5. Sabrina
5
Sabrina
M y hand secure in his, he leads me away from the lobby chaos. As we walk through the dizzying landscape of flashing lights and chiming slots that make up the casino floor, I glance at one of the floor-to-ceiling mirrors and spot two men behind us... they’re familiar somehow, but I can’t quite place where I’ve seen them...
Wait...
On the strip, while we were watching the Bellagio fountains.
Yes... they were loitering there, close to Rossi’s security detail.
And the fact that they’re here now, a few paces behind us, eyes constantly scanning...
Wait a second.
My PR-honed observation skills finally kick into high gear, overriding the tequila haze.
They’re with Leo.
Security.
Just like Rossi’s guys.
Discreet, professional, and probably armed .
Dressed in expensive but nondescript casual wear.
Holy shit.
Leo Maxwell isn’t just one of Dominic Rossi’s charming, party-boy friends. He’s like Dominic Rossi. As in, billionaire level. Tech mogul level.
The kind of rich that requires professional bodyguards even inside a high-security casino. I probably would have noticed them sooner if I wasn’t busy being flustered by his green eyes and winning smile.
Way to go, Sabrina. You picked another one.
Not just emotionally unavailable like Dad, but operating in a completely different stratosphere, replete with security details and probably offshore accounts.
This isn’t just a bad idea; this is potentially international-incident level bad.
And yet I’m not pulling away from his grip. Not turning around.
We bypass the main elevator banks, heading towards a discreet, almost hidden alcove marked ‘Sky Suites.’
Fancy.
The private elevator arrives with a soft ding . It’s all brushed steel and low lighting. Our two shadows join us inside before the doors close.
Leo swipes a keycard through a slot, then presses the button for the top floor. It illuminates, suggesting access granted. No biometrics or anything like that, but still clearly a restricted level.
The elevator shoots upward with unnerving speed and silence.
Meanwhile, the two men stand like statues, eyes forward.
Leo turns slightly towards them.
“Hey guys,” he says casually, his tone friendly but still holding an edge of command. “Everything quiet tonight?”
“All clear, Leo,” the taller one replies without turning his head.
Leo nods, then turns back to me with that easy grin.
“Almost there,” he murmurs, his thumb stroking the back of my hand.
Almost where? The lair of the ridiculously wealthy and potentially dangerous?
I manage a weak smile, my throat suddenly dry.
The elevator doors slide open onto a small, opulent private landing. Intimidating pieces of art hang between four pairs of double doors that look heavy enough to withstand a siege.
Leo heads to the closest set of doors and I follow him, the two shadows close behind me.
This is it.
The point of no return.
I can still turn back now if I want to...
I don’t.
Leo swipes another card against a discreet panel. The door clicks.
One of the two security men pulls the door open and holds it for us.
“Thank you, Charlie,” Leo says as he enters.
“Have a good night, sir,” ‘Charlie’ replies.
When I enter, I give the man a sheepish grin that feels plastered onto my face. My cheeks are flaming because hello, I’m walking into a billionaire’s penthouse with his security detail watching.
What’s the etiquette here? Tip him? Offer him a stick of gum?
I settle for a mumbled, “Thanks,” because silence feels even weirder.
He just nods, his expression unreadable.
Oh yeah, I bet he’s thrilled. Just another Friday night, escorting one of Leo’s disposable dates upstairs. Does he keep a tally? Do they have a betting pool downstairs on how long I’ll last? Probably seen it all.
In fact, his face has that permanent ‘I’m paid not to care’ look down pat.
Well, either way, the security detail remains on the landing, watchful and silent, as the door closes behind me with a heavy, expensive thud .
I turn around, and...
Well, shit.
If I wasn’t sure he was a billionaire before, I’m certain of it now. We’re standing in the entryway of what isn’t just a hotel suite, it’s a goddamn palace in the sky. Floor-to-ceiling windows wrap around the massive living area, showcasing a glittering panorama of the Las Vegas Strip that seems to stretch on forever. Minimalist modern furniture, expensive-looking sculptures, a grand piano gleaming in the corner… it’s stunning, extravagant, and completely impersonal. It screams money, but not ‘home.’ The kind of place designed to impress, not live in, likely renting out north of 20k a night.
Right.
My little boutique PR firm suddenly feels very… boutique. Like comparing a lemonade stand to Dom Pérignon. The power imbalance I felt earlier just cranked itself up to eleven.
Leo turns to me, his eyes darker now, the playful amusement replaced by something more intense, more focused. The sexual tension between us crackles. Like literally.
He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t have to. He just steps forward, crowding me against the cool wood of the massive door. His hands frame my face, fingers tangling in my hair.
“Finally,” he breathes, his voice rough.
And then his mouth is on mine.
His kiss is urgent. Desperate. Almost rough. It’s pure possession, a staking of claim that steals the air from my lungs. His tongue plunges into my mouth, demanding a response, and I give it eagerly, meeting his intensity with a sudden surge of reckless heat. My hands clutch at his shoulders, pulling him closer, needing the solid anchor of him in this suddenly overwhelming space.
The kiss goes on and on, frantic and deep, until we’re both gasping. He breaks away only to press fierce, open-mouthed kisses along my jaw, down my neck. My head falls back against the door, exposing my throat, a silent invitation.
“Bedroom,” he growls against my skin, his voice thick.
He doesn’t wait for an answer. His hand finds mine, yanking me away from the door, pulling me stumbling through the cavernous living room towards another set of imposing double doors. He shoulders them open, revealing a bedroom easily the size of my entire apartment. More floor-to-ceiling windows, another king-sized bed that looks big enough to host a small conference, and the same cool, impersonal luxury.
The moment we’re inside, he slams the door shut behind us and spins me around, pressing me back against it. His body pins mine, hard muscle against suddenly yielding flesh. The size difference between us is starkly apparent now, his larger frame engulfing mine. He’s all heat and strength and that intoxicating, stormy scent mixed with the faint, sharp chemical tang I’d smelled earlier.
The GHB.
Definitely still in his system.
His pupils are dilated, his movements slightly too fast, too jerky.
This isn’t just Leo, the charming rogue. The suspected billionaire. This is Leo under the influence, primal and unfiltered.
A wave of fear, cold and sharp, cuts through the haze of desire.
This is how things go wrong.
This is dangerous.
But then his mouth finds mine again, harder this time, bruisingly intense, and the fear gets tangled up with a thrill so potent it leaves me weak-kneed. He kisses me like he’s starving, like he needs to devour me whole. And I return his passion with equal fervor.
His hands are everywhere, rough and impatient. He fumbles with the button on my jean shorts, ripping it open with a frustrated grunt. My own hands go to the buttons on his knit shirt, clumsy and shaking. Fabric tears somewhere... mine or his, I don’t know. Doesn’t matter. Clothes are just obstacles now.
He shoves my shorts and underwear down in one rough motion, and I kick them away. His jeans follow, hitting the plush carpet with a soft thud. He’s hard already, his thick cock springing free, slick with pre-cum.
I swallow eagerly.
God, he’s big.
He backs me towards the enormous bed, never breaking the kiss, his hands mapping the curves of my body with possessive urgency. I stumble onto the mattress, the expensive, high-thread-count sheets feeling cool and slightly abrasive against my bare skin under our frantic movements.
He follows me down, covering my body with his, pinning my wrists above my head with one large hand. His weight is heavy, solid, trapping me beneath him. His green eyes bore into mine, blazing with an intensity that’s both terrifying and exhilarating. There’s no trace of the easy charm now, just raw, undisguised need.
“So fucking gorgeous,” he slurs.
He lowers his head, his mouth finding my breast through the thin fabric of my tank top. He sucks hard, the wet heat pulling a gasp from my lips. His teeth graze my nipple, sending jolts of pleasure-pain straight to my core. He doesn’t bother removing the top, just pushes it up impatiently, exposing both breasts to his hungry mouth and hands.
His free hand slides down between my legs, fingers finding me already wet and slick. He doesn’t tease, doesn’t explore, just pushes two fingers inside me, hard and fast, stretching me. I cry out, arching off the bed, torn between the shock and the undeniable pleasure.
Part of my brain, the sensible PR part, is screaming in fear.
This is too fast. Too rough.
But the other part, the part that’s been starved for touch, for intensity, the part that thrilled at his kiss in the cabana and then against the casino wall, is undeniably aroused. My body betrays me, clenching around his fingers, wanting more despite the fear.
He groans, feeding my reaction.
He positions the thick head of his cock at my entrance. There’s no finesse, no gentle glide. He just thrusts forward, burying himself inside me in one deep, powerful stroke.
I scream, the sound muffled against his shoulder.
Wait, he forgot a condom!
But the thought is gone, lost in the pleasure of the moment, because he fills me completely, stretching me almost painfully. He’s huge, thick, impossibly deep.
Tears spring to my eyes from the intensity, the slight pain, and the overwhelming feeling of being utterly taken.
He doesn’t pause, doesn’t give me a chance to adjust. He starts moving immediately, hard, driving thrusts that slam my hips back against the mattress. It’s not making love; it’s fucking. Raw, primal, almost violent in its intensity. His grip on my wrists is iron tight. His face is taut with concentration, sweat sheening on his forehead, his breath coming in harsh pants.
There’s no dirty talk, just guttural groans torn from somewhere deep in his chest, the wet slap of his hips meeting my trembling thighs, the creak of the expensive bedframe keeping time like a metronome set to ruin. His rhythm is relentless, a jackhammer cadence that steals the air from my lungs. I bite the meat of his shoulder to stifle a scream, salt and musk flooding my tongue, my teeth denting skin as he drives deeper.
Every thrust rewires me. Sparks erupt behind my eyelids. The burn fades between my legs, replaced by liquid heat coiling tighter... tighter ... my nails carving half-moons into his massive biceps as my legs lock around his waist.
My thoughts fracture into single syllables.
More .
Harder.
Yes.
The room dissolves into sensation... the iron grip of his hands, the primal scent of sex, the obscene slickness where he splits me open again.
Again.
Again.
He shifts angles and... oh god ... he hits something that makes the sparks erupt even faster behind my eyelids.
My back arches off the mattress, a broken sob catching in my throat as the pleasure sharpens.
Nothing else matters. Only this... the brutal fullness, the delicious friction, the way his growl vibrates through my bones when I clench around him.
“Close—” I gasp into the hollow of his throat, the word splintering as he slams home.
My body betrays me, my hips rolling upward, chasing...
Needing...
Begging .
His breath hitches... he growls a single fractured “ Mine ” against my skin before his teeth sink into the tendon of my neck.
The bite undoes me.
Pleasure detonates inside me... there’s no slow burn, no cresting wave... just a shattering .
“Leo—! Leo—!”
My cries erupt in time to his thrusts, my vision graying at the edges as my body locks around him.
Somewhere beyond the haze, his eyes meet mine. They’re wild, unfocused.
“ Fuck ,” he breathes, his pounding becoming even deeper, more frantic .
No condom.
Again the thought flickers through my mind, a brief spark of panic in the overwhelming sensory flood, but it’s gone as quickly as it appears. It’s too late. Everything is too late.
His pace quickens, driving towards his own release. He throws his head back, a guttural roar tearing from his throat as he cums, his body convulsing, his cock pulsing deep inside me, flooding me with his heat.
He collapses on top of me, his full weight pressing me into the mattress, his ragged breath hot against my ear.
We lie there, tangled and slick with sweat, the only sound our harsh breathing in the aftermath of the storm.
My body is trembling, bruised, aching, and yet… humming with a residual pleasure so intense it leaves me dizzy. It was terrifying. It was rough. It was driven by drugs and pure male instinct. And it was, hands down, the most earth-shattering orgasm of my entire life.
God help me.
After a long moment, his breathing evens out. He shifts his weight slightly, rolling onto his side but pulling me with him, tucking me against his chest. His arm wraps around me, holding me close, his hand resting possessively on my hip. His skin is hot, damp. He nuzzles his face into my hair, murmuring something incoherent.
He’s cuddling me. After that , he’s cuddling me.
The sudden tenderness after the raw intensity is jarring, confusing. My mind struggles to reconcile the two Leos... the primal, drug-fueled animal and this warm, heavy body holding me like I’m something precious .
Will he even remember this?
The thought lands with a cold thud in my chest. He took GHB. When he wakes up tomorrow, maybe he’ll have vague impressions of what happened, but probably nothing concrete. This intensity, this connection, it’s only real for me. He’ll be gone in the morning, maybe literally, maybe just emotionally, but either way, I’ll be left with… this. The memory of being completely overwhelmed, possessed, and then treasured, if only for one night.
A wave of profound sadness washes over me, mingling with the physical exhaustion and the lingering thrum of pleasure. I feel used, yet cherished. Desired, yet disposable.
What a toxic cocktail of emotions.
He’s ruined me for other men. No gentle fumbling, no hesitant exploration will ever compare to this raw, consuming intensity. How can I go back to normal after feeling this?
Tears prickle behind my eyelids, but I blink them back fiercely.
Don’t you dare cry, Sabrina. You knew what this was. A Vegas mistake. A story you’ll never tell.
What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.
For good, or for bad.
Leo shifts again, pulling me closer, his breathing deep and even now. He’s falling asleep. His body is relaxed against mine, his hold secure. Despite everything, despite the drugs, the roughness, the knowledge that this means nothing to him beyond a physical release he probably won’t even recall… it feels... good . Being held. Feeling solid warmth beside me.
It’s a dangerous feeling. The kind of feeling that makes you forget who you are, what you know to be true. The kind of feeling that echoes the hollow ache left by my father’s abandonment.
But right now, exhausted and overwhelmed, adrift in this ridiculously opulent suite miles from reality, I let myself sink into it.
I close my eyes, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, feeling the heat radiating from his body.
Just for tonight, I’ll pretend. I’ll pretend this is real. I’ll pretend he sees me, wants me, not just the anonymous body beneath him. I’ll borrow this warmth, this illusion of connection.
And who knows? Maybe fairy tales come true. Maybe tomorrow he’ll...
Yeah right.
I drift off to sleep wrapped in the arms of a beautiful stranger who’ll probably forget we even had sex when he wakes up.
Welcome to my life.