2
As they stepped off the elevator and onto the eighth floor, Portman attempted to guide Julie toward his room, only for Julie to tug him in the opposite direction. Before he could protest, she pulled a keycard out of her handbag and unlocked the door to her own room.
"In you go," she ushered him inside with an amount of force that surprised him.
His brown eyes widened as Julie switched on the lights.
This place…is…incredible.
If Portman's suite was a mini-Versailles, Julie's was a mini-Alpine ski lodge – cedar paneling as far as the eye could see, before giving way to an elevated, marble platform that encased a Jacuzzi. One of the things that Portman had always found charming about the Mirage was that each room had its own distinctive character, and you could never really know what you were getting until you opened the door.
Ski lodge or Versailles, these were impressive – and expensive – digs.
"What was it you said you do again?" Portman asked Julie.
"I didn't say."
"Right, right," he nodded. "Perhaps you could give me a hint?"
Closing the gap between them, she got on her tiptoes and draped her arms around his neck. He gripped her waist and suppressed a quiver at her fierce expression. She pressed her face forward, seizing his lips with her own and stealing a ferocious kiss.
He could feel his will to challenge or question her beginning to fade away.
He always appreciated a woman who did most of the work. And she always demanded obedience.
And she continued demanding it with her lips for God knows how many exquisite, tortured seconds before finally allowing him to breathe.
But not before marking her territory on his lower lip with her teeth.
"I own men," she declared at last. "That is what I do."
"And that pays the bills?" He asked meekly.
"Do I look like I need help paying them?"
No, you look like a dominatrix trapped inside the girl-next-door's body.
With her snarl, her aggressive body language, and her dark flirting, Julie gave every impression of a woman who would skin her lover alive if he failed to satisfy her.
"What do you want me to say?" Portman asked.
Before he knew what hit him, he was on his back, with Julie's white, open-toe stiletto pinning his throat to the floor.
"I want you to stop talking," she declared, lifting her stiletto off his throat before hovering it over his mouth. "Lick."
His next mistake was to hesitate.
"Ooof!"
She thrust her red-painted toes back into his face.
"Lick," she repeated.
He obliged, and eventually drew a luscious purr. He could tell from the sound that her toes weren't the only things that had gotten wet.
"Mmmm, Dean."
My name's never sounded any sexier than it does right now.
"Deeean."
Biting her lower lip and closing her eyes, Julie threw her head back – her long blonde hair becoming wild in her ecstasy. She ran her silky hands down the taut sides of her body until she reached the hem of her little white dress. From there, they ran up inside her dress until they found a skimpy ring of white lingerie.
With a quick tug, she sent her thong sliding down her bronze legs before it came in for a landing on Portman's face.
He inhaled deeply, taking in her scent, and letting it work its magic down below.
But tempting though it was, he didn't linger with it. He tossed the lingerie aside and got to work on her other set of toes.
"Oh, Deeean."
Down on the floor, Portman shifted slightly so he could work Julie's toes while getting a more intimate view up the stairs. Her pert, shapely ass was almost as bronze as the toned thighs that it rested upon. And the lips on her face weren't the only lips that were luscious and full.
He had thought he couldn't get any harder just from her pleasure.
But seeing all of this proved him wrong.
"Dean!" She giggled.
He had shot up from the floor and taken possession of her – with one arm wrapped around her back and the other wrapped behind her knees.
With Julie in his arms, Portman charged like a raging rhinoceros toward the bedroom.
Dominate this, sweetheart.
He had barely even crossed the threshold when he threw her onto the king-sized bed like a sack of potatoes.
"Portman!"
"Don't pretend you don't like it," he shot back.
Julie hissed.
"Quick, hose that lioness down!"
"Just don't keep me waiting if you value your prick."
"What, this little guy?" Portman dropped his slacks and his boxer briefs. "Don't worry about this little guy."
Julie bit on her lower lip as she took in the impressive sight. Only the truly well-endowed were secure enough to ever refer to their dick as a 'little guy.'
As Portman began undoing the buttons on his dress shirt, Julie got up from the bed and approached him. It had been too long since she last undressed a guy who was both under sixty and under two-fifty. She intended to savor the experience.
Attacking the top buttons, Julie proceeded to pepper the taut, smooth skin of Portman's chest and abdomen with kisses and lovebites as she worked her way down. He was no longer the hulking giant she had remembered from Eden Hall, but he was solid, and he was hairless. Obviously a guy that took care of himself.
She continued to kiss and bite him as he slid out of his now-entirely open dress shirt.
"Your turn," he declared.
Julie ceased her nibbles with a slight whimper, but turned her back toward Portman and allowed him to unzip her. Though snug in appearance, the dress slid off her body with an ease that surprised him.
Having parted with her panties during the foreplay, Julie was left with only her strapless white bra.
"I trust you're the expert on that one," Portman declared.
She giggled shyly, freeing her breasts without protest.
Ah, the Taming of the Lioness, he thought with considerable pride.
He grasped her waist with a tenderness that neither of them had expected, and gently guided her down to the bed.
From there, time and space gave way to pure, unadulterated bliss.
Portman awoke the following morning with Julie clinging to him in her sleep. He didn't dare move – partly fearing the Lioness' wrath at being woken, but mainly out of a lust for feline beauty. He wanted to drink in the sight of Julie's graceful curves, and the almost-crushing strength that ran through her toned limbs. He wanted her luscious lips – the luxurious covering over the pearly whites that she used both affectionately and violently – to remain pressed to his flesh.
Above all, he wanted to be that ballsy stud who had conquered this beautiful and dangerous creature.
If he shifted, he risked spoiling all of that. Despite being unable to move, Dean Portman could not remember the last time he felt so alive.
Unable to sleep, and unwilling to abandon his conquest, he closed his eyes and gave Julie's waist a possessive squeeze.
Julie woke up just moments after Portman had closed his eyes. She wriggled out of his grip and climbed out of the bed, with rays of sunlight peeking through the blinds and branding her bronze skin with golden lines.
Looking back at the man in her bed, she gave a quick chin-nod before moving to the shower.
As he heard the door to Julie's room close behind her, Portman finally opened his eyes again. He had never gone back to sleep, rather, he faked sleep as he heard Julie make her escape. He got out of bed and moved to get dressed. Grasping his wrinkly white dress shirt, Portman managed a chuckle in spite of himself.
The Player's Uniform: the wrinkled clothes that he wore the day before. At least there's that.
He would have preferred Julie on his arm during their walk to breakfast, but he supposed that the Player's Uniform was an amorous trophy…of sorts. As he ran his black leather belt through the loops of his Dockers, he considered going down to breakfast as he was. Julie was almost certain to be there. If he wanted to ensure that their connection hadn't just been one of the innumerable Vegas trysts that had gone on that very night, he needed to see her again.
But a bunch of guys from PCF will be down there too.
Reasoning that the Player's Uniform was not the sort of thing that he ought to be wearing around his colleagues, Portman decided to return to his room for a shower and a change of clothes.
But not before combing Julie's room for a note.
Anything that might have been addressed to him – an invitation to stay in touch, contact information, hell, even a "thanks-for-the-fun" is better than nothing.
But nothing was what he would find. If he wanted to see Julie again, he had two options: await her return in her room, or chance another meeting at the hotel bar.
The latter option wasn't great, but the former was simply pathetic.
Right. Get showered, get dressed, and get down to that breakfast buffet. You can't hunt a lioness on an empty stomach.
"There he is, our ace! Portman, over here!"
Dean Portman had emerged from the breakfast buffet and was immediately waved over by his boss, Tony Stockton. The Pyramid Consulting CEO was joined at the table by two other top consultants, Jack Smith – aka 'Smitty' – and Brianna Vazquez, along with some frazzled, bearded man with gray hair and tawny, leathery skin.
Portman did not recognize this man.
"Coming," he replied to Stockton.
Portman, like the three businessmen at the table, donned the 'business casual' look with a sports coat and an open-collared dress shirt. Brianna Vazquez wore a conservative white blouse and a black skirt of respectable length.
"Tony, Smitty, Bri," Portman greeted his colleagues. "How are we? Oh! I'm a poet and I don't know it – or do I?"
"Heheh, have a seat, Dean," Stockton gestured toward the seat immediately to his right, prompting Smitty to shift to the next spot.
"This gentleman is Rick Cardamone," Stockton introduced the stranger as Portman took his seat. "He's the CEO Sol Power, a very promising green energy firm based out of southern California."
"Dean Portman. A pleasure, Mr. Cardamone," Portman extended a hand, which the Californian shook.
"Call me 'Rick,' man."
Heh, this guy sounds exactly like Tommy Chong. Kinda looks like him too.
"Rick is concerned that Sol Power is underachieving," Stockton announced. "And I think you're just the guy he needs in order to maximize its potential, Dean."
Underachieving? A green energy company? How can you possibly go wrong with all those government subsidies?
"Sounds interesting," Portman said instead. "Green energy is very important, and I'd love to do my part to help our planet by facilitating its wider use. As Tony probably already told you, I have considerable experience with mid-level startups in California. My passion is putting all those regulations to work for my client, not the other way around."
"Uh-huh," Rick nodded absently. "You gonna eat that muffin?"
"Please, enjoy!" Portman surrendered his muffin with a genial smile.
"Thanks, man. I'm baked."
Well now, I may have just pinpointed the source of Sol Power's difficulties, Portman thought as he watched Rick devour the blueberry muffin. But what the hell? I like California, and I like massive consulting fees even more.
Portman continued to work his sales and consulting magic on the peckish Californian, occasionally pausing his monologue to hand Rick another piece of his breakfast. The old street kid from the South Side of Chicago had grown up to be a polished, sophisticated, and unstoppable selling and promotional machine. He could even convince the faculty at MIT that they were in desperate need of his expertise in astrophysics.
But why bother? It's not like MIT could ever afford me.
Rick Cardamone, of course, never stood a chance.
"Sounds good, man," he said after Portman concluded.
"Splendid!" Portman enthused, proffering a business card from a silver case. "I'll be in touch with the preliminaries shortly. And if you have any questions or concerns, I'm available morning, noon, and night. My client is my only boss, Rick. Don't listen to what Tony Boy over here says," he added with a teasing elbow to Stockton's ribs.
"Heh, sure thing man. You're alright."
And with that, Portman left his newest cash cow to graze.
Having handed over so much of his own breakfast to win the client, Portman realized that he was hungry himself, so he returned to the buffet area. As he made his way to the scrambled eggs, he saw a stunning blonde bombshell in a white bikini on the other side of the window.
Julie. So she's going for a morning swim, eh?
Discarding his plate, Portman all but ran to the pool area. Though it was still morning, the pool was already getting a lot of action on this sunny August day in Las Vegas. Portman frantically scanned the crowd, desperate for Julie. But she vanished in the sea of copper bodies that thronged in and around the pool.
Over his shoulder, he heard limousine doors open and shut in front of the main entrance. The concierge stood on the pavement, ready to greet the hotel's newest well-heeled arrivals.
"Welcome to the Mirage!"