“Yeah?” I tell him, “You have your points, too.”
“That’s big of you.”
I look down. “That’s big of you.”
Chapter Eight
Giovani
She says, “Seriously. Isn’t there a halfway decent party we can go to?”
“Let me make a call.”
There’s nowhere in Vegas I can take her where people won’t know me, but I’m not having her come to any of my usual hang-outs. I decided that as soon as I met her. I still feel the same way, though my reasons have changed.
I call Joey and ask if he can get me a plus-one invite to Rico and Lefty’s party.
“Sure. I’ll make the call and text you back. You’ll be welcome, of course. Oh, is your influencer gal going to be the plus one?”
“Yup. I feel like she’s going to be glued to me, twenty-four-seven for the rest of my fucking life.”
“Lucky she can’t hear you.”
“She’s sitting right next to me.”
“You two must really be hitting it off.”
“We fell instantly into deep and everlasting hate.”
This time in the season, the high-roller scene that skews the most toward the show business crowd and attracts less of the mob types, is Lefty and Rico’s party.
Yeah. Lefty and Rico are mob types of a high order. But they’re from out-of-town, and they’re here to play. And they can really throw a party.
Rico DiAvola’s suite is the ultimate high-roller’s Vegas flop. A hundred and ninety meters up and starting on floor fifty one of the Golden Eights casino, the space was remodeled, joining two huge suites into a massive playpen the size of a small zoo.
The suite has pools and wet rooms, a dance-floor and a two-story glazed party pit. Out on the roof terrace, guests amuse themselves in a maze, a scented spice garden, a waterfall, and a dizzying infinity pool.
Rico and Lefty Mussomeli, waste management consultants from the east, keep month-long parties running in Rico’s suite whenever they’re in town. The costs of damage and repair are said to be way more than the cost of the suite, and even bigger than the bar bills.
Word for the wise is that peak party, when fresh and beautiful people are still shiny and eager, when everyone is hepped and hyped and hopping, just before faces and limbs become weary and tempers get ragged and fights are apt to break out, the golden time is the start of the last week.
And we’re perfectly timed.
Lithe and long-limbed performers from Blue Peep, la Cirqul and the Carnivalle troupes shimmer and out-pose each other in the tall glass atrium. They writhe, strut and appear to fly as they try to fascinate the pale, brittle, and perfectly poised models from a Ukrainian fashion show.
I introduce Lily to Rico. Always the gracious host, when he takes her hand to plant a kiss on her fingers, something rears up inside me and I want to knock him down.
I hold it back, but I’m tense like a spring until he lets go of her fingers.
As I follow her into the party, Rico says confidentially, “A cat got your cock at last, Gio?”
Glittering people flow like a sparkling river around us, into cocktail bars and card rooms, and snaking into hazy fetish spaces, some loud and lewd, others dark and perverse.
She moves quickly through the crowds, into a dark dance room. Watching her ass sway as she rocks and turns across the floor is a picture I know I’m going to keep in my memory. She glides through the dancers, making it hard for me to keep up. I know that’s her aim.
I would have a better protective position if there was a space off the dance floor with a good enough view. But there isn’t, so I have no choice. I have to try and keep up with her.
Twice I catch a glimpse of a figure in black. Guests in fetish gear are hardly unusual at Rico and Lefty’s parties. The figure only snags my attention because both times, as soon as I see them, they duck out of sight.
Lily moves slowly, turning and swaying to the beats. She’s impossible to predict. I can’t shadow her, except by dancing with her.
I get a great view of her. In motion, the sight of her rouses me, raises my pulse rate and pumps my cock till it aches.
As I move closer, she steps between my legs. She turns. Throws a look over her shoulder at me. Brushes my ass with hers.
Dancing pulls us together in a rhythm.
She shimmies in front of me, shaking her shoulders. Teasing me with her tits.
“Is it true what you said? You think we’ll be attached for the rest of your life?”
I reach out to stroke her face. She’s still while I touch her.
I swallow. “Yes, but I don’t know if that will be days, or hours, or minutes.” I tell her. “You drive me nuts. I think I’m addicted to you. And I expect it to kill me any second.”