Chapter 6

6

Cass

B y Monday, I'm tired of letting Cole come between me and my fun. Matt isn't scheduled to work the night shift for a few more days, and it's Lowell's last shift for two weeks. That's why I text him to come up to my room during the midnight patrol tonight.

Lowell's response, Hell yes. Get that pretty pussy wet for me since I won't have time to do it myself.

I can't help but roll my eyes even if he can't see me do it. Of course, he won't have time to finger me before he shoves his dick inside. Which is fine, since it would probably take him or Matt all night for him to figure out what I like, and we don't have that kind of time. The two men have known about each other from the beginning but haven't worked the same shift in months. I've even had them both at the same time. Once. We've never have more than ten minutes at the most, even that time, which really sucked.

Tonight, after Lowell finishes, I'm going to ask him again about talking to my father, getting his permission to date me. Daddy can't expect me to stay a virgin forever. I'm twenty-one, old enough to legally drink, and more than ready to decide who I want to fuck and when. Ever since Madison ran away, our father has been slightly more lenient. Still, it's not like I can go up to him, tell him I've been screwing two of the men who work for him, and ask for his approval to keep doing it and go on real dates with the men. That shit will never fly.

We have to play this right, ask Daddy to let me date first, and take it from there. What's the worst that could happen? He'll fire Lowell or Matt? Kill them?

Okay, so I get why neither man want to take that chance, but I'm tired of the quick hookups where I have to get myself off because there's no time for foreplay.

About ten minutes to midnight, I rewatch the last video Lowell sent, then video myself lying naked in my bed, the selfie stick in one hand, my rose vibrator in the other this time. Maybe it'll give him a hint about which part of his body I would like to have between my legs one of these nights. I've never been on the receiving end of oral, and ever since I watched that video, I've been fantasizing about it, wondering how good it would feel. Better than my fingers or the vibrator I bet.

For some stupid reason, though, when I close my eyes, trying to get myself off with the fluttering flower petal, I see Cole's face between my legs. Not for the first time either, unfortunately. Since we met and he asked to lick me to find out how I taste, I've wondered if my stepbrother actually likes going down on women or was just running his mouth like usual.

Kissing him last week in the pool was a huge mistake. I still don't know how it happened. Climbing him while our tongues tangled felt as vital a need as oxygen, a necessity that I didn't know my body required before that moment.

I don't want to touch any part of Cole again though.

Absolutely not.

Suffocating his smug face between my thighs is more about ending him than coming on his tongue. And I'm still convinced that his dick would be more pain than pleasure. How could it not be?

God, I really need to stop thinking about that part of Cole's body.

I end the recording I started and try again, this time, only thinking about Lowell. Only Lowell…until a masked man interrupts his jackrabbit fucking to take me hard but not fast, then forces the guard to lick up every drop of his release from my pussy.

Cole

After everyone goes to bed Monday night, I once again slip out of my room like I have every night since I've been staying here. During the day, I hang out with Shane, shooting the shit until he has to get to his job in the kitchen of Sinatra's, one of Vegas's most popular restaurants. That's when my patrol starts. Thankfully, I haven't had to sit through any more family dinners, and my mom hasn't been insisting we spend time together either, giving me space until I decide to forgive her.

I hate being angry at her and have missed her this past year, so I'm going to try to stop acting like a little shit toward her soon. Just not tonight.

Heading to the kitchen on the third floor a few minutes before midnight, I keep all the lights off, so tonight's guard won't see me waiting. Both of the men working tonight, Neal James and Lowell Walsh, have been on duty since I got here last week. Every night at midnight and at two, they've walked the first floor and second, but never the third. I go to bed after that, unable to stay awake for the four and six o'clock patrols.

And just because neither of the men have made a move to the third floor yet doesn't mean they haven't been biding their time. Cass probably warned them last week when I got here that I was suspicious and to wait a few days before visiting her bed again.

I've kept myself away from her as well. That's the easiest way to keep my dick inside my pants. And to keep breathing. I never know what that crazy bitch will do when I see her, and none of the options are great.

Just as I suspected, right at midnight I hear quiet footsteps on the stairs. Guess someone's dick couldn't wait any longer. Asshole. I'm going to make him regret his decision.

I finally move to stand on the third-floor landing, so he'll see me in the darkness in plenty of time to not shoot.

"Fuck! You scared the shit out of me!" the big guy mutters softly, clutching at his barrel chest but thankfully not pulling a gun from his suit jacket. Those few seconds are all it takes for me to hate the son of a bitch.

Like August, Mike, and all the other guards, he's tall, wide through the shoulders, with short brown hair. Average looks yet swollen enough to be slightly threatening. What the hell does Cass see in him? Does she like meatheads? I've put on some weight the past year when I didn't have to scrimp for meals, but I'll never be as thick as this fucker.

"Cole, right?" he asks, keeping his deep voice lowered. "Titus told us you were living here on the second floor this summer." He pauses. "Wait. What are you doing on the third floor?"

I throw his question back to him. "What are you doing coming up to the third floor?"

"I'm just patrolling. It's my job to walk the house," he answers quickly. Yep, he's definitely Cass's guy. Or at least one of them. My fists tighten by my sides with the urge to slam them into his stupid face simply because he…what? Touched Cass? Fucked her? Has seen her naked? Rolled around in her bed naked with her?

The answer is yes to all of the above. Why I give a shit who she fucks is beyond me. I just can't believe Dante could be so blind to not know what's going on in his own damn house. Cass can do better than some hired muscle who will never offer her more than a quickie because he's too scared of his boss.

"You're not allowed to patrol the third floor," I remind him.

"Oh, shit. You're right. I-I must be tired tonight. I'll grab some coffee…" The idiot makes the mistake of turning around, giving his back to me. I lunge down the steps to him, then plant my forearm across his throat. Standing on the step above him gives me an even bigger height advantage which I need since he definitely outweighs me. At least I have the element of surprise going for me.

"You're tired? Really?" I whisper in his ear. "You were sneaking up to Cass's room, weren't you?"

"How did you..." he croaks until I pull my right arm back to apply more pressure on his windpipe.

"You would be the worst spy ever, dumbass."

"Please…please don't…tell Dante," he wheezes.

The man is terrified. What a pussy.

"Here's what you're going to do, in this exact order if you don't want me to hand you over to Dante," I tell him quietly. "You're going to give me your gun and then your cell phone. After that, you're going to walk your ass out the front door, quit without giving a reason, and never come back to this hotel or even this city again."

"What the...you can't make me do shit!"

"I can't? That's seriously what you think?" I pull back on my arm across his throat harder, cutting off all his oxygen. Biggie may have about forty pounds on me, but I grew up poor as shit, learning to defend myself early because poverty paints a giant X on your back for bullies. Besides, the guard is in enough shit that he won't add hurting me to his list of transgressions.

His flailing arms try to remove mine. When they don't succeed, he drops to his ass, sitting on the step and I go with him, only removing my forearm from his throat long enough for him to concede. "Okay, okay, okay. Fuck!"

"Keep your voice down," I remind him. "Now, remove your gun from the holster and lay it on the step beside you."

He does as commanded. Again, he's too much of a pussy to try and shoot me with it.

"Now put your cell phone beside it." It's funny that he hesitates longer on the phone than the gun. I bet he's calculating exactly how much a new device is going to cost to replace it and hating it since he's also losing his steady income tonight.

"What's your code?" I ask him once he eventually, slowly, completes that command.

"What code?" he asks.

"The fucking code for your phone."

"Oh. It's one-one-one-one."

"Of course it is," I mutter. The big dummy probably never thought anyone would be stupid enough to try and rob him since he works for Vegas's mafia king and carries a firearm. He was wrong.

I start to pull my arm away from his neck, only to pull my fist back and then ram it into his nose with a triumphant crunch.

"Ow! Goddamn fuck!" he exclaims, clutching his nose while I collect his gun and phone from the stairs and get to my feet. I enter the code right away to make sure it works. It does.

"Off you go," I tell him. "Don't cancel this number yet either. Get a new one with your new phone," I add before giving him a kick of my foot to his back to get him moving.

He scrambles to his feet and then stumbles down the dark steps, catching himself on the railing.

Dante really needs to find better security than that nutless prick.

I listen for the front door to open and close, then head back to my room. As soon as I shove the gun into the back of my sock drawer, I hop into bed and start searching through his message logs.

And fuck me, it's all I've ever needed in this life .

There's photo after photo, and goddamn it, video after video in the log and saved to his camera roll. Most of the slutty media saved are of Cass, but not all of them. I wonder if she knows that he's hooking up with other women, or at least trying to. I don't pay the other women any attention because god, the videos of Cass are something else. She's either naked or in skimpy underwear in them all, the little cocktease, showing off her bare heavy tits, her pretty red pussy, her fine ass. In one of the images there was even a diamond plug in her asshole.

It's a treasure trove of pornography from the crazy redhead. She's so damn stupid to be sending this kind of shit out to any man with her face shown in some of them, much less to a guard who works for her father. I swear, it's like she wanted him to get caught, fired, and gutted for screwing her.

I start forwarding every single image and video to myself in case the asshole tries to delete them from the cloud.

Not five minutes later, I've sent myself enough that I'm about to pull my dick out to jerk it when a message comes through from the little slut herself. He didn't even bother using a different name for her in his contacts. What a dumbass.

Removing my eyes from the pornography is difficult but I manage it to read the new message and a few of the previous ones.

Cass: Where are you? I thought you were coming up tonight.

The video of her masturbating came immediately after he told her to get her pussy wet for him because he wouldn't have time to do it himself.

Jesus. What a selfish dick. Getting a woman nice and slick for my big cock is one of my favorite parts of fucking.

A few minutes before two o'clock I force myself to put down the phone and go wait for the next guard in the kitchen to come through. But he doesn't step foot into the penthouse at all. My guess is that he's a man down now that the first guy, Lowell Walsh, quit, so he had to guard the front door rather than inspect the interior for the unlikely skydiving or building climbing intruders required at this height.

It sucks that I won't be able to figure out if he's also screwing Cass or not until he's back on in two weeks. Still, I have my hands full for now.

Literally.

I spend hours tugging on my cock while looking at every inch of Cass's sexy body. Tomorrow, once my brain is properly functioning again, I'll figure out my next steps.