Authors: Eric Pete
Crushed Ice (9 page)
I decided to return to Sophia's room below to better keep an eye on her while I remained in Vegas.
“Change of plans,” I said when Sophia opened her door. She wore a bath towel now, her wet hair slicked back and still dripping. I quickly forced my way past her, bags and all. “Feel like attending a party tonight?” I asked.
“Not if I have to sleep with somebody again,” she answered smartly.
“Only me,” I stated, my mask dissolving. “Only me.”
“I could do that,” she said with a devilish smirk. She slammed the door shut behind her and undid her robe.
Chapter 17
“Are you sure you're not pawning me off on somebody this time?” she asked, her hand playing inside mine. It cost me another dress, but Sophia accompanied me to PURE nightclub inside Caesars Palace.
“I promise,” I replied, squeezing her soft hand for emphasis before bringing it up to my lips, where I kissed the back of her knuckles. We had the look of loversâor a pair that had hooked up. This was Vegas, after all. It was a ruse based deep in truth, with roots of lust and passion fed by our short time together.
And lust and passion have been the downfall of many a person.
As we moved closer to club security, screening for tonight's special event, I tried ignoring the memories and feelings her touch evoked.
I slipped my hand inside her robe, pressing into the small of her back. I played on, her body trembling, as though pressure points on her back were keys on a piano, her sultry voice the melody in perfect tune.
“Chris, I've wanted to feel you inside me since we first met,” she confessed under interrogation by my tongue in her ear. “Don't make me wait any longer,” she whispered as I backed her against the door she'd just closed.
I kissed her neck, tasting the fresh, soapy dew from her shower. Dug my hands into her damp hair as I pulled her face to mine, kissing deeply, tasting and sucking her wanton tongue as she dropped her robe.
Sophia undid my pants and yanked them down along with my boxers. Turnabout. Left me naked from the waist down, as she'd been when I was here earlier. Back when I was still thinking and calculating rather than feeling.
Thought takes up too much of my life.
Sex is the only time thoughts aren't necessary.
Our bodies converged, all that chaotic, volatile energy combusting as we tussled. My shirt, pulled over my head then thrown aside. Sophia biting deeply into my neck. My hands palming her ass as I lifted her effortlessly. Her feeding me her breast and my nibbling as if it were a delicacy.
“Mmm, harder, Chris. Bite it,” she pled as if Chris were the reality. The figment obliged, sucking on it until arriving at her plump nipple, where I playfully took it in my teeth. She slapped up against me harder, shuddering as she came.
She led me to the chair I'd been in before and sat me down. My dick hungered, and there would be no turning back. She went over to her purse to retrieve a condom. I stroked myself, watching her and wondering just how potent that pussy was.
Placing the ringed condom in her mouth, she returned, dropping to her knees as she slid it down my dick with no hands. The warm sensation of her breath through the latex made me flinch.
“Mmmm,” I groaned.
“Do I make you hot? Do I turn you on?” she coaxed, rising to her feet as she straddled me.
“Yes,” I answered, smiling as she slid onto me.
“Do you want it, baby?” she inquired as she began riding.
“Absolutely.”
Sophia grasped the back of the chair behind me, working her hips with each bounce. She whipped her head around feverishly, causing her wet strands to land across her face.
I grabbed her waist, slamming her harder and harder onto me with each bounce. As I impaled her, she screamed in ecstasy, tremors delivering another gush onto my lap.
“Damn, you are so good. Don't stop,” I begged.
“I won't,” she said, breathing heavily.
We rushed toward that point, the place where time stands still, gravity ceases, toes curl, eyes roll, and nothing makes sense other than that singular, unique moment.
“I . . . I'm . . .” I stuttered, sweat covering my brow. I was fighting it, but going down in flames, rushing to my eventual end.
“Mmmm. Let it go. Let it all go. Yesss.”
And I did.
I heaved upward, slamming inside her a final time as my legs went stiff, blowing a mighty load that jolted her from the high ground she'd held in our intimate encounter. Having delivered me to this point, Sophia held me close as she tried to steady her breathing. Her sweaty breasts rose and fell, gradually decreasing in their intensity each time.
“Mmm. You make me cum harder than him, baby” she panted, referring to her ex. The one with the addictive personality. The one who'd commanded her in all sorts of unseemly things.
I was no better.
As she collapsed in my arms, I wondered if she had traded one addiction for one perhaps far worse.
“Chris?” Sophia called out, releasing my hand and severing my connection to past events shared by us. I was back in the now, and facing the club's security.
“Sir, it's a special function tonight. Sorry,” he said, obviously repeating it due to my daydreaming. My posture tonight projected someone not used to being denied.
“I'm on the list,” I calmly announced.
“Your name?”
“Truth North,” I mumbled, hating to reveal my true name in public. They say to bind a demon, you only have to know its name then speak it. If Sophia meant me any harm, then . . .
“Thank you, sir,” he said, moving aside, as he understood my last name and what it entailed. “Enjoy your evening.”
I led Sophia through the main room, where Mark Ronson deejayed. On one of the oversized beds that surrounded the dance floor, Nicole Scherzinger of the Pussycat Dolls engaged in an intense conversation with the producer SmithSonian. Probably trying to pry from him one of those exotic, fly tracks he was known to spit out when the mood struck. Even from my early days with On-Phire, he was known as a talented space case. His real name was Jules, a runaway from an upper crust Connecticut family with a musical gift and way too many therapy sessions as a kid.
“Super producer SmithSonian in da house!” Mark Ronson called out on a break beat, upon which SmithSonian paused his conversation with the sultry lead singer long enough to wave at the few intoxicated folks popping bottles of bubbly in his direction.
As I led Sophia by him, he nodded, recognizing me from the old days, only because I allowed it this time. He was completely clueless that I had been standing next to him last night in the lobby of Stratus.
“Ain't seen you in a while, boy. The pyramids are definitely in alignment with the stars tonight,” SmithSonian yelled. Ms. Pussycat Doll put a finger in her ear to shield it from his volume.
“Good to see you too, Jules,” I responded, bringing a frown to his face. Not in front of his potential clients. “This is my girlfriend, Tiffany.”
Sophia waved. He waved back.
“Never saw you as the type to settle down, boy,” he said, leaning in so I could hear. “Or have anyone in your life, for that matter.”
“Times change, man. Even for me,” I answered. “I'll let you handle your business. It was good seeing you again.”
I patted him on the shoulder, allowing him to continue his negotiations as we moved on.
“Tiffany? You could've picked a better name.”
“Get over it. I just felt like messing with Jules.”
“If you have this much weight in these circles, then why all the top secret stuff at Soar?” Sophia quizzed.
“Because I'm not a high-profile person. That's not how I operate,” I said over the loud music. She raised an eyebrow, amused.
I received a text on my phone and read it. “Why don't you mingle for a second? I'll be back.”
“Only if you dance with me before we leave.”
I opened my mouth to protest.
“Just once,” she quickly declared. “Want to see if you're as good out there on the floor as you are in bed.”
“Okay,” I relented. “But we never quite made it to the bed. Remember?”
“I'm clairvoyant. I see into the future,” she said smartly as I told myself I was never again doing anything except dance with her.
Leaving Sophia to whatever trouble she could get into, I took the twisting staircase to the terrace, per Jason's text message. I tapped my suit jacket once to ensure the disc was still there. Emerging upstairs, I admired the rooftop view of The Strip as the nearby heating lamp provided comfort from the cool desert air. Stunning to just take it in, even if for a second.
“Tell Jason I'm here,” I said to the security camped outside his private bungalow. Laughter came from it, along with cigar smoke. Fine rolled Havanas, by the smell.
When the burly bodyguard entered, he mumbled something. All the energy suddenly left, except for Jason's voice.
Just like old times. If they weren't afraid of me, they simply hated me. Things like that, I missed.
Through the dissipating haze, I saw my dear uncle seated in the center. Instead of his usual assortment of flunkies, he held court with record label execs. No wonder they were isolated on high from the usual assortment below. Like shit, money flowed downhill, and they were certainly the ones raking it in atop the artists' heads.
He kept me waiting a moment longer, giving him time to excuse himself.
“You look well,” Jason uttered, looking every bit the executive. E! television was on hand, so he was probably aiming for camera time.
“Thank you. What now?”
“Would you like some champagne, or your usual whiskey sour?” he said as he began to motion for one of the waiters.
“Nope. Just want to do this and jet.”
“Very well then. Come on. Let's go to the Red Room downstairs. I'm not too thrilled about those open spaces when conducting business. You might have someone in one of those buildings filming us.”
I smirked. “Why would I do that?” I asked. “We're family. Remember?”
“Whatever,” he replied, borrowing my usual retort.
We took the glass elevator to the Red Room, the true VIP section in this most special of nightclubs. As soon as we exited, I noticed Mariah Carey and Diddy chilling along with a few comedians. In this area, it was about not being star-struck or caught up in the hype. You had a chance to just unwind and exhale, without cameras or partygoers searching for something. The stuff overheard in this area alone could net me a month's material for my Internet client, but I would be violating a sacred trust.
Diddy removed his toothpick long enough to give Jason dap as we strolled by. Jason leaned over, giving Mariah a kiss on the cheek, along with a few fond words. The comedians cracked jokes about the lifespan of the average On-Phire artist, to which Jason chuckled and blew it off. Unknown to them and off their radar, I was ignored.
In one of the small reserved alcoves, a portable DVD player rested on the tiny mahogany table. I followed Jason to it, retrieving the disc from my jacket.
“I hope your plans for it are worth it,” I muttered, suddenly wondering if Natalia was in attendance tonight.
Stroking his goatee, Jason chimed, “I give a damn about Natalia. This is for the future, dear boy. Leverage.” He inserted the disc I'd edited and stared at the images. “Damn. She's cutting loose, isn't she?”
“Sorry there's no audio, but you had me on a short timetable,” I offered, imagining again what sensual sounds were present that night.
Ignoring me, he inquired, “Who's the woman with her?”
“Someone random.”
“Uh-huh,” he scoffed. “Then why is her face blurred?”
“Because you didn't pay for her. You wanted something on Natalia, and that's what I delivered.”
“Shit. She's someone famous?” he asked about the obscured Sophia anyway, evidently aroused and not expecting an answer. “With a body like that, I'll bet she is. Damn.”
“I've done what I'm supposed to, so I'd appreciate your doing the same.”
“Fair enough, Truth,” he responded, extending his hand for me to shake it. I declined. “I'm looking forward to more good stuff from you.”
“Not if I can help it.”
Knowing the worm was at least good for his money, I left him with the product and returned to the main room. It took a while to find Sophia, but when I did, she was just about to take to the dance floor with some Italian guy. I ignored him and pressed on.
“C'mon, let's go,” I said, grabbing her by the arm. She wriggled free, adjusting the top of her strapless orange dress. I gave a stern glance to Fabio, or whatever his name was, telling him to move on.
“You forgot your promise already,” Sophia barked.
“We have a plane to catch. Stop playing.”
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