Corey listens intently, smirking slightly as he watches me speak animatedly with my hands.
“And same with the kids at the center,” I explain. “Most of them don’t have the money, or sadly the attention and care at home, to pursue traditional photography. What almost all of them do have is a cell phone.”
Reaching into my clutch, I pull out my phone for the first time tonight. Ignoring the multiple messages and alerts on my home screen, I swipe on the screen to my camera app.
“And phones now have an insane amount of capability for taking photographs, far beyond the point-and-shoot ability.” I gesture down at some of the options available, if you know where to swipe and scroll and select.
“That’s incredible, Bex. I never knew that kind of creative power existed right on my phone,” he says. Corey sounds so genuinely impressed that the nagging feeling of upsetting him earlier just festers in my gut. “I’ll be honest. We are both passionate about, well, very different kinds of art, but your photographs are unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. Between that and the volunteering you do, it’s impressive as fuck.”
His praise makes me feel indescribable. It’s like a gentle shower of soft warmth prickling over my skin. Like getting too close to the sparks froma sparkler on the Fourth of July. It’s electrifying and dizzying… and so fucking far from rehearsed.
Before I know it, our drinks are finished, and Corey has paid the bill. I don’t want this night to end—despite a few awkward moments, it’s been magical. Having Corey’s eyes on me, the heat in his gaze, all night? This was a soft opening for Oliver fucking King—there were plenty of models, actresses, and women who had more than enough money to cosmetically enhance their attractiveness parading through that place, and not once did Corey look away from me or our table.
As we leave the restaurant, he places his hand low on my back, guiding me through the crowd. The warmth of his touch sets my body ablaze, and I am hyper-aware of his presence behind me and the way the crowd parts as we walk. Some recognize him, some blatantly stare, and more than a few glare atme. This feeling is beyond unfamiliar and a bit surreal. Insecurity threatens to rear its head, but then Corey reaches for my hand.
I gratefully take it, and he gives my hand a squeeze. “What are you thinking right now?” he asks.
Though I feel the stares continue as we walk, Corey’s warmth and strength next to me ground me in a way I’ve never felt with a person before. “Honestly? I don’t want this night to end.”
He smiles down at me, and I feel the warmth from his touch spread through me like a spark to a wildfire. Corey’s smile simultaneously eases me and turns me on, which makes me shiver despite the heat licking down my spine.
“I know a place,” he says, tugging my hand as we pivot toward the valet. “Follow me, gorgeous.”
Velvet Sky Lounge is the newest club in Vegas—I don’t even think Ally or Britney have been here yet, and they still get around to all the hot spots. When Corey mentioned some of his friends might be here, he must have seen the anxiety in my eyes because he laughed, assuring me they were old friends, “not in the industry.”
Meeting Ritchie last night at O’Malley’s was one thing, but to meet an entire group of… adult film stars out in the wild? I’m not sure that’s something I’m quite ready for. I’m not actually sure that’s something I could ever be ready for.
Corey holds my hand as we walk past the long line of people waiting to get into the club. There’s a small lobby and a bank of elevators, before which is a host stand. There are two women there, one tall and blonde,the other more petite with fiery red hair. They’re both dressed in hostess uniforms that are significantly skimpier than my cocktail uniform at Bravado. I give them a small hospitality smile—one I use when I’m off the clock to signal to other women in hospitality to show that I see them—and feel relieved when they smile back at me.
“Mr. Moro, we are so happy to have you and your guest at the Velvet Sky Lounge this evening,” the taller woman says. “Mr. Blackwood and Mr. Frost are already waiting for you in the VIP section. Mr. Anderson mentioned he would be coming to meet with you as well. Gray here will escort you up.” She gestures to a bulky bouncer standing closer to the elevators.
“Thank you,” Corey says. He nods toward the bouncer, but waves him off. “We can find our way. Thank you, Gray.”
The bouncer nods while he taps a button, opening a set of elevator doors near us. Corey releases my hand but moves his to my lower back, guiding me into the elevator.
As soon as the doors shut, I turn to Corey to ask, “Assuming the Sky Lounge is all the way—”
But Corey interrupts me, turning to face me as he presses me into the corner of the small space. With one hand on my hip and the other sliding up my neck, he tilts my face up toward his. “Yes, all the way up; it should take fifty-five seconds to get up there, and we are wasting timetalking,” he growls.
His lips crash against mine as I gasp in delighted surprise. Taking advantage of my open mouth, Corey licks at my lips before slipping his tongue inside and against mine. He presses his thumb against the pulse point on my neck as he claims my mouth with his tongue. I moan, my hands around his back, gripping the back of his shirt tightly.
How can a kiss feel this good? A tremor rakes through my body and heat coils in my core as he continues to kiss me. His tongue strokes against mine and, as wet as I got throughout our dinner together, I feel myself pulsing with need for this man. How many seconds do we have left before these doors open? Why am I even thinking about that instead of focusing on—”
The elevator slows and Corey pulls back, his thumb massaging my neck and a wide, genuine smile on his face. My entire body is buzzing, and I can’t recall a time in my life when a kiss has gotten me turned on quite this quickly.
“Where did you go?” Corey whispers, brushing his fingertips along the side of my face.
A muted chime announces the opening of the elevator doors as I continue to stare up at him, breathless.
He grabs my hand as he leans in to whisper, “Get out of that head of yours, beautiful. Let’s go have some fun.”
The elevator opens to a large, loud, open room, with dimly lit chandeliers hanging from high ceilings. The far end of the room is a wall of windows, facing out toward the Las Vegas Strip, twinkling a few blocks north and several stories down. A long bar with sleek, dark finishes lines another wall, and opposite that are the VIP alcoves. The dance floor takes up the entire center of the space, and it’s packed with clubbers. The bass pounds away, lights flash, and the scent of alcohol fills the air.
A host immediately approaches us, but like the bouncer downstairs, Corey waves them off. He’s nodding toward the VIP alcoves, so I trail behind him, his hand wrapped tightly around mine.
We pass another bouncer and head up a few stairs before we arrive at the VIP alcove near the center. There are a few guys chilling here, and the one closest to us is standing with his hands in his pockets, staring out at the dancefloor. He’s not quite as tall or handsome as Corey, but he’s attractive with his lean build, short dark hair, and a neat, trimmed beard.
“Well, fuck me,” Corey shouts, jerking his friend out of his trance. “Aaron Blackwood, out at a casino and club he doesn’t own!”
