Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 72056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
I’m tight from the climax, and he burns through me as if his dick were made of hot coals. A perfect searing pleasure-pain, and I’m more than ready.
He plunges and plunges and plunges, and as he hits my clit with each new thrust, a new orgasm rises in me, this one different but no less explosive.
It’s internal this time, and he thunders into me, releasing.
Together we come, our hearts racing, our breaths rapid.
My fangs have dropped, and I’m ready to plunge them into his carotid and take what I desperately need—
Then he pulls out. Instead of falling to the other side of the bed as he did last night, he stands.
“It’s been fun, princess.”
Is this a kiss off?
Seriously?
“Yeah,” I say, baring my cuspids. “Fun.”
He looks away, dresses quickly, and walks toward the door of my bedroom.
Wait… My bedroom? We were in his penthouse last night. We—
“What gives, Rogan?”
“Nothing.”
“How did we get here? We made love in your bed last night.”
He meets my gaze. “First, princess, we didn’t make love. We fucked.”
“Semantics, Rogan.”
“Think what you need to think,” he replies. “Second, I brought you back to your room last night.”
“Uh…how?”
“Easy. I wrapped a sheet around you and carried you down. You’re light as a feather.”
To him? Maybe. “And no one wondered why you were carrying a naked woman in the elevator?”
“I’m the owner of the hotel, princess. I have my own elevator. By the way, I sent your clothes to cleaning. They’ll be returned by noon today.” He turns toward my bedroom door.
Really? He’s going to leave without a kiss? Without another word?
Without letting me feed?
As if reading my mind, he turns and meets my gaze. “Have a safe trip back to Chicago.” Then he exits.
I’m numb.
Numb and fucking hungry.
Does he think this is goodbye? Because he’s wrong. I came here for information, and I aim to get it. I need his cooperation.
I rise, nearly stumbling. I’m a little lightheaded from the two orgasms plus I need blood.
The problem? The only blood that will satisfy me just walked out of my suite.
Fine.
Two can play this stupid-ass game.
I shower quickly and don the vampy clothes I brought with me. Dark red tank, black jeans, leather thigh high boots.
Victor Rogan, you’ve met your fucking match.
9
I feed quickly on more of the bagged blood I brought with me. It quells the blood lust, but again, the hunger for Rogan’s blood remains.
He’ll jump through all kinds of hoops to get to you.
Has he?
He saved me from the thugs last night, but wouldn’t any man be so chivalrous?
He sure seemed to be able to leave this morning without any regrets. His “have a safe trip” was clearly an afterthought.
I leave my suite, dressed to kill, and wander to the elevator. I look around before I press the button. Rogan said he had his own elevator. Where is it?
It’s no surprise that I slept through him bringing me back to my suite. I was sated from his blood and from an orgasm. Still, he must have been pretty quiet and gentle. I’m not a heavy sleeper.
And why bother?
Why not let me sleep at his place?
Is he one of those guys who doesn’t like women to stay over? I roll my eyes. Probably. Well, I’ll take care of that.
I hit the down button, and an elevator arrives and the doors open. I get in, joining several others.
“I can’t believe that progressive jackpot yesterday,” a woman says.
“I know. Can you believe the luck? Why don’t those things ever happen to me?”
“Pure chance,” the first one says.
“I heard Jennifer Lopez’s mom hit one once,” another says. “Her daughter has all the money in the world. What’s her mom need with a jackpot?”
“Not fair.” This time a man.
The elevator arrives and the doors part. Thank God. I’ve had enough of the gamblers whining. Las Vegas is all about the house. Don’t they know that? Sure, sometimes you beat the odds. But still, the odds are the house will take your money and you’ll go home broke.
I exit the elevator and head toward the concierge’s desk.
“May I help you?” a young woman asks.
“Yes. Where might I find Victor Rogan?”
“The owner? He doesn’t come down here.”
“He was here last night.”
“That was to congratulate the progressive winner. He’s usually not on the casino floor.”
“Okay. Where is he, then?”
“He has an office on this floor and in his penthouse.”
“Where’s his office on this floor?” I look around at the area. The casino is massive, but a few hallways trail off from the lobby.
“I… Do you have an appointment?”
“No.”
“Then I’m sure I can help you. Or one of the managers can.”
“I’m sorry. I want to see Victor Rogan.”
“Let me see if he’s in.” She picks up the phone and hits a button. “I’ve got someone here who wants to see Mr. Rogan.” Pause. “Yeah. Sure. Thanks.” She hangs up. “He’s not in the office this morning.”