Page 39 of Devil of Vegas

It’s all that I need to hear to make her mine again. I wrap my arms behind her back and lower her carefully to the floor of the stage. Slowly, and with deliberate intention, I remove one article of clothing after the other, letting my hands run over her skin as I expose each part of her body. “This is your stage,” I remind her as I kiss the top of her chest and hover over her. “I think it’s time we broke it in, don’t you?”

Isla reaches for the top of my pants, showing with her nonverbal agreement that she wants this, too. I let her take her time removing my clothes, and I let myself enjoy the feeling of her hands on my cock once there’s no barrier between us. But when she goes to reach down and untie the ribbons of her shoes, I grab her wrist to stop her.

“Leave them on,” I say as I lower myself onto her, pressing my palms against the dance floor, letting my cock weigh heavy between her legs.

She lifts her hands back up to grip my shoulders as I push inside her. Her warm, waiting tightness encases my cock from tip to shaft with each inch of my entry. The friction of filling her is so tantalizing that I pause for just a moment to fully enjoy the sensation. When I do, Isla wraps her legs around my waist, and I can feel her shoes dig against my tailbone. There is something almost delightfullytabooagainst fucking such a fragile creature on the floor that she delicately dances on. But just like the illusion of dance being soft and gentle when it truly requiresgreat strength and force, I push deeper still, driving her body beneath me as I own her here.

Isla leans her face toward mine, wanting my tongue in her mouth, which I gladly oblige. The sensation of having so much of myself inside her causes me to pulsate with a relentless desire. As I work to bring us both closer to climax, beads of sweat form on my brow and drip down onto her bare chest.

“Wait,” Isla whispers, to my surprise. “Vincent, wait.”

Never has she told me to stop, and never have I considered stopping. But the look in her eyes isn’t one of displeasure or discomfort, it’s one of a more a more adventurous nature.

“I want to finish this on top,” she breathes.

I can tell by her voice that this isn’t an attempt at a power play, it’s something else. So, keeping us connected in a smooth movement as I roll her over on top of me, I lay with my back against the dancefloor and wait to see what she’s going to do.

At first, she looks around as if she’s about to perform in front of the theatre’s empty audience. I can feel her muscles clench around my cock as if this excites her—this feeling of being on stage as she rides me. Isla places her palms against my chest to steady herself as she moves. Every motion is pure, unadulterated divinity. I stare up at her, hair falling over her bare breasts, body curving and pressing against me as if she’s gracefully dancing with me inside of her. The act is not only a sensory overload of pleasure, but alsobeautiful. It’s as if she’s in the spotlight, about to have roses thrown at her feet as she ushers my throbbing cock toward a standing ovation.

As she races closer to orgasm, her body grinds down on mine, taking me all in deeper than I’ve ever been before. I hold on tothe sides of her pointe shoes that are pressed down against the sides of my legs as she erupts into a violent orgasm. With her shoes still clasped in my hands, I follow with an orgasm of my own, one that is so strong that I can feel it in the back of my teeth.

Isla’s body collapses onto me, as light as a feather, as I catch her and sweep her matted hair away from her face. We both breathe heavily against each other, and I can feel my cock still pulsing with aftershocks between her legs.

“Now this stage reallyismine,” she says through ragged breaths.

CHAPTER 19

ISLA

As I straighten the baseball cap on top of Vincent’s head, I tease, “I guess this could technically be our second official date.”

“I look like a fool,” he grumbles, smoothing down the front of his sweatshirt. “I guess you’ll just have to excuse the casual attire, but it’s best that we stay incognito while out and about in the city until I can be sure Angelo isn’t coming for you again.”

“I kind of like it,” I smile. “Seeing you more like a man than a?—"

“Devil?” he interrupts with a laugh.

“I was going to say mafia boss, but I suppose either works,” I giggle playfully.

We both look unlike ourselves—Vincent dressed in jeans and a baseball cap with a long-sleeved T-shirt to cover up his tattoo sleeve in lieu of his usual suit and tie. And me, with a flowery dress and blonde wig to cover up the color of my hair. It’s almost as if we’re play-acting at beingnormalpeople tonight, instead of a killer and a prima ballerina. We are an unlikely couple, no matter how we look, so it doesn’t really matter howwe’re dressed. At least this way, we disguise ourselves from any searching eyes. Marco is called off for the night, and I haven’t seen Luciano or Alonzo anywhere around since I’ve been back. So, it’s just me and Vincent together tonight as we try to enjoy a rare moment of joy andfun.

“So, since we’re not acting like our usual selves tonight,” I suggest. “How about you skip the fancy restaurant experience, and I skip the dance diet, and we indulge in some street food?”

“Oh, you really are daring, aren’t you?” he teases as he throws his head back and laughs. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him laugh like this before—it’s nice.

We find a food truck that sells messy, delicious looking fish tacos and indulge in eating them while we walk.Thisfeels freeing. Walking with Vincent out here, with people passing by us and giving us casual smiles as the two of us laugh and talk and nudge each other on the arm when we see something interesting along the street. This feels like the kind of life that I could very easily get used to. Vincent seems softer now, easygoing, almost as we people watch and talk about our randomnon-violentexperiences in Vegas. His life didn’t always involve blood, crime, and vendettas. Some of his past, the parts that happened before he lost his parents and his sister, sound a lot like the childhood I had before I lost my mom.

“It’s funny,” I say when we sit down on a bench to watch the sun set over the strip. “I guess I thought that you and I would beoceansapart in terms of how we were raised before tragedy struck us both. But now I find out that you watched some of the same shows on TV and read some of the same books as I did in middle school. I know you paint this picture of yourself as a monster, and as some sort of all-powerful God of Hell. But in truth, you were just like me—with a mother that taught you andprotected you for as long as she could until the cruelty of the worldbrokeyou.”

Vincent reaches his hand over to my lap and folds his palm into mine. “I think that there is something else about us that is similar too,” he adds as he stares out at the rich, burnt-orange sky. “That brokenness doesn’t define us, Isla. It never did. You and I both grew stronger despite the damage we took. And now, even though we’re both still learning who andhowwe want to be.”

“I thought that you already knew who you wanted to be,” I say as Vincent turns to look at me. “You’re theDevil of Vegas,the most feared and respected mafia don in the city. I thought that was exactly the reputation that you built your empire on, and exactly what you wanted to be.”

“So, did I. But then, I foundyou.”

I can see the storm in his eyes, the battle that is ongoing between his morally conflicted urges, both for revenge against those who have crossed him, and his desire to haveme. How Vincent talks to me bares his soul. Heseesmine in a way that no one ever could before, makes me question everything about what I saw myself becoming. I find myself no longer wanting to choose between being a dancer and beinghis. I want both things now.

“Come on,” he says as the sun dips down into the dark corners of the sky. “Let’s go get a drink before heading home.”

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