Page 16 of Falling

I’m saved from saying something I might regret by the waitress. She delivers the salad and my nachos. Geneva immediately steals one from my plate like I knew she would.

“I forgot to tell you, I’m having something delivered to your room.” She picks up her fork and spears a bite of lettuce. “For later.”

“What’s happening later?” I ask.

“We’re in Vegas. We’re going out.”

“What about your ankle?”

“Peter,” she says, shaking her head. “I get hurt a lot sparring at my academy. I heal quickly, and you’ve got it wrapped so well I barely feel it. It’ll be good for a night.”

We finish our meal and head to our rooms. They’re on the same floor but several doors apart. I agree to meet her in the lobby in forty-five minutes, which gives me just enough time for a shower and change into fresh clothes.

When I open my room door, I find a suit bag lying on the couch, and inside is a black tuxedo. The matching shoes sit next to the coffee table. I can’t imagine what she has in mind for tonight, but I’ll play along.

I stop in the bedroom area just long enough to pull my shaving kit out of my duffel. The bathroom is larger than the one I left in San Francisco. It boasts a riot of marble and brass. There’s a standing shower that I’m looking forward to.

Stripping out of my road-weary clothes, I step into water just barely below scalding. The showerhead is tall enough that I don’t have to stoop to wash my hair. That can be an issue when you’re six feet two.

I hope Geneva’s room is as nice as mine. I wonder if she’s also in the shower and getting ready. The image of water running down her soaped body makes my cock jerk.

Do I have time to jerk off? Do I dare not to and fight all night to keep my cock under control? If I’m wearing a tux, she must be dressing in something slinky. That thought makes it stand at full attention.

For the sake of my own sanity, I lather up my hand before wrapping it around my aching erection. My body knows exactly what to do. It’s done this so many times after spending the day at work around her.

My fist slides up and down, tightening with every stroke. It takes nothing more than my imagination conjuring her body writhing under mine for hot lava to race through my system. It covers my hand and the shower floor.

I rinse myself clean, then turn the faucet to the coldest setting. When I begin to shiver, I turn the water off. Hopefully between rubbing one out and the ice shower, I’ll survive the night.

I throw a towel around my waist. Staring at myself in the mirror, I debate my facial hair. I’ve been thinking about shaving it clean for a while. This seems like the perfect time to do so. New start; new look.

When I’m done, I look at my face. Not too bad. Same square jaw I had as a teenager. Fortunately, though, I no longer look like a teenager. That was the reason I grew a beard in the first place. I wonder if Geneva will approve? I guess I’ll find out soon.

She is chronically late to everything. That’s why I assume I’ll have to wait downstairs until she drifts in. I’m more than a little surprised to find her waiting for me this time. She’s in a long red dress with a slit up the side that shows off one long tanned leg. This image is even better than the fantasy in the shower. She spots me from across the room.

“Let me see,” she says when I reach her. She takes my chin in one hand. She looks back and forth from one side of my face to the other. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen this face. You still have a jaw that can cut glass.” She pushes up to her toes and nips at it.

“I miss this face,” she whispers. I take in the smell of jasmine that lingers on her skin for a beat or two. Then I ease her away from me.

“What are we doing this well-dressed?” I ask to redirect us.

“Gambling, of course,” she answers. “Bond style.”

“I think Bond gambled in Monte Carlo,” I point out.

“I know, but anything worth doing is worth doing well,” she says. “Besides, look how fabulous we look.” She steps in front of me and points to a mirror. She’s right. With her back pressed against me, we look amazing. Well, she looks amazing. I look like a guy who is desperate for her attention.

I never wear a tuxedo. There’s never a reason to. Rand was always the face of the business. I’m happier remaining in the background at my drafting table.

My parents weren’t wealthy. I’ve never learned the refinement that Rand and Geneva possess. The only reason I was even at boarding school with Rand was because of a scholarship. While most of the other students treated me as less than, Rand never seemed to see a difference between us.

“Don’t we look stunning?” she asks.

“You always look stunning,” I answer.

She smiles at me over her shoulder. Taking my hand, she pulls me through the lobby to the casino. We bypass the normal games being played by normal people. Her mind is set on the high roller room.

A man at the entrance checks her name before welcoming us inside. She was a busy girl while I was dressing.

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