Breaking Beauty (Devils Aces MC): Vegas Titans Series (16 page)

Because there was, apparently, a God, The Dap was the second
player busted out of the tournament in the first round. After making a fuss
equal to his tantrum the week before, he’d been removed from the floor. That
left only Lefty’s, Zaida’s, Bryson’s, and Kellan’s eyes on their dealer.

At first, Romy struggled to remember some of the week’s
training, especially with the multiple decks in play. It was too much pressure,
what with everyone watching the table so closely for signs of favoritism.
But—to her great relief—The Dap’s being peeled away from the table proved ample
distraction; Bryson had pulled in to a strong lead by halfway into the first
round of the game, and at a packed table, too. As they’d rehearsed, Romy
flicked her ponytail ever-so-slightly when her dealer’s hole card portended a
favorability. After a few turns had passed like this, she shifted her
tell
to fend off suspicion; when a player's hand was good enough to double down for,
Romy rubbed two fingers together on her left hand. In this way, they plodded
toward a mutual victory.

As soon as the ugliest threat was gone from the table,
Bryson began to play with ease—most of the other players this night were of the
washed-up variety. There was one imposing-looking ex-movie star in wraparound
Ray Bans, but he left the table abruptly mid-round, breaking his bankroll by
foolishly splitting a pair of 5's.

It took all of Romy’s willpower not to stare at the
brothers. They were seated idly across from one another: Kellan closer to the
windows, Bryson towards the floor. Romy noticed inadvertent similarities in
their mannerisms—the way they held their chip pile close, the way they flicked
that same sandy mop of hair away from their eyes, as if irked. Kellan, Romy was
gathering, was a player no less strong than his brother—but his style was
different. He was less cautious than Bryson, and through no direct errors had
managed to create the air of a sloppy player. As a result, everyone at the
table kept underestimating him.

“Look at that,” whistled Lefty, as the tournament approached
its close. He’d pried himself away from that evening’s hot-ticket B-lister to
monitor Romy’s game. He paid special attention to Kellan, who—despite what now
appeared to be his sixth whiskey—was still coolly playing large hands. Romy was
then aware of that calculating look in her employer’s eyes, as he pushed his
gaze over the newcomer. That look that was such an obvious appraisal, an
attempt to figure out how much another person was worth.

In a near effortless turn of events, the game boiled down to
Kellan and Bryson: the brothers Vaughn. Romy took a moment to pause and wonder
at this good fortune. All their preparations had truly come to fruition—she’d
be sleeping with Bryson tonight, all according to plan. Her knees felt weak
with the sudden relief, and she was proud of her own performance. Despite all
these stupid curve-balls, they would all come up victorious.

Suppressing a grin, she dealt the final round.

“You must love getting your money took, traveler,” Kellan
drawled, in a mock hill-billy affect. “It seems clear to me that you’re in well
over your hoity-toity head.”

Bryson just smiled. He hadn’t spared his brother a word
throughout the competition; had only, in fact, lent him angry looks. Romy
assumed this was all part of whatever secret consensus they’d come to, plotting
behind her back. However, Bryson was down to his last orange chip in the felt
circle, and Kellan still had a healthy stack in front of him.

“Stay,” Bryson was saying slowly now, waving his hand flat
over his cards; a 7 and 10.

“Not upping the ante? Tsk, tsk. I'll double.” With a lazy
flick, Kellan pushed two fat orange chips towards the betting circle in front
of him—doubling down on his cards; a 4 and 5. Bryson looked flustered. For a
split second, he glanced up at Romy. She saw a flicker of panic in his gaze.

Romy had a 7 card showing, and she knew her hole card was a
4. She dealt Kellan a third card. It was a 10—he stood on 19. She flipped her
hole card over, revealing a 4, making her hand a dangerous 11 altogether. She
drew a card from the shoe; a 3, to make her hand a 14. Kellan and Bryson both
held their breath as she drew another card from the shoe...a 4, to make her
hand an 18.

The table got rowdy at this. Kellan gave off a theatrical
whoop, and the crowd of onlookers jeered. They were pleased to see that the
alleged boyfriend hadn’t won; there was something salacious in his having to
lend his woman to another man. Lefty looked as if he might burst with glee.

“You know the tournament rules, yes?” Zaida called over the
din. She had clearly not forgiven Romy for her misconduct earlier that day.
“You take money, or woman. Choose.”

All of the Needle seemed to grow quiet at this, even though
a dozen other dealers had already been escorted from the floor that night.
Though she knew what would transpire from here—of course she did—Romy felt her
skin tingle when Kellan stood, pretending to consider his options.

Then he looked at her with a longing so plaintive, so pure,
that she pressed her own gaze straight to the felt. What would happen, were she
to look up and meet that imploring teenage boy face? If he were to take her in
his gangly arms, sweep her down the elevator, serenade her, kiss her wetly,
this...other Vaughn brother?

She absolutely, positively, one hundred percent could not
let herself think about it. Instead, Romy sought Bryson’s hand unthinkingly—his
firm, dry grip like a life raft.

“She’s awfully lovely,” Kellan said slowly. “But I’ve got
some debts to see to. All over this fucking town.”

This response was, miraculously, the right one. Lefty
guffawed. The back-slapping continued. And as Kellan wove his way on wobbling
feet towards the center of the table, scooting chips upon chips towards his
waiting pockets, Bryson stood beside Romy. He gathered her small frame in his
beefy arms and pressed his mouth onto hers. She sank at the touch.

“
In hotel room
,” Zaida muttered fiercely, as she
herded the young couple towards the elevator. There was no drama in two mutual
lovers going off to screw. Accordingly, no heads in the Needle turned. For the
first time all evening, Romy felt the pleasing sense of lapsed scrutiny, of
not-being-watched. She let herself lean against Bryson’s figure as the shaft
rode down through the floors. She was suddenly exhausted.

“I’m sorry,” Bryson said, once they were outside his
familiar room. “I should have mentioned Kellan. I know that.”

“You should have,” Romy said, trying to muster the energy to
be furious. She
should
have been furious. “It could have thrown my
game.”

“I know.”

“I could have recognized him by myself. Gotten us all
killed.”

“I know.”
“Why did you do it?” she asked, lying back along the downy comforter. But she
knew why. Romy turned her face toward a waiting pillow, away from Bryson.

“I was worried. I shouldn’t have been. I figured this hadn’t
occurred to you, because you didn’t even mention my brother—but he had a really
big thing for you back in high school.”

“That was so long ago.”

“You’re right! It was! It
was
so long ago. But Romy—”
he sat on the bed “—there’s already so many reasons, so many complications
keeping us apart. And I know it sounds stupid…”

“And petty, and jealous, and dangerous…”

“Yes, yes, yes. But I wanted to be the one who rescued you.
I want you...all of you, baby...to myself.” Bryson gulped. Then he closed his
eyes, and said speedily: “Because I think I’m falling in love with you.”

Romy looked up at her hero’s face. It was as if something
had cracked open, below his skin: his expression glimmered with a weakness that
was unusual. Bryson Vaughn always looked so confident, and now, here he was: in
this posh hotel room. Offering himself so wholly up to a woman.

Romy leaned forward and kissed him—slowly and sweetly at
first, then with a kind of violence. She felt her body relax; her very cells
began to comply with his now-familiar touch. He reached down and cradled the
base of her head, letting his fingers race and sift through her soft, blonde
hair.

Her pecks moved down, until she was sucking urgently on the
taut flesh of his neck just below his tattoo. Bryson’s eyes rolled back into
his head with pleasure. He moaned. He began to curve into her. Romy slid a
roving hand down and felt the straining fabric of his tuxedo pants mounting to
conceal a throbbing, stiff organ. When she touched him through the fabric, he
moaned unabashedly.

Taking control, Romy rolled across her lover and straddled
him on the bed, gripping his slim hips between her thighs. Bryson pressed his
palms flat over her exposed legs, and began to rub vigorously, massaging her.
In response, Romy ground herself over and against his erection, until she was
moving rhythmically, until she could feel a damp patch begin in his trousers,
until she felt her own center grow hot and slick. She tossed her fine, blonde
hair back—letting it graze the tips of his knees. Bryson reached up and took
two firm handfuls of her breasts, and she sucked in a sharp breath at the
pressure of his strong hands on her soft flesh.

He rocked her into sitting then, and quickly peeled down a
corner of her tight leotard. They were becoming frantic, animal-like in their
movements. He sucked at her exposed shoulder, and when the cloth of her uniform
wouldn’t bend to his will fast enough, he tore it—exposing the quivering flesh
of Romy’s right breast. He gathered her in his palm, then began to suck and
suck on her pointed pink nipple. Romy grappled for her lover’s zipper, the
buttons of his shirt, anything she could remove.

“I wanted you
so fucking bad
all day,” Bryson
whispered into her hair. His fingers still toyed with her nipple, pinching it
and tweaking it with an almost adolescent abandon. By now, Romy had found an
entry point into his pants, and now lifted herself from his crotch in order to
position herself before his wall of flesh. And Bryson’s member was
beautiful—thick, long, so perfectly engorged. She knelt on the carpet and took
him greedily in her mouth.

Bryson lifted himself from the mattress with the flats of
his palms, so as to thrust himself the better into her waiting mouth. He pumped
for a vigorous stretch before finding Romy’s arms and pulling her up to the bed
beside him. She clung to his cock, working her fingers up and down the shaft as
he made for the remainder of her uniform. When she’d wiggled free from the
sheer fabric, Bryson grabbed her and threw her onto the bed. He leaned his
massive frame over her petite body, as Romy clawed into the meaty palate of his
muscular ass. She teased him slightly, pressing his cock towards her pussy and
then shimmying away.

Bryson grinned. He knew she couldn’t withstand it any
longer.

In one fluid arc, he filled her up. She arched her back into
the source of the overwhelming sensation, and cried out. She felt the thickness
of him in the pit of her stomach, and clenched his member with her warm, silky
flesh. It was Bryson’s turn to cry out. He grabbed frantically for her heaving
breasts, massaging them hard between sweaty fingers. And Romy looked up at the
man...this man who was falling in love with her.

His thrusts came faster. Harder. As usual, she relaxed into
his quick, heavy rhythm and gave herself over to being pounded. With one hand,
he reached down and began to manipulate her clit in frenzied but tender
strokes. Romy gripped him harder, clutching fast to his rock-like muscular
arms. Rising together to a mutual heat, at last—she came.

She felt a flood of ecstasy as she spasmed around her
lover’s cock. Shortly thereafter, Bryson pushed the small of his back deep
towards her own, and released with a shudder. Then, he collapsed across her
body. She felt his rattled breathing, the thin flecks of his chest hair, pearls
of his sweat...the fast beating of his heart.

They lay together, entwined. for a long while, listening to the
bustle of the Las Vegas strip below. Though certain she was the more exhausted,
Romy heard the thick snores of her lover beside her first. Bryson fell fast
into a rest she hadn’t seen him enjoy before—then again, their week of training
had been sapping, and neither of them had gotten much sleep.

She made herself small in the yawning crevice between his
thick arms and tapering chest. She knew she should have been thrilled. The plan
had worked, hadn’t it? As soon as tomorrow, they could ostensibly skip town
together, make hand in hand for the sunset. She could resume her studies at
some other school. Plus, there was enough cash from last weekend alone to
absolve her immediate debts, and as for everything else...well, she presumed
she could rely on Bryson’s big winnings for that. And she would finally be
safe. She wouldn’t ever be wrapped in the claws of a monster who’d won her at
auction.