Chapter 9 Chapter 9 Gemma's Halloween Party
Gemma’s father is a real estate developer, so of course their house sits in the south part of Las Vegas, perched high enough to overlook the entire city. At night, the Strip glows like it’s just for them—gold and neon spilling across the horizon.
Tish is a hot nurse, Erika’s a cop, and Gemma and I are angels. Well… kind of. She’s in full light angel mode—white wings, a gold halo, a tight white corset, and a long shimmery skirt that catches every bit of light. She looks soft, glowing, perfect.
I’m the dark angel, obviously.
Honestly, I should’ve just gone as the devil. Would’ve been more accurate. Black wings, black halo, and a sparkly black top I got from Frederick’s that barely covers anything. It pushes my tits up so high they look even bigger than they are. I kept it casual below with jeans, but the contrast just makes everything above the waist louder.
We’re finishing our makeup, leaning into the mirror, brushing, glossing.
I haven’t seen or talked to Vincent in a month. Not a text. Not a call. Nothing.
Matt and I have been going on actual dates—just us. He asked me to be his girlfriend with flowers and a card. It was cute in a slightly awkward, trying-too-hard kind of way. But he shows up. He makes time. Between school and his two jobs, he still finds a way. He’s on probation, paying restitution for beating the shit out of some guy. I don’t ask questions. Vince’s dad got him that deal.
“Why say ‘I love you’ as you cum and then just disappear?” I mutter, more to myself than anyone, but it’s been eating at me.
“Who said that?” Matt asks, stepping into the room. “Your mom told me to come up—I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“Hey Matt, no, you’re fine!” Gemma jumps in quickly. “We were talking about Vince. He said that to me a while back.” She lies so smoothly I almost miss it.
Matt snorts. “Vince said ‘I love you’? No fucking way. He doesn’t say that to anyone. Not his mom, not his dad, not even his half-siblings. I was gonna say most guys let it slip during sex, but Vince? Nah. If he said that…” He pauses. “He must really like you, Gemma. He’s coming tonight, by the way.”
Of course he is.
The house is packed. Lights low, music loud, bass vibrating through the floors. I’m dancing with Gemma, losing myself in it, letting the music drown out everything else. Matt doesn’t dance—he’s off to the side with Nick, drinks in hand, watching.
Gemma knows everyone. There are people everywhere.
Tish rushes over, grabbing me in a tight hug, her hand awkwardly getting caught in my wings.
“He’s here,” she whispers. “With his girlfriend. Don’t look—but he’s heading toward Matt and Nick.”
I immediately turn like an idiot and smack Gemma in the face with my wings.
“They’re too big,” I groan. “I’m taking them off. Can I leave them in your room?”
She leans in, grinning. “Yes. And if he follows you, lock the door.”
She bursts out laughing. Erika joins her. I shove past them, pushing through the crowd, down the hallway and up the stairs to Gemma’s room.
I shut the door behind me, finally alone.
Her room is huge. Floor-to-ceiling windows, the city glowing beyond them. A massive pink princess bed, soft and ridiculous. Her vanity is lined with those old-school Hollywood bulbs, everything warm and bright.
I walk toward the window, trying to steady myself.
The door opens.
Vincent walks in.
I turn just enough to see him lean back against the door, arms crossed, watching me.
“Why did you run?” he asks.
“After four weeks, that’s all you have to say?”
He pushes off the door. “No. Why are you dating Matt? What the fuck?”
I don’t answer. I turn away, reaching back to undo the buttons on my wings.
I hear the lock click.
I glance at him, shaking my head, but he just smirks.
He’s dressed like some version of Superman—costume under a dress shirt, glasses on, hair slicked to the side. Clean. Put together.
My body reacts instantly. I hate that.
I hang the wings in Gemma’s closet and turn—
I walk straight into him.
His hands are on my face before I can react, and then his mouth is on mine. Hard. Familiar. I kiss him back before I can stop myself.
“This is wrong,” I say against his lips. “Your girlfriend is downstairs. I’m dating your friend—he’s downstairs.”
“You’re dating my best friend,” he corrects me. “We’ve known each other since we were kids.”
“Exactly,” I snap, pushing him back.
He just laughs and pulls me right back in, hands sliding down to my ass.
“What is this hideous shirt?” he murmurs. “Your tits look insane. Take it off.”
“Vincent, stop.”
He pulls back just enough to look at me. “Do you really want me to stop?”
I hesitate.
He smiles.
“No,” I mutter. “Don’t stop.”
I pull the top over my head. It hits the floor. My jeans follow, sliding down my legs.
He’s already stripping—shirt, pants, everything. The room feels smaller, hotter.
He pushes me onto Gemma’s bed and climbs over me.
“A bed,” I laugh breathlessly. “Finally.”
He shuts me up by kissing me again, deep, consuming. My body tightens instantly, reacting to every inch of him against me.
The mattress dips as he shifts, spreading my legs. His hand moves over my body, slow, teasing, until it’s between my thighs. His fingers slide inside me, stretching me.
His mouth moves to my neck, biting lightly, then lower—across my chest, over my breasts. I close my eyes, my back arching.
He curls his fingers just right.
My whole body jerks.
I’m already coming, fast and hard, my legs shaking, my skin slick with sweat. He follows the reaction, kissing down my stomach, teeth catching my ring.
He pulls his fingers out slowly, teasing, and tries to go back in.
I twist away and slap his hand.
“Hands off,” I breathe. “I’m too sensitive.”
He just laughs and moves lower, his mouth replacing his hand.
“Fuck—” I gasp, grabbing at his hair.
It’s too much.
I try to pull him up, but he won’t move. My legs fall over his shoulders, and he holds me there, relentless, his mouth working me over until I’m shaking again.
“Stop,” I groan. “I’m serious. Dick. Now. We don’t have all night.”
He laughs against me.
“We’re always in a rush,” he mutters. “You’re gonna have to come over to my place.”
I glare at him. “Matt lives next door.”
He grins.
Then he’s above me again, inside me, slow at first, his hips rolling in a controlled rhythm that makes me bite down on a moan.
“How is that supposed to work?” I manage.
He doesn’t answer—just moves, deeper, harder. His expression shifts, focus tightening, like he’s trying not to lose it too fast.
Then he slides his hand under my hips, lifting me.
And snaps his hips forward.
Hard.
Over and over, hitting exactly where I need him, knocking the breath out of me with every thrust.