ALESSIO #3
She laughs softly and wiggles her ass against me. “Maybe I just wanted you to think about it every time I bent over.”
I’m done. I pull her back against my chest, one arm wrapping around her waist as I sit down in the oversized leather chair at the high-limit slot machine. She lands in my lap with a surprised little gasp, her dress riding up just enough.
“Sit still,” I murmur roughly against her neck. “And keep playing.”
She shivers but obeys, pushing MAX BET again. My hand slides under her dress from behind, my fingers finding her soaked. I groan quietly. “So fucking wet for me.”
I push two fingers inside her without warning. She jolts, and a soft whimper escapes as she grips the machine. The slot machine lights flash and spin, covering the sound of her breathing.
“Keep playing, baby,” I whisper, pumping my fingers slowly, curling them just right. “Don’t stop.”
She tries. Her hands tremble on the buttons as I work her, thumb circling her clit while my fingers fuck her deep and steady. The high-limit room is loud—bells, music, the occasional cheer—but I keep my voice low, filthy, just for her.
“That’s my good girl. Taking my fingers like you were made for it. So fucking tight. So wet. You love this, don’t you? Getting fingered in the middle of my casino while everyone thinks you’re just playing slots.”
She bites her lip hard, her hips rock subtly against my hand. I add a third finger, stretching her, and she nearly moans out loud.
“Shh,” I warn, nipping her earlobe. “Unless you want everyone to know I'm fingerfucking you.”
Her walls flutter around my fingers. She’s close.
I can feel it. I pull my fingers out suddenly.
She whimpers in protest. I don’t give her time to complain.
I free my cock from my pants, line her up, and pull her down hard onto me in one smooth thrust. She gasps, gripping the machine as I fill her completely.
“Fuck,” I growl against her neck, holding her still for a second so she can feel every inch. “This pussy was made for me. So hot. So wet. So fucking tight.”
I start moving, slow, deep rolls of my hips, grinding up into her while she pretends to play. One hand stays under her dress, rubbing her clit. The other grips her hip, controlling the pace.
“Ride me, baby,” I whisper. “Nice and slow. Let me feel you.”
She does. Rolling her hips in tiny, filthy circles, taking me deeper with every movement. The risk—the noise of the casino, the people around us, the chance someone might notice—makes it even hotter.
“You’re so fucking perfect,” I groan. “Mia piccola diavoletta. Sitting on my cock in the middle of my casino, like you own it. Because you do. You own every fucking part of me.”
She clenches around me, and a soft whimper escapes.
“Come for me,” I demand quietly. “Come on my cock right here. Let me feel you fall apart while everyone else is none the wiser.”
She does, hard. Her walls squeeze me like a vice as she comes, biting her lip to stay quiet. The feeling drags me over the edge with her. I bury my face in her neck and come deep inside her with a low, guttural groan, filling her in hot pulses.
We stay like that for a long moment, me still inside her, her trembling in my lap, the slot machine still flashing and spinning as if nothing happened.
I kiss the back of her neck, voice rough with satisfaction. “You’re going to be the death of me, Beccs.”
She laughs breathlessly. “Worth it.”
She smooths her dress with exaggerated innocence and looks up at me as if we haven't just done something that would've given every pit boss in the building a collective heart attack.
Then she holds out her hand. "My panties."
I'm still catching my breath. "No."
One perfectly shaped eyebrow arches. "No?"
"They're staying exactly where they are."
She turns toward me, blinking those impossibly honey brown eyes. "Pleeease?"
Christ. She's going to kill me for sure. "I said no."
Her smile grows sweeter. "I just need them for a minute."
"What for?"
She leans in conspiratorially. "I'm going to the ladies' room."
I stare.
"To freshen up." She pauses. "Then I'm coming right back. And you can have them later."
I study her face for a long moment before reaching into the inside pocket of my jacket. "You are officially getting these on loan."
She giggles as I press the silk into her hand. "Loan?"
"I expect them returned."
She slips them into her clutch and flashes me a wicked smile. "With interest."
I groan. "Beccs..."
"What?"
"You're trying very hard to give me a heart attack."
She rises onto her toes, kisses my cheek, and repeats. "Worth it."
Then she disappears toward the ladies' room with a bounce in her step, leaving me sitting there wondering how one five-foot-nothing mechanic had managed to reduce one of the most feared men in Vegas to an idiot with a pulse that refuses to settle.
From somewhere behind me, one of the dealers clears his throat. "Everything alright, Boss?"
I don't take my eyes off the hallway she's just vanished down. "No." A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. "Everything's perfect."