Chapter 8
Bex
O h. My. God.
Corey’s eyes are molten, and I’m drawn into his warm, brown gaze. “Is that honest enough for you?” he asks as he reaches out to cup my face with his hand.
There are words formulating somewhere in the recesses of my brain, but I sit here, my mouth hanging open slightly, unable to actually process a response into words and out of my mouth. Corey’s thumb strokes back and forth over my cheek, and I sigh into his touch.
I close my eyes for a moment and allow myself to simply feel . His touch on my skin, the caress of his thumb near my lips. He’s sitting close enough to me that I can feel the magnitude of his presence, even with my eyes closed. I have been wet since the moment this man pulled up to my apartment building—in a goddamn limo, of all things—and at this point, I’m positively soaked, almost to the point of embarrassment. I wonder if my arousal is noticeable on my face, beyond my flushed cheeks.
Corey sits back suddenly, and my cheek immediately feels the cool abandonment as he removes his hand from my face.
“Baby, I love hearing that voice of yours, but something about rendering you speechless has me fucking buzzing,” he says, taking a sip of his bourbon.
Shaking myself from whatever trance descended upon me with his “honest confession,” I also take a sip of my drink. I want to tell him that I’ve never had a man say something like that to me. That I’ve never had a man look at me with the intensity and heat that he’s looking at me with right now. But I don’t tell him those things, because it circles right back to the “why me” thoughts that have been plaguing me since the beginning of this date.
I fiddle nervously with my earring and find the courage to finally respond. “Your honesty sounds a bit rehearsed,” I say, attempting a laugh, but it comes out shaky. “Which one of your movies is that from?”
It was intended to be a joke, but I see the moment it lands awkwardly by the way Corey’s jaw tightens, and he looks away.
“Corey, I was kidding,” I say, trying to recapture the moment we were just having before I had to open my mouth.
He grins back at me, and I can tell it’s fake, like he’s pretending my words didn’t hurt, and he’s unaffected. “I know, Bex,” he says, and my heart stutters because he used my name and not some sort of pet name like sugar or baby. I’m not sure if that’s better or worse.
Corey switches the conversation back to me as we steer ourselves further away from my awkward comment, finishing our cocktails .
I’m able to fully forget the idiotic thing I said when he asks me about the pictures he found on my social media. Sitting up taller in my chair, I enthusiastically tell him about my love for photography as a hobby, how I found a place where I could share that love and give back to the community.
“It’s far from a traditional photography class,” I say, unable to keep the smile off my face. “I never had the money for a real camera growing up to get into this hobby myself, so everything I learned how to do has basically been from my phone.”
Corey listens intently, smirking slightly as he watches me speak animatedly with my hands.
“And same with the kids at the center,” I explain. “Most of them don’t have the money, or sadly the attention and care at home, to pursue traditional photography. What almost all of them do have is a cell phone.”
Reaching into my clutch, I pull out my phone for the first time tonight. Ignoring the multiple messages and alerts on my home screen, I swipe on the screen to my camera app.
“And phones now have an insane amount of capability for taking photographs, far beyond the point-and-shoot ability.” I gesture down at some of the options available, if you know where to swipe and scroll and select.
“That’s incredible, Bex. I never knew that kind of creative power existed right on my phone,” he says. Corey sounds so genuinely impressed that the nagging feeling of upsetting him earlier just festers in my gut. “I’ll be honest. We are both passionate about, well, very different kinds of art, but your photographs are unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. Between that and the volunteering you do, it’s impressive as fuck.”
His praise makes me feel indescribable. It’s like a gentle shower of soft warmth prickling over my skin. Like getting too close to the sparks from a sparkler on the Fourth of July. It’s electrifying and dizzying… and so fucking far from rehearsed.
Before I know it, our drinks are finished, and Corey has paid the bill. I don’t want this night to end—despite a few awkward moments, it’s been magical. Having Corey’s eyes on me, the heat in his gaze, all night? This was a soft opening for Oliver fucking King—there were plenty of models, actresses, and women who had more than enough money to cosmetically enhance their attractiveness parading through that place, and not once did Corey look away from me or our table.
As we leave the restaurant, he places his hand low on my back, guiding me through the crowd. The warmth of his touch sets my body ablaze, and I am hyper-aware of his presence behind me and the way the crowd parts as we walk. Some recognize him, some blatantly stare, and more than a few glare at me . This feeling is beyond unfamiliar and a bit surreal. Insecurity threatens to rear its head, but then Corey reaches for my hand.
I gratefully take it, and he gives my hand a squeeze. “What are you thinking right now?” he asks.
Though I feel the stares continue as we walk, Corey’s warmth and strength next to me ground me in a way I’ve never felt with a person before. “Honestly? I don’t want this night to end.”
He smiles down at me, and I feel the warmth from his touch spread through me like a spark to a wildfire. Corey’s smile simultaneously eases me and turns me on, which makes me shiver despite the heat licking down my spine.
“I know a place,” he says, tugging my hand as we pivot toward the valet. “Follow me, gorgeous.”
Velvet Sky Lounge is the newest club in Vegas—I don’t even think Ally or Britney have been here yet, and they still get around to all the hot spots. When Corey mentioned some of his friends might be here, he must have seen the anxiety in my eyes because he laughed, assuring me they were old friends, “not in the industry.”
Meeting Ritchie last night at O’Malley’s was one thing, but to meet an entire group of… adult film stars out in the wild? I’m not sure that’s something I’m quite ready for. I’m not actually sure that’s something I could ever be ready for.
Corey holds my hand as we walk past the long line of people waiting to get into the club. There’s a small lobby and a bank of elevators, before which is a host stand. There are two women there, one tall and blonde, the other more petite with fiery red hair. They’re both dressed in hostess uniforms that are significantly skimpier than my cocktail uniform at Bravado. I give them a small hospitality smile—one I use when I’m off the clock to signal to other women in hospitality to show that I see them—and feel relieved when they smile back at me.
“Mr. Moro, we are so happy to have you and your guest at the Velvet Sky Lounge this evening,” the taller woman says. “Mr. Blackwood and Mr. Frost are already waiting for you in the VIP section. Mr. Anderson mentioned he would be coming to meet with you as well. Gray here will escort you up.” She gestures to a bulky bouncer standing closer to the elevators.
“Thank you,” Corey says. He nods toward the bouncer, but waves him off. “We can find our way. Thank you, Gray.”
The bouncer nods while he taps a button, opening a set of elevator doors near us. Corey releases my hand but moves his to my lower back, guiding me into the elevator.
As soon as the doors shut, I turn to Corey to ask, “Assuming the Sky Lounge is all the way—”
But Corey interrupts me, turning to face me as he presses me into the corner of the small space. With one hand on my hip and the other sliding up my neck, he tilts my face up toward his. “Yes, all the way up; it should take fifty-five seconds to get up there, and we are wasting time talking ,” he growls.
His lips crash against mine as I gasp in delighted surprise. Taking advantage of my open mouth, Corey licks at my lips before slipping his tongue inside and against mine. He presses his thumb against the pulse point on my neck as he claims my mouth with his tongue. I moan, my hands around his back, gripping the back of his shirt tightly.
How can a kiss feel this good? A tremor rakes through my body and heat coils in my core as he continues to kiss me. His tongue strokes against mine and, as wet as I got throughout our dinner together, I feel myself pulsing with need for this man. How many seconds do we have left before these doors open? Why am I even thinking about that instead of focusing on—”
The elevator slows and Corey pulls back, his thumb massaging my neck and a wide, genuine smile on his face. My entire body is buzzing, and I can’t recall a time in my life when a kiss has gotten me turned on quite this quickly.
“Where did you go?” Corey whispers, brushing his fingertips along the side of my face.
A muted chime announces the opening of the elevator doors as I continue to stare up at him, breathless .
He grabs my hand as he leans in to whisper, “Get out of that head of yours, beautiful. Let’s go have some fun.”
The elevator opens to a large, loud, open room, with dimly lit chandeliers hanging from high ceilings. The far end of the room is a wall of windows, facing out toward the Las Vegas Strip, twinkling a few blocks north and several stories down. A long bar with sleek, dark finishes lines another wall, and opposite that are the VIP alcoves. The dance floor takes up the entire center of the space, and it’s packed with clubbers. The bass pounds away, lights flash, and the scent of alcohol fills the air.
A host immediately approaches us, but like the bouncer downstairs, Corey waves them off. He’s nodding toward the VIP alcoves, so I trail behind him, his hand wrapped tightly around mine.
We pass another bouncer and head up a few stairs before we arrive at the VIP alcove near the center. There are a few guys chilling here, and the one closest to us is standing with his hands in his pockets, staring out at the dancefloor. He’s not quite as tall or handsome as Corey, but he’s attractive with his lean build, short dark hair, and a neat, trimmed beard.
“Well, fuck me,” Corey shouts, jerking his friend out of his trance. “Aaron Blackwood, out at a casino and club he doesn’t own!”
Aaron steps forward, shrugging his shoulders as he goes in for a one-armed hug with Corey. “It’s been known to happen,” Aaron says, stepping back and taking a look at me. “Hi, I’m Aaron,” he says, extending his hand.
I gape at him for a moment before turning to Corey, who is grinning. “Aaron is one of my oldest friends,” he explains, as I reach out to shake Aaron’s hand. “And Aaron, this is Bex. She’s the best server you’ve got in your high limit room. ”
“Is that so?” Aaron says, shaking my hand. His voice is smooth and warm, like a honey bourbon, and I feel a little speechless in his presence. Aaron Blackwood is one of the co-owners of the Bravado, but an all-around semi-mystery man. I’ve seen him at the casino, of course—he’s nearly always there—but he rarely interacts with floor staff. I chalk up not recognizing him immediately to being in such a removed context.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Blackwood,” I manage to finally say though with the pulsing beat of the music, I’m surprised he hears me.
“Nah, please, call me Aaron,” he says before the other guys hanging in the alcove walk forward.
This guy looks like he could be a long-lost older Hemsworth brother. He’s shorter than Corey and Aaron, but also a bit older and softer. Don’t get me wrong, when I say softer, I mean… he’s certainly built, but a bit beyond his prime, perhaps. He’s clean shaven with a sharp jaw and piercing blue eyes.
“Nice to meet you, Bex,” he says, shaking my hand. “I’m Christian Frost.”
“Oh! Frost, like—”
“Don’t get him started,” Corey starts, cutting Christian off from cutting me off. “His son plays hockey for the team here in Vegas.”
“Well, we’ll see for how much longer, that little punk,” Christian grumbles.
“Didn’t you used to play professional hockey?” I ask.
Christian nods and runs a hand through his shaggy, dark blonde hair. “Yeah,” he says, puffing his chest out a bit. “I’m one of the Vipers’ co-owners now. And my son seems to think that’ll save his ass on the team.” He shakes his head and gestures around us. “Anyway, glad you guys could make it out. This place is pretty incredible. ”
A throat clears, and I turn to the last guy standing next to Christian. “Hey, I’m Drew,” he says, extending his hand.
Drew Blackwood, the other owner of the Bravado. He doesn’t say this, but he doesn’t have to. Drew is the more outgoing of the owners—he’s always walking the floor, talking to the staff, and actively participating in staff meetings. He’s less secretive, but also way more of a playboy than Aaron.
Corey glances over at Aaron, who is once again staring out at the sea of dancers, then back at me. “Can I get you a drink?”
The buzz from our dinner drinks is still going, but I don’t see the harm in one more drink, especially if it gives me the liquid courage to end up on the dance floor with Corey. “Sure,” I say. “A vodka soda would be great.”
While Corey attends to that, I excuse myself in the direction of the VIP bathrooms. As I come out of the stall, I’m shocked to see Ally and Britney in front of the sinks, fixing their makeup.
“Oh, shit!” Britney says, catching me in the mirror before whirling around to look me up and down. “Ally wasn’t kidding; you are a fox tonight!” With her auburn waves half up, half down, and a slinky rosé colored dress, she looks more fox-like than me.
“I thought you guys went to dinner?” Ally asks as she smooths some nonexistent bumps in her ponytail. Of the three of us, Ally usually opts for a more conservative look, but tonight, she’s branched out. She’s wearing a metallic burgundy tube dress that barely covers her ass and a pair of over-the-knee black velvet boots.
“We did, and it was incredible. And I said I didn’t want the night to be over, so we came over here.” Ally puts her hands over her heart at this, like it’s the cutest thing she’s ever heard. “His friends are hanging out in the VIP section. Speaking of which, how are the two of you here? ”
“Define ‘here’,” Britney says, tossing her auburn hair over her shoulder.
I roll my eyes as I wash my hands. “Specifically, this nightclub’s VIP bathroom.”
“Well, Ally, being our little PR queen, got VIP access to this club tonight through her firm,” Britney says, turning to the mirror to check out her reflection one more time before we turn toward the exit.
“I honestly didn’t expect it to be this busy on a Thursday night,” Ally says, louder, as we head back out to the club space.
“Well, come with me. I’ll introduce you to Corey and his friends. You both look fucking hot tonight. Maybe you’ll go home with one of them,” I say, grabbing their hands as they laugh.
Introductions are somewhat brief, with the music being too loud to carry on a true conversation. I couldn’t help but notice the way Aaron’s gaze snapped to Britney when she introduced herself, and he didn’t take his eyes off her til us girls flounced away to the dancefloor.
“I’ll be back in a song or two!” I call to Corey as I head down the stairs with Ally and Britney. The sexy grin he gave me in the elevator after kissing the breath out of me still hasn’t left his lips. A dizzying, intoxicating sense of power floods my system, knowing that I am responsible for that smile.
A wave of nostalgia hits while out on the dance floor with my friends. We haven’t done this—the three of us out, dancing at a club—in over a year. Ally tends to have earlier nights, since she’s got the closest thing to an office job, while Britney spends most of her evenings roaming the town and looking for new clubs, bars, or venues that need entertainment.
When the DJ plays a Britney Spears song, Britney loses her mind with excitement. She likes to say she was named after her, but she was born before Britney Spears dropped her first single. Of course, that doesn’t stop her from telling the lie to everyone she meets.
She’s whooping with excitement as she dances around me and Ally, her auburn hair glinting in the flashing lights, and I can’t help but laugh. Laughing and dancing like this, with my girls, is my happy place.
I sense Corey’s eyes on me from across the room and look his way. The heat in his gaze has me stumbling against Ally; she laughs, placing her hand against my shoulder to hold me steady. Christian and Drew lounge on a couch deep in the alcove, but Aaron and Corey are standing at the edge, eyes on us.
Well, not on us. Corey’s gaze is locked only on me, and I force myself to look away before I abandon my friends and run across the dance floor into his arms.
The heat from nearby dancers, the pounding of the bass through my body, the lights flashing—the dance floor is liberating. He approaches behind me and wraps one hand around my hips, the other cupping lightly against my throat.
“Do you feel that?” he asks, pressing his hard length against my ass. I nod and throw my head back against his shoulder, staring up into his hooded gaze. “You’ve had this effect on me all night, Bex.” Giving him a devilish grin, I grind my ass against him and he moans. “No more dancing with your friends,” he growls. “For the rest of tonight, you are mine.”