The Playground

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  The Playground

  Copyright © 2012 by Sascha Illyvich

  ISBN: 978-1-61333-183-5

  Cover art by Fiona Jayde

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC

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  www.decadentpublishing.com

  The Playground

  A 1Night Stand Story

  By

  Sascha Illyvich

  ~DEDICATION~

  “Thank you Sherri. I love you.”

  Prologue

  The day couldn’t get any worse if God himself came down and told her he’d just taken her baby and killed it for use in science. Shelly returned from her father’s grave to find her apartment building had burned down.

  She’d lost everything.

  Just great. She lifted her head to the wind, picked up the scent of death in the air along with burning plastic, metal, wood, rot.

  Luckily, she’d had very little in her sparsely furnished apartment. A bed, two couches, some canned food. No pets—they’d rejected her once she stopped seeing Devon.

  She reached for her cell but realized it was still in the truck.

  Her world had collapsed once she broke from Devon’s grasp. He’d been controlling, dominating. Deep inside, a part of her yearned for someone to guide her—the more feminine part of her needed to feel safety in a man’s arms. Yet Devon’s methods bothered the feminist part of her.

  Tears threatened to fall, stinging the backs of her eyes. She swallowed the lump in her throat and forced the emotions back inside. She would not scream her anger at the heavens or at Devon. She wasn’t sure she could pin this on him, but why the fuck not blame him? His life was perfect.

  “I only need you to make it complete,” he’d told her after the last time they made love.

  Screw that, they fucked. Not made love. Not with the way he spanked her, caged her, bound her; one couldn’t call that making love. Not that it was torture but….

  When he’d taken her out, it was to exquisite dining or fancy places that didn’t cater to the darker nature she embraced so fully. Except for that one club, they’d never done anything shewanted. She clenched her jaw.

  She sighed again. Could she blame the man she left a few weeks back for the current disasters? All week long things had gone awry. Screaming people on the phone, upset bosses, angry drivers, and now she had come home to the one place she could find solace in only to discover it burned down to the ground.

  The cops and firemen were kind but she avoided them as much as possible, giving statements as required by law before she disappeared.

  A shiver raced through her. She couldn’t seem to find comfort in the shadows, even.

  “Damnit.”

  Leaning against a tree, she stood alone, glaring at the sky through dead branches. As raindrops fell, she sighed, shrugged, and realized it was time for one thing to happen. She needed a change. A friend who worked at one of the larger hotels in Las Vegas had been after her to make a change in her life.

  “Move to a new town,” Mindy had begged. “Come out to Vegas. It’s fun.”

  “It’s hot,” Shelly had replied with a yawn.

  Not that Texas wasn’t hot; it was downright evil in the summertime. And the mosquitoes were nightmarish once the sun set. But it was home. Or it had been until her apartment was reduced to smoldering ashes. Routine smoke detector checks failed to catch an outdated unit and by the time someone had been notified, half the building had burned down, according to the report.

  “Your soul is saved through submission, my love.” Words Devon had repeated to her until they remained chiseled in her mind.

  “Proof of this is all around you. I can give you what you need, what you crave. If only you’ll give in to your true nature.”

  She’d retorted angrily, “But you don’t love me as I am.”

  He’d shrugged, thrown his hands up, and walked out of the room.

  That was the last time she’d seen Devon. She wondered if it was worth it to give him a call. Anger simmered beneath her skin. She’d never call him again. Never. In fact, she was through with men. Relationships were bullshit.

  She sighed and shrugged her shoulders. Black hair clung to her skin, making her feel even more uncomfortable. Heavy black clothing stuck to her, weighing her down. Her boots weighed her down and were covered in mud. The condition of the apartment complex parking lot left a lot to be desired.

  Shelly took inventory of her belongings, her income. She had just enough money for a few nights in a hotel until payday. Then she could figure out her next move. A few paychecks could replace the furniture. She would save money by switching off the utilities. Clenching her teeth and balling her fists, she slowly made her way back to the truck. A clap of thunder startled her and she tripped, falling face first into a deep puddle, soaking her further.

  She yelled, stood, and glanced in the mirror of her beat up vehicle. Blood ran down her face from a cut on her forehead. “Goddamnit!” She brought the hem of her shirt up to wipe away the blood. Water sluiced down her face, mixing with the tears that streamed over her cheeks.

  She climbed into the cab, slumped back against the torn vinyl seat, and sighed loudly. Catching another glimpse of herself in the rearview mirror, she realized she looked like shit.

  Yeah, it was time for that change.

  Chapter One

  Devon blew out smoke from the rather large cigar he’d lit up only moments ago. The perfumed air around him smelled tons better than the stale, century old cigarette smoke from the group of old biddies playing poker near him. He sipped his drink.

  Slot machines rang out, lights flashed from the hotel lobby, and travelers milled about. This was the bustle of Las Vegas. He peered at the old biddies, saw one wink, and decided he could offer at least a kind, yet discouraging smile.

  The bartender returned with two glasses of bourbon. “I’m off in ten minutes. Join me for a round?”

  Devon nodded. Jake was well dressed, well groomed. The long-sleeved, black shirt fit his frame perfectly. Salt and pepper hair had been trimmed close to his head. Soft gray eyes scanned the bar area, watching the women, mostly married couples at this time of day, come and go.

  “Why aren’t you with someone?” He slid the glass across the bar.

  Devon picked up the bourbon, brought it to his lips, closed his eyes, and inhaled the sharp scent of caramel from the amber liquid. Pursing his lips, he opened his eyes and averted his gaze from Jake.

  “You’re dodging. That’s the same bourbon I’ve been pouring you for years. Come on, Devon, a man like you should always have some sort of eye candy with him.”

  “I’m not the type to settle down.” Devon took a long sip from the glass, letting the heat from the alcohol coat his throat, warm his heart. He wasn’t about to settle down, not for a while, if ever.
The last time he came remotely close had been with a woman who didn’t understand him.

  “It’s over the dame who walked out on you, isn’t it?”

  He shrugged, swirled his drink, and glanced at the bar. “I come here too much.”

  “Yeah, well, we love you for it. The Castillos’ love of Vegas started, according to rumor, over their love of high rollers like you.”

  “I’m flattered,” Devon set the glass down. “I’ll pay for another.”

  “Fuck that.” Jake reached for the bottle, “It’s on the house. Trust me, after the way you’ve been moping around here you need it.” He poured a full glass then set the bottle on the bar.

  “The last three—”

  Jake held up two fingers. “Consider this a favor. You’ve been celebrating all week, right? You just closed a huge deal and all your associates are at the tables or partying elsewhere in Vegas. Where are you? The hotel bar with your favorite bartender. I’m flattered, but you need to get laid. You’re wound tighter than a clock.”

  If that’s all it was, he had no problem finding trouble. If he wanted older, the group of women across the room from him would be more than eager…but wouldn’t they run when they found out his brand of fun involved restraints and leather?

  The younger crowd talked a good game, but when it came time to pony up, the girls got scared.

  Most of them, anyway.

  None of them had her beauty. Or grace. Or open-mindedness about sex.

  Yet she’d run from him, too.

  Jake sighed, took a long sip, and drained his bourbon. He slammed the glass down. “Hey, I know how to get what you want.”

  Devon’s eyebrows arched. Then it hit him. Before he could say word one, Jake was pulling a matchbook out and writing something on it.

  He tossed it across the bar. “I have—”

  Devon blew out another big cloud of smoke from his cigar. “No matchmaking services.”

  “Look,” Jake waved his hands through the thick cloud, “Just text this number with the word interested.”

  Devon picked up the matchbook, saw the number and sighed. “No. I’m not.” He set the matchbook back down and slid it across the bar. “I don’t need a matchmaking service.”

  “You’re right.” Jake settled down on a stool. “You need a miracle. And that’s what Madame Eve is.”

  “I don’t want….” He slowly spun around in his chair, awareness creeping up his skin as he caught sight of a raven haired woman with long legs, clad in stockings and a black cocktail dress. Her breasts pushed out the top and revealed a very enticing view. Ankle boots completed the outfit, but all he could focus on was her form. She served drinks off a tray with complete grace.

  “You’ve spotted someone. That’s the old spirit. Now,” Jake leaned in, “tell me, which one?”

  Another cocktail waitress passed by, obscuring his view of Shelly. That had to be her. He motioned with his eyes.

  Jake’s gaze traveled along the path of slot machines until he spotted her. “That girl?”

  “You know her.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Yeah. That’s Marcy. She usually works the morning shift for us. You know, when guys like you are sleeping.”

  Marcy? No, he’d swear the palpitating in his chest was for that woman named Shelly. The one who walked out on him a few years ago, broken his heart, and strengthened his resolve to succeed in business was serving drinks in a Las Vegas casino. Her love was the driving force behind his wealth.

  Devon ran a hand through his long, blond hair, brushing it off his shoulders so it hung down his back like a cloak. “Or conducting big business deals. I should go to her.”

  Jake’s eyes widened. “You’re running like it’s been awhile since you’ve been with a dame.”

  Devon didn’t reply.

  Slapping his hand down on the bar, Jake leaned in. “How long man?”

  Devon’s lips moved but no words came out.

  “My god man, what? Did you just not fuck anyone since Shelly?”

  His jaw tightened.

  Jake leaned back. “Wow, man.” He jerked his thumb toward Shelly. “You should stay away from her. She’s a psycho. Loose cannon. Real loner like you. No friends, but an excellent server. Besides, you know the rules. No engaging the waitresses while they’re on duty.”

  “I have to talk to her.” Fate brought her to him in the Castillo resort in Vegas of all places. But…how was he going to get to her? “When did she start working here?”

  Jake’s brows furrowed together in a thick line. “I’m not supposed to talk of that sort of thing. Seriously.”

  Devon’s eyes narrowed. He shifted in his seat and leaned an elbow on the bar, rubbing his chin.

  “You’re thinking again. Not a good sign. She’s trouble.”

  Devon leaned in, clutching his drink. He dropped ash into the tray beside them. “What if this matchmaking service could help me?”

  An eyebrow rose. “Like how? They’re high-end, not something the average man or woman needs to be involved with. Your standard clientele in Vegas isn’t up to par.”

  Devon flipped the matchbook between his fingers. “1Night Stand,” was written across the cardboard, along with the phone number. His mind was already made up. He’d get this service to help him. For the right fee, anything was negotiable. Life was one big negotiation, a game he enjoyed playing. That’s why Shelly was so important to him. Her constant questioning of his methods had made him what he was today. “I am.”

  Jake sighed. “I would never doubt that, but you’re playing with fire. I don’t know much about it, only that it’s special.” He sighed again and set his head down in his hands. “You should talk to Jackson about this.”

  “Castillo himself?” The man who owned the hotel chain had very good taste and was very well connected.

  “Yeah,” Jake met his gaze, his eyes slightly wider than before. The worry on his face should have warned Devon this was going to cost him.

  He didn’t care. He needed to see Shelly. He needed to tell her he loved her.

  Jake shook his head. “You’re asking for the world.”

  It was about time he reappeared in Shelly’s life and made her understand just what she meant to him. He needed that, or closure. If he could convince her of his love, of his true love for her and the way she was inside…that was the challenge.

  She walked past him and her hair swished over the waistline of her dress, drawing his eyes to her shapely legs once again.

  To have her in his arms again, what a treat. She hadn’t changed. The glimpse he’d caught of her face before she turned to serve another patron confirmed that. Dark purple eyes set in high cheekbones spoke to the deepest reaches of his soul. Long arms and legs, emphasized by the way the dress clung to her thighs, were meant for wrapping around him. Just the thought of her naked flesh against his made him hard

  The bartender cleared his throat. “The world, Devon. You want the world.”

  He steadied his resolve. Staring Jake directly in the eyes, he couldn’t hide the large grin slowly spreading across his face. He took a confident puff off his cigar and blew white smoke above the bartender’s head. “I know. And I always get what I ask for.”

  ***

  An hour later, the air conditioner cooled the room from the murderous Las Vegas heat. Devon leaned against the pillows on his bed and studied the file he’d had HR put together for him. A scotch rested by his side on the nightstand. He’d been in contact with 1Night Stand and the text message had come back from a Madame Eve asking about his fantasy and requesting information from him.

  Basic information he could provide off the top of his head, but the rest of the things she requested required him to get in touch with the human resources department of the holding company where he kept that sensitive information.

  A file arrived an hour after the text with a very detailed questionnaire that Devon took seriously.

  It seemed like a lot to go through.

  Madame Eve�
�s texts were specific. He might have all the cash and resources in the world, but if he wanted the scenario he’d requested of her, he’d have to jump through hoops.

  That wasn’t unusual for him. Half his life he’d spent running the gauntlet just to get ahead. It had proven to be worth it.

  The events that shaped him as a teenager prepared him for college and failure there. That in turn prepared him for success and failure in starting his own businesses. Nothing had come easily, not even love.

  When he’d met Shelly at a goth dance club years ago, he’d thought she was perfect. Yes, she was a little younger than him and she was quite stubborn, but that stubbornness aroused him. Her passion for life thrilled him.

  Never could she understand why he put so much effort into businesses that seemed like failures.

  He’d tried to show her a new way of being, of loving and being loved. One that involved ropes and whips, but she protested. The scared expression on her face after their first night in a professional dungeon was the same expression he’d seen on others who had the same desires Shelly had expressed. The need for overwhelming love and happiness.

  He’d returned to that dungeon a year later, without Shelly at his side. The same faces he’d met the first night he’d taken her there were still there playing, safe and secure in their own worlds.

  He took a sip of Scotch.

  After the text exchange from Madame Eve, Devon decided to do some fact checking of his own. Spread out before him was the dossier on 1Night Stand, the Castillo family, and Madame Eve. Her file was basic, a French woman who ran a high-end matchmaking service with results that tended to be....

  Well, results spoke for themselves. One match after another proved to be a success. Madame Eve had gone and created the best business of all time; one that created the illusion of a one-night stand while pairing people together to fall in love.

  So it stood to reason that she could help him with his fantasy. He needed to unwind and a one-night stand would be the ticket. At least in Madame Eve’s eyes. She didn’t need to know he’d had a relationship with one of the hotel staff before she’d moved to Vegas. Or that her real name was Shelly.