Page 27 of Gambler's Conceit
Seven makes another frustrated sound. “I don’t care.”
That should give me pause, but I’m too fucking horny to give a shit either.
I plunge into him, bottoming out with one heavy thrust. Seven howls and claws at the stall door, lifting up and tightening his ass.
He’s so hot inside, practically pulling me in, and I pull out so I can thrust back in even harder. The door rattles on its hinges.
I wrap a hand around Seven’s mouth to muffle his wails. “Shut up,” I growl as I keep thrusting. “You’re gonna give us away.”
He licks the palm of my hand with a groan, but I give him a hard shake. It has the desired effect of silencing him, but inthe quiet that falls between us, I realize we aren’t alone in the bathroom anymore.
Footsteps grow closer, and I mentally beg the person to pick literally any other stall than the one next to ours. He’s got to know what we’re doing.
Then there’s pounding on the other side of the stall door. “Open up,” a gruff voice says.
“It’s fucking occupied,” I growl at him.
Seven has gone completely still. I keep fucking him, leaning down to bite Seven’s shoulder again.
The entire stall door rattles on its hinges as the man continues to try to beat the damn thing down. “I said, open the fuck up!”
I don’t know what happens. One moment, I’m fucking Seven up against the stall door. The next, the stall door flies open, and I stumble a step forward. Seven cries out, crashing against the heavy looking bruiser.
I freeze and meet his gaze. Fuck, it’s the same guy from the other night, when I got banned from blackjack—the same guy who’d dragged Seven back into the casino when he’d tried to leave.
His expression is murderous as he looks from me to Seven, then back to me. “Get the fuck off of him!” he bellows. He pulls on Seven, who yelps in pain as my cock is pulled from his ass. It’s not comfortable for me, and I sure as hell doubt it’s comfortable for him.
“Oh my god,” Seven whines, standing up straight and trying to pull his pants up. “Vortex?—”
“You are not. Supposed. To. Fuck. Anyone. Else,” Vortex says emphatically, stabbing at Seven’s chest with each punctuated word.
Anger rises inside me. I fucking hate guys who throw their weight around like that. I wrap my arm around Seven and pullhim back against my chest. “Fuck off. He wanted it. You don’t get to tell him what to do.”
Vortex lets out a dark laugh. “No, I don’t. But Mr. Spade does, and he doesn’t like it when people touch his fucking property. Seven here knows better.”
“Technically,” Seven says, letting me hold him against me, “Mr. Spadesaid I couldn’t seduce the employees. My friend here isn’t an employee.”
Vortex’s face gets redder. “That’s not what he meant, and you know it.”
He grabs Seven’s throat, and I immediately get my hand around Vortex’s wrist.
“Let him go right the fuck now,” I growl. “Don’t think I can’t take you just because my cock is out.”
Vortex’s fingers flex, and to my utter astonishment, Seven moans. “I think I like being fought over,” he says, shivering. “C’mon, Vortex. I’ll suck you off. You can tell Caleb, and he can spank my ass again, but don’t you wantsomethingout of it?”
“No,” Vortex barks out. “I’m calling Mr. Spade. You—” He points to me, “Get the fuck out of the casino. You’re banned.”
“I’m fucking not,” I argue. My erection has wilted, and that rage I’ve been trying to hold at bay is threatening to overtake me. “I wasn’t doing anything illegal?—”
“Try public indecency, buddy,” Vortex argues.
“Yeah? What about you, and how you’re harassing Seven?” I dig my fingers harder into Vortex’s wrist. He’s a big guy, but I see him wince. “Let him go, asshole.”
Seven tries to step out of my arms, but he’s held in place by Vortex’s big hand around his throat. “Vortex?—”
“Shut up. I’m calling security,” Vortex snarls, but he can’t get to the radio he’s wearing with my grasp on his wrist.
I clumsily pull my jeans up with one hand, glaring at Vortex the entire time. “Last chance. Let him go.”