It was an easy gig, by their standards at least. They all had their assignments - Face was saddled with his specialty, scamming two days in a suite in Vegas that was well beyond their budget. There were a few ways he could go about it, before things got deep he wouldn't have batted an eye at the thought of seducing some high roller and swiping a key and credit card number. But, things were different. He had to work harder, to get as many leads as he could and carefully select his mark.
Tiffany Connors, a name he won't forget after what he did, came up the most obvious for the scam. Twenty-two, maid of honor for a wedding party that had gotten pretty out of control the night before. According to the night staff he'd hung out with at the blackjack table, being rather generous with cigarettes and drinks for a steady stream of information that seemed worthless to them, they were planning on kicking them out but her Daddy had a standing reservation that sat empty half the year - and they weren't about to lose his business over a daughter that couldn't stay in line.
Of course, they didn't know how to deal with her type - he was pretty sure he did. Sure enough that when he put on his good suit and brass tag calling himself 'Michael Ashton, Manager' he figured they'd be setting up shop by afternoon. If only things went that easily.
"Miss Connors?" He called, knocking loudly at the door with an air of polite authority. "Management, please open up." Several requests and a loud scream of annoyance later, she opened the door in a silk kimono that barely covered her pale, flawless skin.
"What?" She demanded, raking her fingers through her long, dark, bedraggled hair. "What the fuck do you want?"
Drawing on the authority of his assumed position, Face pushed himself into the room and closed the door behind him when she only glared. "Thank you, Miss Connors... I've, uh, I spoke with the night manager this morning and it seems there were a few complaints from other guests about the noise level in your suite last night..."
"Oh fuck them. My sister's getting married!"
"I understand, but the problem is that your father did not authorize charges for damages made on this suite and..."
"Come on... it's not that bad..." the young woman frowned, her shoulders slumping low enough to show the pink flash of a nipple peeking out from under black silk.
Forcing himself to remain on task - and definitely not to look - Face assessed the obvious damage he could see just from the entry way. It was time for the kicker. "I understand, Miss. I'll go ahead and contact your father about covering this... it shouldn't be more than four or five thousand."
"No!" She shrieked, grabbing him by the wrist as he turned to leave. An instinctive smile crossed his lips, she'd been even easier than he'd expected. "Please! You can't tell Daddy we were here... he'd flip..."
"I'm sorry, but someone has to pay for the damages." He turned back toward her, flashing steady blue eyes that had charmed so many.
The girl looked like she was about to cry, but instead she asked; "Just wait, okay? Go sit on the couch and I'll get my purse. I can pay cash."
"Of course, Miss Connors." He obeyed, casually sitting in the corner of the couch where various articles of clothing and an empty wine bottle had been tossed on the opposite end. Whatever they'd done the night before, it sure had been a hell of a party.
"Call me Tiff," she smiled, returning with a small pink clutch. "Look, I know this looks really bad... but you've gotta understand, my Dad's a real tight-ass..."
"Oh, I understand... no problem..." Face shook his head, his voice stopping dead in his throat when she unexpectedly straddled his lap, pushing him back against the sofa. "Miss... Tiff..."
"You're cute, you know that? You look way too young to be the manager..."
"You... you still have to pay for this, I can't make any kind of..." he stammered, fighting the combination of his confidence and suppressing his libido when faced with a mostly naked very attractive woman in his lap; "...deal..." his voice cracked, lifting high when she grabbed him by the front of his shirt and kissed him.
"I'll pay..." she whispered, tossing aside her purse before sliding something thick and hard in his pocket. "I just want to thank you for keeping this between us without Daddy finding out..."
"N... no problem, no... no thanks needed."
Grinning like a tiger on it's prey, the girl let both shoulders of her kimono drop, showing the perfect slopes of her bare breasts without pause. "Come on, Mister... Ashton..." she flicked his name badge, grinding down against him hard enough to make him ache. "Let me thank you."
"I... I really can't..." he sighed, already feeling the rise of his cock as her small hands tugged at his pants. "I'm... I'm gay. Really. Really gay."
"So not gay," she rolled her eyes, yanking open his fly to grab his growing manhood. "Don't be shy, man... I won't tell if you don't."
"No..." he whimpered, biting down into his lower lip - knowing full and well things were getting out of control. "I... I have a boyfriend and I... love him so fucking much..." She squeezed his cock hard, stroking the cotton of his briefs over the thick shaft to draw out a silencing moan.
"Let me give you what he can't..." She grinned, grabbing his hand and forcing it under the fine silk. What he felt was softer than silk, softer than he ever remembered the warm slide of a smooth mound under his fingertips.
She was warm, wet... ready to have him even though he just walked in. "Jesus..." he moaned, flushing hot. "I... I really... really..."
"Want to fuck me?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. His fingers shifted forward, stroking over her slit and she let out a soft, pornographic groan.
He stayed with her a few hours... a few long, really athletic hours that left him aching in more ways than one when he left to her promises that she'd be out of the room by two o'clock and nobody ever had to know that Mister Connors' room had been trashed the night before. Finding the last cigarette in the pack he'd brought to the tables the night before, he took his first puff in a decade to try and calm his frayed, guilty nerves.
An hour and three shots later, he texted Hannibal with the room number and location of the key Tiffany had given him to 'personally service the room'. He couldn't go back yet, he couldn't face Murdock and explain just how he'd not only scored an excellent room but a nice stack of cash to go along with it. He could smell her on him, the clinging reek of sex and shame.
Only strong whiskey could cover it up.