands. His pleasure weakened legs told him they couldn't last out much longer. Neither could his thick cock. As Grace took his head between her hands and slid her tongue into his tobacco smelling mouth, her actions instantly sent a signal to his testicles.

No angel had ever kissed him before.

He gave a bestial cry as he came. "AHHHHHHHHH!!!" It roared from the back of his throat, starting loud and ending louder. His sack smacked against her juice-slick ass as he exploded, his legs beginning to buckle.

"Hold me, hold me," Grace ordered, partly to make sure she received all of his creamy offering but also to ensure she could grind herself sufficiently to take her to a fourth climax.

Her fingernails dug into his shoulder blades and her heels into his back as she came again, not caring whether she drew blood or how much the panting giant struggled to remain on his feet. He pumped in and out of her shuddering body one final time, releasing the last of his juice as the soon-to-be international star hissed her own sweet release into his dirty ear.

***

"Okay, babes," the photographer called. "That's a wrap. Sorry we couldn't get everything finished off last night, but appreciate you ladies returning early morning. A late breakfast's on me, if anyone's hungry."

"You interested?" the gum chewing Mexican woman asked Lauren, trailing her fingers along the blonde's forearm.

Lauren smiled at the older model. Juanita was around forty, though to be fair she looked much younger. With her long, dyed brown hair and sultry dark eyes, the woman had more sex appeal than the few younger models Lauren had worked with in recent months.

"Not sure," the blonde hesitantly responded, aware of the Hispanic woman's eyes on her as they walked back to the changing rooms. She had some serious decisions to make. They'd have to give up Grace's luxury pad up when her sister left Vegas. The question for Lauren was what should she do?

Grace had suggested her sister accompany her to New York. The alternatives were to return to England, or stay here in Vegas, but since Kay had ended their involvement, all she'd managed to find were some minor modelling engagements. Enough to keep her ticking over, but not much more than that.

She might as well take her sister up on her offer; she wouldn't make it on her own without Grace, that was for sure. Washed up already? And only twenty-two…

"You should come out," Juanita told her, unfastening her bra two steps into the changing room. Lauren could feel her throat go dry as she watched, her eyes glued to the warm, deep brown skin of the Mexican woman's bare back. With a provocative shimmy, the woman's thong joined her bra on the floor.

She arched a dark brow as she swung around to face Lauren. "Well?"

Lauren was unsure whether the older woman was referring to lunch or her tits. The inviting globes excitedly swung before settling, and were everything they'd promised to be. The Mexican cupped the silicone enhanced swells, holding them for Lauren to admire. The deep brown coloured breasts were big, but not too big, and perfectly shaped.

"You like?" she provocatively asked Lauren, lowering her head to flick her tongue across an erect chocolate nipple. "You like my tits?"

The blonde's eyes were drawn to the sight like a moth to a flame. The hint of saliva around the dark nipple was incredibly erotic.

"I see you do," Juanita teasingly smiled, batting those long eyelashes. "Breakfast, then we can go back to my apartment. My boyfriend's at work and my tits need some attention. You like women, Lauren—yes?"

The blonde felt her own nipples harden. The older model circled her, stopping just behind her long enough to untie her bikini top. Juanita's hands were on Lauren's breasts before the garment hit the floor.

"Yes?" she murmured, the tip of her tongue flicking along the blonde's earlobe. "Yours need attention, too, Lauren! A light breakfast… then mine…"

It was no longer a question.

***

Rosie woke up naked and disoriented—a sensation she was beginning to grow used to. The smell of sex was heavy in the air and she felt sore all over. She'd passed out between two guys who still hadn't woken, and a third was dozing in an armchair in the corner.

Last night returned to her like a slideshow stuck on fast-forward. Cocks in her mouth, in her pussy, in her ass. Separately. At the same time. Thrusting, pounding. A long, drawn out moan that drowned out everything else. And cum everywhere. Inside of her. All over her.

The redhead's heart began to beat quickly before she could shake her head and clear her thoughts. Last night could have been any of a dozen nights she'd shared with paying strangers in the last three months. Maybe it was a little better than most, but they hadn't all been like that.

Careful not to wake any of her new lovers, she crawled off the bed, gathered her clothing, and slipped into the bathroom. These guys had come to Vegas looking to fulfil that "What happens in Vegas…" cliché. One was getting married, the other two already were.

It wasn't her business, of course, and she didn't ask about the rings. She just fucked. It was what she was paid to do.

A cloud of melancholy descended over her when she shut herself into the bathroom. Is this what she was meant to do? Was there any way out of this lifestyle?

The fluorescent lights blinked on, casting her pale, freckled body in harsh white light. She'd been in far classier bathrooms than this one, but it wasn't bad. Enough room to get dressed in, anyway. Her mind was already thinking forward to the rest of her day: go home, take a shower and a nap; get her mind into gear again, then it was off to Midnight Hot for her shift; and if Big Eddie insisted on it, maybe she'd have to share his bed afterwards.

Rosie sighed and looked at herself in the mirror. She hated this living prison. "You really screwed this up," she muttered into those large, pretty eyes.

Balanced on the vanity beside the mirror was an oversized water bong. The redhead checked, finding that there was still some un-smoked weed in the bowl. The guys had been taking turns with it all last night, and while it had been tempting, she'd refrained.

There was a time when she'd been high all the time, though. The weeks after her falling out with Daniel had been rough, and it seemed like the best way to deal with it was to soak her brain in chemicals. But it was a similar moment like this, when she looked at herself in the mirror and saw her green eyes dimmed and unfocused, that she realized it wasn't her.

No matter what she had to do for a living, it was just a means to an end, and she was done playing Big Eddie's game.

Still, there were times when she was tempted to try the drug. Particularly moments like this, when the sadness felt like a yoke on her shoulders, she thought that she could use a temporary dulling of her senses.

The temptation was never enough, though. Splashing water in her face, she resolved again to get out. Yet by the time she was dressed and in the elevator, she knew there was no out. A month back, when she'd calculated that she was debt-free, she'd approached her gangster boss about leaving. He'd told her with the way interest was adding up, she still owed half the debt.

Then he'd beaten her so badly she'd missed a week's worth of work, and while he'd apologized for it later and didn't dock her pay for the missed time, the message was clear: she was his property until he said she was not.

Rosie knew when to cut her losses. She was a smart girl, despite her situation, and knew that this was one of those times. Without Eddie knowing—or Carly for that matter—she'd saved enough money now to buy a plan ticket out of Vegas and set up a new life for her somewhere else, under a different name. A risk, but she had to take it.

As she passed by the bank of televisions in the MGM Grand's lobby, she saw the recorded footage from last night's news. Holly Willoughby had arrived in Vegas after the three-month break between the World Series of Poker and the Final Table; she was one of what the media had dubbed the 'November 9.'

The redhead had mixed feelings over the beautiful blonde, although she couldn't deny the poker player's beauty. Dressed in her signature black, her dark sunglasses were pushed up into her golden blonde hair like a headband as she wheeled her bag through the Rio's front doors. It was rumoured that she'd been involved with another of the final nine: Daniel Stone.

Of course that man's name would come up at the sight of Holly. Or of the mention of poker. Or of any private party she'd ever had at the Rio—there'd been a few. She still cursed herself for being so stupid; for letting him get away because of unnecessary jealousy.

The Englishman had gone into monk-like seclusion in London over the past few months, but he'd be back for the Final Table. Was that why she was still here? Was that why she was still working for Big Eddie? For some silly-girl dream of making up with her knight in shining armour? To be rescued from her life as a whore?

The redhead needed to talk to someone. She pulled out her phone, thinking of calling Carly for a morning coffee, but decided against that. Since the sassy, young dancer had moved in with Big Eddie and become his unofficial girlfriend, Rosie had found it harder and harder to confide in her friend.

Or was it her ex-friend?

Carly had changed. Become more preoccupied with other things, other people. The spiky haired woman hadn't even been that sympathetic after Rosie'd been beaten. Said she shouldn't have pushed her luck with the gangster like that…

Anyway, how could she talk to Carly when so many of the things she wanted to talk about had to do with leaving Big Eddie? The spiky haired woman was his main girl there now and Rosie knew exactly what she'd say.

Suddenly, a thought hit her like a bolt from the blue! Could she? Should she? Yes, do it now… do it before she changed her mind!

Anxiously flicking open the phone, she dialled her friend who worked the desk at the Rio. Her heart was in her mouth before the woman even picked up. "Hey, Sue? It's Rosie… I was wondering if you could do me a huge favour… Could you give me the number of one of the guests staying there? Holly Willoughby. I owe you big!"

***

"Where've you been?" Samuel Smith's voice was sharp, full of alarm. "I've been trying to contact you," he rasped.

Grace smiled patiently. Agitated looks didn't work with her, not even from the club owner. After all, she'd only said she might be stopping by at lunchtime. It had been naughty to turn off her mobile phone when with Old Sam, but then… she hadn't wanted to be interrupted.

"Wouldn't you like to know," she teased, watching him walk towards her. The way he'd thumped his drink on the bar before heading across the veneered wooden floor should have sparked a flame of alarm, bit she was still on a high after her morning with the grizzly old bear. She leant upwards to plant a soft kiss on Samuel's lips. Wait until he saw her tattoos…

The stare he gave her stopped her in her tracks. His dark eyes were brooding, worried. The moment hit her like a sledgehammer. Something was wrong. Badly wrong. Perspiration broke out on his brow and that was unusual—Samuel didn't sweat. For a moment, she thought he was angry with her.

"What is it?" she panted, nervousness filling her body. "Samuel…?"

With a frustrated shake of his head, he grabbed the brunette's arm and guided her along the corridor in front of him. It took less than thirty seconds to reach his office.

For a few seconds, Samuel just stared at her. His son was arriving later today, to see his dad at the WSOP final table. Samuel's intention to show him how well the business was running had hit a major snag. It had only been two days since he'd bragged about Grace's success during a phone conversation with Joshua. Now, everything was fucked up.