Mother's Day in Vegas

I wanted to give Candice an unforgettable mother's day experience, but I'd be lying if I said I knew that our trip would end with the two of us in bed. In all honesty, I wasn't sure she would come on the trip, never mind cum with her son.

Candice had a rough year and her sister warned me that she might try and flake out at the last minute. But that didn't deter me from booking a suite at the Carlyle and making us dinner reservations.

I knew she needed this trip to get her out of her funk. She had been a mess since her husband stepped out on her. Gary was the reason she'd been unhappy for the last decade, but his affair and their divorce had left her in shambles.

“Doctor's had her on three antidepressants,” her sister told me. “None of them helped. She's crying all the time, barely eating. I went over to the house and the place smelled like... well, like your bedroom when you were a teenager. She was wearing the same sweatpants for like a week.”

In light of everything I'd heard, I was prepared for the worst. You can imagine my surprise when I pulled up to the ranch-style house on Everglade Drive and found Candice bounding up the front walk in Manolo heels, clinging jeans and a black lace top. Her long blonde hair was freshly styled in lustrous wavy locks that framed her striking face.

This was not the tired, emotionally wrung out woman I was expecting. Her eyes were bright and her makeup was fresh, and she looked happy or, at least, happy to see me. Her rolling luggage was packed and at the ready, and when she climbed in beside me, she smelled like someone who had just emerged from a rejuvenating bath.

“Happy Mother's Day,” I said, offering her a kiss on the cheek.

She kissed me on the corner of my mouth and I pulled back, wondering whether or not it was an accident. The twinkle in her eyes told me it wasn't.

“How you feelin'?” I asked.

“Excited,” she said. “Been a long time since I had any fun.”

“Should we stop for breakfast before we hit the road?”

“I thought we'd hit the buffet when we get there. Reviews all talk about their Crêpes Suzette.”

“Yeah, no,” I said. “I just thought maybe, ya know, sometimes you gotta take medicine with food.”

She bit down on the corner of her lip and arched an eyebrow.

“My cunt sister been talkin' outta school, huh?”

“She's not a cunt,” I said. “She cares about you.”

“I thought we were leaving our problems in the rear view this weekend. No? Isn't this supposed to be about you showing me a good time?”

“It is,” I assured her. “It is. It is.”

“Well, then—” She threw her leg over mine and pressed down on the top of my foot with hers. “Give it some gas, baby.”

* * *

We got to the hotel and casino in the afternoon. The gleaming marble lobby was bathed in liquid amber light. A large Baccarat crystal chandelier led the way to a backlit onyx reception desk. We were greeted by a tiny woman in a crisp pantsuit with a gold name tag.

“Checking in?” she asked.

“Yes, my name... is, uh, Raoul Duke. I'm on the list. Free lunch, final wisdom, total coverage.”

Candice laughed beside me. I gestured at her.

“I have my attorneyyyyyyy—”

“Dr. Gonzo,” she said.

The tiny reception lady stared back at us blankly.

“Kidding,” I said. “Mercer. Party of two.”

The room was a penthouse suite on the top floor of the casino. I watched Candice on the elevator ride up, studying her body language. There was something about the way she stood—her shoulders back, neck tilted to one side. All of her weight rested on one leg, with her hip popped out. It was the way one would expect a high-end escort to stand when attracting clients.