Ace of Hearts

Chapter 2-2

Tony

Pepper opens my office door, and the struggle between hiding my hard c**k and letting her go out there without a bodyguard becomes real. I mutter a curse and follow her out.

“Wait up,” I call to her tight little a*s. Because, yeah, that’s where my focus can’t help but stay glued. She’s wearing these little shorts—these f*****g tiny shorts—that are all spandex and leave half her a*s cheeks exposed.

And she has a super hot a*s. Muscular, shapely. Cute.

“I’m not letting you out there without a guard.”

She ignores me and keeps on sashaying down the hall. Swinging those hips on purpose.

I catch up quickly with my long legs, and I have to work hard to keep from popping her butt. “Next time you parade through this casino in your panties I’m gonna smack that a*s pink,” I growl just behind her.

She flips me the bird, but when she throws a glance over her shoulder, I see a smirk. And a slight blush.

Good. I read her right. She may be offended by me; she may hate that I’m the guy whose thumb she’s under, but sexually? Sexually, she’s a little bent.

Maybe she likes to be tied up. Maybe she wants to be held down. Or she’s got a thing for a guy’s fingers around her throat. I don’t know; I just get the vibe. Women who are turned on by me aren’t vanilla. They see big and tattooed and they think daddy. Or a bad boy. They want dark and dangerous—maybe with a splash of pain. Maybe punishment.

And for Pepper Heart, I’d be happy to oblige. Yeah, I’d tie her up and f**k her senseless. Keep her on the brink of an o****m for hours straight before I let her come. Wake her up three times a night with my fist in her hair and c**k in hand.

She wants it dark? I’ll give it to her dark.

But she’s gonna have to ask nicely.

She can’t come skidding into my office accusing me of owning her unless she admits to herself she wants to be owned.

We’re halfway through the casino when I realize she’s lost. Basically, she’s about to walk in a full circle. I get it; it’s a big place and she had an escort when she found me. When she stops in front of a bank of elevators and looks both ways, I sidle up behind her.

“Did you want to go up to your room?” I stand too close, partly to unnerve her, partly because I wanted to get another whiff of her crisp apple and cucumber scent.

She whirls to face me, her mouth tight. Her eyes dart right and left.

I c**k my head, waiting.

“I don’t even know my room number,” she admits on an exhale. Her voice sounds throaty.

Adorable. I can’t say what it is about her that gets my c**k so hard. Something about the achingly beautiful features offset by the punk trimmings, maybe. Big brown eyes against such pale skin. The glint of the diamond in her nose. She has a s*x-fairy quality to her. Tough, yet feminine.

I hide my smile. “I’d be happy to escort you to your room, Ms. Heart.” I indicate a different bank of elevators—the ones that go to the higher levels.

She lifts her chin and walks to them. All around us, people hold up their phones and snap pictures of her.

I grind my teeth, the urge to pound all of them into the ground surprisingly strong. I hold the elevator door for her. “Take the next one,” I growl at the guests gutsy enough to try to dart on with us.

Pepper sighs and brushes her hair out of her face with trembling fingers when the doors close. I eye her, using my all-access keycard to punch in her floor number.

“You shaking because of me or them?”

I expect more feistiness, but when her chest sags, she appears weary beyond her years. She lifts her slender shoulders, but doesn’t answer me. Instead, she puts her hand to her throat, like she’s warding off being choked. Or remembering it.

Seeing Pepper diminished does something uncomfortable to my insides—even though I’ve been the one antagonizing her. I want the Pepper who flipped me off to return, but this one stares straight ahead with a zombie-like emptiness. The elevator stops and the doors open.

“It’s this way,” I tell her. “Suite 1460.” I escort her to the room—one of our premium suites—and use my keycard to open it. Out of long practice, I step in to check for threats and make sure her luggage has been delivered before I back toward the door. “You need anything?”

She rotates to stare at me, like she’s not sure if I’m for real or not.

I shrug.

“No thanks.” Her voice sounds rusty.

I love the way she stares at me, a mixture of bald curiosity and defiance. It’s the same intense study she gave me when we first met outside. I’m the kinda guy who attracts plenty of attention. I’m big. I have a deep voice. I swagger.

But all people see is the role I portray—mafia enforcer. Or around the Bellissimo, where we no longer engage in organized crime activities, big man in charge.

No one ever looks past it, stares right into my eyes like they want to unearth my secrets.

That’s how Pepper looks at me now.

It awakens in me the desire to be someone. Someone else. Someone with secrets that wouldn’t make her run and hide.

“I’m looking forward to your show tonight,” I tell her, which is true. Especially now that I’ve met her.

And seen what she wears to rehearsal.

I hope for all of our sakes, her show blows the audience away.