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“I can’t believe you’ve been a professional gambler all these years. I couldn’t take it; it’s so unpredictable”.
“I know a lot of people see it that way, but I don’t. Unlike when I was younger, I’ve learned to make it predictable, really not much different from other jobs. I travel where the business is, which, for me, is wherever there are rich, bad poker players. As for the sports betting, I set aside what others would call office time each day to analyze the data on all the players and teams. It helps me make good decisions. Making money on sports betting and poker isn’t just about making good bets; it’s about walking away from the bad ones. Unpredictable things happen, but I minimize the risk.”
“I think that’s probably why my dad failed at it. He couldn’t walk away from the drinking, and that prevented him from walking away from bad bets,” Alessandra said, looking intently into her wineglass to avoid Beau’s questioning look.
Beau paused for a moment, apparently deciding on his words. “Your dad was one of the best sports bettors in Las Vegas. I never met him, but Aden Johnson, my mentor and friend, did. Back in the early 2000s, Aden was new to professional gambling, and your dad had been willing to help him learn. Aden said your dad changed his thinking about the type of sports data he should be analyzing. Aden was very appreciative. He said your dad is the reason he’s been able to make a career from something he loves.”
“I’m glad he had a positive impact on someone,” Alessandra said bitterly, “because it certainly wasn’t me.”
“Hey, listen.” He turned to face Alessandra directly and placed his hand on her cheek. He gently lifted her face to look at him. She noticed familiar silver flecks in his otherwise dark eyes. “Your dad was flawed, for sure. But look at this gorgeous resort. The Benson. You are running it. You’ve loved the business your whole life. Do you think you even would have been interested in the industry if not for your dad?”
“Maybe not,” Alessandra replied, though she was still not convinced. She looked at Beau, seeing understanding in his eyes. He seemed to sense opportunity in the moment. He caressed her cheekbone with his thumb. When she didn’t move, he shifted, putting his hand into her hair. He lightly pulled the thick strands through his fingers. She was warm from the wine, but his seemingly innocent touch made her warmer. She felt the tingle between her thighs—the one she’d been trying to avoid.
“Is this alright with you?” he asked. Alessandra knew he wasn’t referring to his hand in her hair. He was asking for permission to continue. She looked at him as his hand continued its exploration of her auburn-blond strands.
She wanted to turn him down—rekindling this sexual attraction could get very complicated—but she couldn’t pull herself away. Because, in fact, she had been longing to have him kiss her again the whole day.
She found herself wanting him to pull her close, to press his body to hers, without asking for permission. Maybe it was outdated, maybe it was sexist, but Alessandra didn’t want to decide anything. She didn’t want to think about what would happen afterward. She didn’t want to think about the past. She didn’t want to think whether it was a good idea. She only wanted to feel this one moment.
Beau took her silence as agreement. His right hand moved from her hair to the back of her neck, his fingers grazing the skin as he explored further, moving it to the front of her neck and slowly going lower over her blouse, her breast, and down to her waist.
He rested it there, then placed his left hand on her thigh, turning it inward and moving up again, stopping just below her crotch. He looked at her and said, “And is this alright, too?”
“Yes,” she breathed. All her senses were focused on her clit, imagining his hand rubbing it. But he stopped just short, leaving her wanting him even more.
“You’ll have to wait. First, I’m going to touch somewhere else.” His hand continued upward. When it moved across her clit without rubbing, she shuddered, wanting him to stop there so she could push against his hand, help him satisfy her.
He didn’t stop. Instead, his hand slipped under the bottom of her blouse. When she realized where his next touch would focus, her nipples became taut. She reached out toward the hard bulge of his erection, and she wondered vaguely as her hand ran across it if his tailored pants would split from the size of him.
“No,” he said roughly, his voice full of lust while he moved her hand off his covered penis. “This is all about you right now.”
Alessandra moved her hand to her lap. She wanted to protest, but she felt too good, wanting everything he was doing to continue. It had been so long since she’d felt this sexually needy. If he wanted to satisfy her, she had no willpower to stop him. Her nipples nearly ached with the need for his touch. But he stopped again.
“Don’t stop. Please. Touch me,” she begged, but his hands were no longer on her at all. She knew he was teasing her, making her wait. She wanted to take off her blouse, her bra, and give him full access.
But she didn’t need to. He started to unbutton her blouse while he moved his head toward hers and kissed her. While his touch felt sexual, his kiss felt personal—almost emotional, even. More so than the quick kiss they’d share earlier, which had seemed sexual. She didn’t want emotional, didn’t need it at all.
She turned her head slightly and gave him her neck. He paused for a moment, and Alessandra thought he might stop. He planted kisses down her neck as he unbuttoned her blouse with one hand. He placed his other hand firmly on both of hers, in her lap, ensuring she would enjoy this for herself and not give back to him. At least for now.I’ll take, and then I’ll give back later.
Once her blouse was open, he tugged it off her, leaving her sitting in her black lace bra. He then placed both hands on each breast, cupping them over her bra. She responded to his touch by moving her chest into his hands further, watching him touch and rub and look, his mouth slightly open. Seeing his desire, she felt both satisfaction and impatience to have his hands on her bare skin.
She knew he wanted to hear her need, wouldn’t go further unless she pleaded her case. Her plea was also a demand. “Please take my bra off. Take it off now.”
He groaned. She knew he was trying to make her wait. “I’ll take it off when I’m ready,” he said. She knew soon she would get what she needed. He moved his mouth to her left breast, refusing to go under her bra, but breathing warmly against the lace. She couldn’t wait any longer.
She pulled her breast out of the cup, returning to a pleading tone. “Please, Beau. Please. Suck. My. Nipple.”
He lifted an eyebrow up, smiling as he looked up at her. While he watched, she removed the bra completely, giving him access to both swollen areolas. She waited for his next move.
Her wait was brief. When the warmth of his mouth finally landed, and when it began to tease and tug and lick, she felt herself grow damp on the black lace thong that matched her now-forgotten bra. He pleasured her left breast with his mouth, while he rubbed her right.
She felt her sexual need rising. She thought she might come simply from his expert manipulation on her chest. She was so close, but she couldn’t release. She needed more from him. Whatever the consequences, she wasn’t going to leave herself—or Beau—unsatisfied. She stood and started to unzip her pants.
There was a point—before she gave him her delicious breasts and before he felt her soft skin—when Beau wondered if this also was just part of the business to her. When she’d turned her head rather than kiss him again, he’d had a moment where he’d questioned the sincerity behind her actions. But there was a part of him that also understood her reluctance. When they kissed like that, it felt more intimate than the sexual touching.
The thought she might want to keep a level of distance between them actually relieved him somewhat. It freed him from the expectation of an emotional connection. His career as a professional gambler would never satisfy a woman who wanted an emotional relationship. And her career as a resort executive would never allow her the time to have one. He wasn’t interested in that, and neither was she.
If her interest in spending time with me isn’t sincere, her sexual needs certainly are.And, as far as he could tell, those needs clearly came without strings attached. She’d asked him to touch her; she had begged him. And when Beau pushed her to simply receive his touch, she’d done so.
