Yes (2 page)

A
man was pinned square against the far wall, Courtney on her knees, sucking him
off. Hannah looked behind her to ensure she was alone; then, she turned back to
watch, as if compelled by some raw longing she'd suppressed for too long.

As
Courtney worked, the young man grimaced, his face noticeably handsome, jaw
defined by a fine, dark stubble. He raised his chin and grunted as her head
moved up and down, lovingly and thorough, her lips and tongue doing unseen
things to his manhood, his hands gripping a set of metal water pipes that ran
the ceiling overhead.

While
she sucked, her hands traveled upward, exploring his bare stomach and chest,
the fingernails raking against his tanned skin, leaving visible red lines that
were certain to remain for at least a week thereafter. With each stroke of her
mouth, the man tugged the pipes, sending an aching rattle down the line.

Her
right hand danced upward upon delicate fingers that seemed practiced, finally
settling on one of his nipples. He groaned as she took it between her thumb and
finger, pinching and twisting it, his body working away, trying to escape the
pain without success. Soon his right hand had found its way to the back of her
head, but it wasn't pushing; it was pulling her away by the hair.

"Slow
down," he begged, but she only sped her pace, consuming him near whole
with every gulp, her lips tight, cheeks sucking in and bulging out against the
size of his erection. Within seconds, he was at his end, an easy groan pouring
out his open mouth as his body hardened and fell backward against the brick
wall.

She
wiped her mouth and stood, surveying her handiwork: the crisscrossed fingernail
markings ruining his once perfect chest and stomach, his penis still hard, his
balls held tight within her left hand. She leaned in and kissed his lips hard
and without apology, his taste still fresh on her thick, red lips.

Hannah's
hand lost its grip against the edge of the wall, and the noise drew both their
eyes. A bright flush of red spoiled her pretty face, and she turned and
scampered out, her shoulder clipping another girl's elbow as she exited the
backstage door.

She
skipped to the bar and took a seat, the bartender approaching as if drawn by
the sound of her thumping heart.

"You
need another?" He said, a wry little smile on his face, as if he'd read
everything from her expression.

She
nodded silently, and he poured her a drink and placed it under her nose; but,
before she could get her hands around the glass, she felt a hand against her
back. She turned to see Courtney smiling brilliantly, her face looking more
beautiful than ever.

"I'm
so sorry, Court," she whispered.

Courtney
pushed the thought away and giggled.

"Don't
be silly," she said. "I'm not ashamed."

She
ordered her own drink and the two sat together for a while, watching a second
wave of customers fill in around them.

"Have
you caught any of these guys’ attention?"

Hannah
smiled and looked over her shoulder at Dominic, who now sat with a large table
of well-dressed men and women.

"Him,"
she said.

Courtney
looked over her shoulder and frowned.

"No,
dear," she said. "He's not for you."

Hannah
furrowed her brows.

"Why?"

Courtney
shook her head.

"He's
into some shady business is all. I don't know the details."

Hannah
leaned over and assessed Dominic anew, her eyes pinched together, as if to
exact his true essence. But she could not see past his superficial
characteristics: the square jaw, thick lips, dark features and tall, muscular
frame. After a few moments, Courtney took her fingers and snapped them before
her face.

"Come
back, hun. There are plenty of hot, rich guys roaming this city. No need to
take the first one that comes by."

But
that night, while Hannah tossed restlessly about in her sister's guest bed,
Dominic's image infiltrated her dreams; his large, strong hands caressing her
naked body; her waking hand drifting down her stomach and falling between her
legs. Within that foggy world, he ravaged her in ways she had never experienced
in conscious life; and when her eyes finally opened, she knew she would seek
him no matter the consequences.

Chapter 3

In
the days that followed, Hannah found work tending bar at a casino, the skills
she'd developed during her college years coming back as if she'd taken no time
off at all. At this place, the girls wore tiny little black half-shirts and
short shorts that showed just about everything; and, each night, the customers
ogled her full breasts and long tanned legs without showing any pretense to the
contrary.

Courtney
said Dominic had asked about her the night they'd met, but Hannah never got a
call; and, over a period of weeks, she let go the image of him she'd once held
so firmly within her mind.

Then,
on a night like any other, he walked through the door. The moment she saw him,
her head went dizzy and her chest warmed. She froze her actions behind the bar
and watched him move across the room, a serious look on his tanned face, his
handsome features much more rugged than she'd remembered. Two large men
accompanied him, but they quickly dispersed under his direction, leaving him
alone to survey the bar.

His
eyes sifted through the crowd and the staff, as if they searched for something
in particular. Hannah watched him, half hoping he'd notice her without
remembering, half terrified he would. Finally, their eyes met, and he grinned.

"There
you are," he said, as he approached the bar. "I'd heard I could find
you here."

Hannah
felt her face grow flush despite her best efforts.

"You've
been looking for me?"

"Of
course," he said, while taking a seat. "You are not so easy to
forget."

She
shook her head.

"If
you sit here, you have to order something."

He
smiled.

"I'll
have the Macallan 25, neat."

She
poured it and placed the glass under his nose.

"That's
$36," she said.

He
removed a 50 dollar bill and placed it flat on the bar.

"Please
keep the change," he said, as he sipped his scotch.

She
put the money away and turned her attention to all the orders which had piled
up during her momentary trance. Several minutes passed as she prepared drink
after drink, the waitresses distressed by her lagging, their faces
expressionless and cold. Finally, things settled, and she returned to find his
chair empty, the glass abandoned and dry.

She
looked around but saw only a mob of nameless faces, no sign of Dominic in any
direction. She searched her mind for relief but found only disappointment
instead. A sinking exasperation developed within her chest, and for a moment,
she thought she might abandon the bar, run outside and yell for him, beg him to
return. But then a voice called to her, and she turned to see one of his
associates.

"Ma'am?"
The large, gruff looking man said.

"Yes?"

"Mr.
Montero wasn't able to stay, but he would like me to apologize on his behalf
and ask that you visit his apartment for a party he'll be having this
evening."

He
handed her a note with an address written on it.

"Dress
is formal. Please come after 9 p.m.," the man said, and then he turned and
walked away.

That
night, even as she shaved her legs and applied her makeup, Hannah wasn't sure
she would go. Her sister gave few words, offering little more than a slight
warning, some grudging support and a lovely little red dress that seemed to put
everything in the right place.

"You
won't have any trouble getting attention in that," Courtney said, as she
eyed the young girl's body. "I pray for a positive outcome."

With
that, she left the room, leaving her younger sister to ready herself alone. As
she styled her long blond hair, Hannah studied her reflection: the girl before
her looking more sure than the one inside. In the end, she knew reason wouldn't
hold against her natural curiosity to know the differences between Dominic and
the other men from her past, the feel of his hard, muscled body underneath
hers, the warmth of his full lips working passionately against her own.

She
took a cab to the address, the driver taking her through the Vegas strip, while
she took in the explosion of glittering lights, like some wide-eyed tourist
from a faraway land of drab, colorless surroundings. Twenty minutes later, they
arrived at their destination: a pair of lofty twin ivory pillars that provided
luxury housing for some of the wealthiest people in the city.

The
moment she stepped out the taxi, a gray-haired doorman approached and asked her
name.

"Hannah
Collins," she said.

Immediately,
he reached into his pocket and retrieved a handful of cash. 

"Mr.
Montero will pay for your trip," he said, before leaning down to hand the
driver two one hundred dollar bills that looked bright and new as the day there
were made.

The
old man then saw her inside and passed her over to the elevator attendant: a
tall, square looking man with thick eyebrows that had begun to meander. Without
asking her name, the second man led her to the elevator and waited for the
shimmering gold doors to slide apart.

"The
party is on the roof," he said through his brambly looking beard.

"How
did you know I was here for the party?" She asked, but he didn't answer.

They
rode together, neither talking, the elevator soaring upward without any hint
save for the gentle swimming in her stomach once it reached the top.

The
second the elevator doors opened, anxiety flooded her chest. The rooftop was
filled with wealthy, well-dressed men, escorted by exquisite-looking women who
looked as if they'd been grown in a laboratory. Tall, buxom and beautiful, they
all wore colorful party masks that had fluffy feathers jutting up from one
side. As she stepped out of the elevator, a man approached and looked her over.

"I
think this one," he said, and he presented a gold mask accented with a
pretty little red feather.

Without
speaking, she took the mask and put it on, feeling both silly and relieved all
in one moment. With that, she left the man and approached the bar.

"Champaign
or something stronger?" The young bartender said, as if sensing her
unease.

"A
martini," she said.

While
she waited, she scanned her surroundings. Men huddled together and shook hands,
while their dates stood quietly, their faces looking vapid and bored.

"Ever
been to one of these things?" The bartender asked, as he served her drink.

"No."

"There's
an orgy at the end."

She
smiled at him, but he just turned and walked away.

"Ah,
there you are," Dominic said, as he approached through the crowd. He wore
a dark, tailored suit that did little to hide his muscular body, and as he
approached, the clean and gentle scent of his cologne caressed her senses, and
her heart picked up its pace.

"I
hope you haven't been waiting long," he said, as he took her hand.

"Just
a few minutes."

"Please,"
he said, as he gently pulled her hand. "Let me introduce you to a handful
of my acquaintances. Some of these people are worth much in the way of
amusement, I assure you."

They
approached an old, fat man who wore a deep purple scar across the side of his
neck. His gray hair lay thin and combed horizontally across the top of his
head, which was freckled by a mass of age spots; however, the beautiful young
girl clutching his arm seemed smitten enough, despite his defects.

"Jean
Paul," Dominic said loudly, as the old man grinned in delight. "Let
me introduce you to my good friend Hannah."

"Enchanted,"
Jean Paul said with a slight accent that was difficult to place. "What a
lovely girl you are. Dominic is fortunate to have such a beauty for company
this evening."

Hannah
took his outstretched hand and he placed a moist kiss on top.

"Jean
Paul is an investor much like me, but that's not what makes him
interesting," Dominic said. "He is a particularly accomplished
explorer, who's been to places most people have never seen."

Hannah
raised her eyebrows in a demonstration of interest.

"This
is true," Jean Paul said. "I enjoy traveling very much and have met
many astonishing people in my journeys."

Dominic
looked at Hannah and smiled.

"You
see, Jean Paul has no interest in things that lure many travelers: history,
architecture, culture and whatnot."