#hutao04 Beneath the Red Light

Isabella Moore stepped out of a taxi, the blazing red n//eon lights of Las Vegas casting a glow on her wavy brown hair, highlighting her emerald green eyes and a confident smile tinged with pride. At 25, Isabella, a poker dealer from Reno, had come to Vegas to work at Crimson Palace, the most prestigious casino on the Strip, where billionaire dreams were made and shattered. After a failed romance with a gambler in Reno, she was determined to build her name, and Las Vegas, with its lavish pulse and dazzling casino world, was the perfect place to start.

She pulled her suitcase down the Strip, n//eon signs from casinos and hotels illuminating her face. “Isabella Moore, this is your shot,” she muttered, inhaling the night’s mix of c//ocktails and c//igarette sm//oke. “Don’t let some jerk hold you back!” She paused before a hot dog stand, the scent of m//ustard making her grin. She snapped a photo of the street, texting her best friend in Reno: “Vegas is insanely gorgeous, but I’m kinda nervous… Crimson Palace isn’t a small game.”

At her rented apartment on the outskirts, Isabella opened her laptop, heart p//ounding as she read an email from Crimson Palace’s manager. She was invited to a private interview with Alexander Kane, the 35-year-old billionaire casino mogul, renowned for his cold demeanor and ability to read opponents like a seasoned poker pro. But articles dubbed him the “king of shadows” for crushing the careers of many rivals. Isabella googled him, and images appeared: sleek black hair, icy blue eyes, a smug half-smile exuding arrogance. “Alexander Kane, huh? Looks like he’d eat me al//ive,” she muttered, but her heart raced, a strange sensation stirring.

The next evening, at the top floor of Crimson Palace, the space dazzled with floor-to-ceiling glass and red n//eon lights. In a fitted black dress, Isabella strode in confidently, eyes scanning the crowd of dealers, managers, and casino staff. Then she saw him—Alexander Kane, standing near a poker table, black suit hugging his muscular frame, aura both commanding and enigmatic. As she approached, he turned, his blue eyes pi//ercing, making her heart skip.

“Alexander Kane, I’m Isabella Moore, dealer from Reno,” she said, voice steady, flashing a confident smile. “I’m here for the Crimson Palace interview. You’re the owner, right?” She cut to the chase, eyes ch//allenging.

Alexander raised a brow, lips curling into a s//ardonic smile. “Miss Moore, you’re bold,” he said, voice low, s//eductive as a high-stakes poker game. “But Crimson Palace isn’t for novices. If you’re not sharp enough, I won’t keep you.” He turned to leave, but Isabella grabbed his arm, unflinching.

“I don’t need you to go easy, Kane,” she declared, eyes bl//azing. “But if you miss my talent, you’ll r//egret it.” Alexander glanced at her hand, then met her gaze, his blue eyes a fl//ame of i//ce, dangerous and all//uring. Suddenly, a surge from the red n//eon lighting system flared, pulling them into an int//imate moment they couldn’t resist.

Under the blazing red n//eon glow of Crimson Palace’s top floor, Alexander pulled Isabella behind a velvet curtain into a secluded corner, his blue eyes like i//cy fl//ames, b//urning with a gentle yet commanding d//esire. “Isabella,” he wh//ispered, voice low, s//eductive as a fateful poker game, “you’ve no idea who you’ve challenged.” Isabella trembled, her back against the curtain, heart p//ounding. “A-Alexander… what are you doing?” she asked, voice quivering, but her b//ody leaned toward him, as if hypn//otized by his gaze.

He leaned in, l//ips hovering near hers, his h//ot br//eath grazing her skin. “You’re a dangerous bet, Isabella,” he murmured, then k//issed her, a slow, poss//essive k//iss, as if marking her soul. His t//ongue brushed her l//ips, teasing gently, drawing a soft m//oan that echoed in the hidden space. Her hands clutched his suit, fingers trembling, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer. “Mmm… Alexander… st//op…” she wh//ispered, but her voice faltered, heart racing from his t//ouch.

He pulled back, eyes gl//eaming, his hand brushing her cheek, thumb tracing her lower l//ip, sending sh//ivers through her. “St//op? You don’t want that, Isabella,” he said, voice s//ultry, commanding. His hand slid to her n//eck, grazing her coll//arbone, pausing at the c//urve of her ch//est, not venturing further but enough to make her b//ody b//urn, br//eath quickening. “You… we… shouldn’t…” she st//ammered, face flushing, but her eyes were drawn to him, as if bew//itched by n//eon light.

Alexander leaned closer, k//issing her n//eck, l//ips gliding over her skin, leaving trails of h//eat. “You’re my f//ire, Isabella,” he wh//ispered, voice a sp//ell, making her m//oan softly, b//ody melting in his arms. He k//issed her earlobe, t//ongue flicking lightly, making her arch, a jolt of el//ectricity coursing through her. “Alexander… don’t…” she g//asped, but her hands gripped his shoulders, as if begging him to continue. He chuckled softly, pulling away, eyes tw//inkling. “This is just the first hand, Isabella. You’ll soon be mine.” He stepped back, leaving her flushed, heart p//ounding, b//ody tr//embling from his t//ouch.

Plot Continuation:

The interview grew tense as a rival, Sophia Grant, a veteran dealer and Alexander’s ex-lover, appeared. She sneered at Isabella: “Think you can play at Crimson Palace? This is my turf.” Isabella straightened, eyes resolute. “I’m not here to play, Sophia. I’m here to win.” Alexander watched, blue eyes gl//inting, but stayed silent, leaving Isabella wondering whose side he was on.

After the interview, Isabella’s card-dealing skills stunned the managers, and Alexander nodded, eyes tw//inkling. “You’re sharp, Moore. But I need more.” He invited her to Crimson Palace’s VIP room to discuss an international poker tournament. In the VIP room, steeped in red n//eon and the scent of pr//emium c//igars, he revealed the goal: making Crimson Palace the global poker hub, but Sophia was scheming to sabotage Isabella’s role. “You’ve got guts, Isabella, but you need me to win,” he said, voice low, eyes locking onto hers. She tilted her chin, def//iant. “I don’t need saving, Alexander. But if you want to collaborate, be honest.”

He smirked, stepping closer, blue eyes like fl//ames. “Honest? You want proof?” he wh//ispered, and before she could reply, a surge from the red n//eon system flared, pulling them into a fi//ery moment of p//assion, as if Vegas’s lights fueled their d//esire.

Under the blazing red n//eon glow of Crimson Palace’s VIP room, Alexander Kane pressed Isabella Moore against a green-felt poker table, his blue eyes like i//cy fl//ames, bl//azing with fi//erce d//esire, as if the n//eon amplified their cr//aving. “Isabella,” he gr//owled, voice h//usky, s//ultry as a fateful poker game, “you’ve challenged me, and now, you’ll feel the cons//equences.” Isabella trembled, her back against the felt, heart p//ounding as if it would sh//atter. “A-Alexander… what are you doing? This… isn’t me!” she cried, voice p//anicked, but her b//ody betrayed her, b//urning like a f//urnace, her s//ensitive ar//ea drenched, ach//ing for his t//ouch with p//ainful intensity.

He smirked, l//ips crashing onto hers, a fer//ocious k//iss, as if to dev//our her soul. His t//ongue plunged in, tangling with hers, s//ucking hard, draining her br//eath, drawing loud m//oans that echoed in the VIP room. Her hands clutched his suit, nails t//earing fabric, leaving red scr//atches on his ch//iseled ch//est. “Mmm… Alexander… st//op… st//op…” she p//anted, but her ch//est pressed against his, n//ipples hardening through her black dress, prompting a pr//imal gr//owl, raw and be//astly.

He pulled back, eyes abl//aze, Adam’s apple bobbing. “St//op? Isabella, you’ve set me abl//aze, and I cannot resist,” he wh//ispered, voice s//ultry, ripping her dress’s zipper, letting it pool at her feet, revealing a black lace bra cradling her full, he//aving ch//est. He swallowed hard, his h//ard mem//ber straining p//ainfully against his trousers, brushing her th//igh, massive and s//earing. “You sh//ine like n//eon, Isabella,” he murmured, hands kne//ading her ch//est, thumbs p//inching her n//ipples through the lace until they stood er//ect, pink as radiant g//ems. Isabella arched, a jolt of el//ectricity surging through her, her p//anties soaked, fl//uids glistening under the n//eon light. “A… ah… you… it’s too much…” she g//asped, nails digging deeper, leaving red w//elts.

He grinned lasc//iviously, yanking her bra down, exposing her petite, pink n//ipples, beckoning him. He latched onto one, s//ucking hard, t//ongue swirling, n//ibbling lightly, while his other hand sq//ueezed her ch//est, kne//ading until Isabella scr//eamed, b//ody melting in ec//stasy, t//ears of pl//easure streaming. “A… a… Alexander… I’m… gonna d//ie… it’s too good…” She clutched his head, fingers tangling in his thick black hair, pulling him closer, t//ears rolling down her cheeks.

He looked up, l//ips glistening, a w//icked smirk spreading. “Too good? I’ll make you mine alone, Isabella, as n//eon belongs to Vegas,” he gr//owled, t//earing her p//anties, revealing her pink, s//opping s//ensitive ar//ea, p//ulsing like a blooming flower, b//egging to be filled. He knelt, k//issing her inner th//ighs, t//ongue tracing soft skin, leaving w//et trails. He latched onto her s//ensitive ar//ea, s//ucking fiercely, t//ongue plunging deep, l//apping from inside out, as if savoring a divine del//icacy. Isabella arched, scr//eaming, legs qu//aking violently, fl//uids g//ushing, soaking the felt table, pooling beneath her. “A… a… Alexander… I… too good… I’m done…” She gripped his head, b//ody taut, hitting her first cl//imax, mind sp//inning like a n//eon whirl.

He didn’t stop, t//ongue delving deeper, s//ucking harder, making Isabella scr//eamed again, b//ody convulsing, fl//uids streaming, soaking his chin. “A… you… I… I can’t take it…” she ch//oked, b//ody arching, hitting her second cl//imax, t//ears streaming, b//ody nearly spent. He stood, unbuckling his belt, revealing a massive, r//ock-hard mem//ber, tip red and glistening, aimed at her like a declaration of poss//ession. Isabella flushed, looking away, heart racing. “You… too fast…” she st//ammered, but he pulled her close, letting her feel his st//eel-hard length.

“Feel it, Isabella? This is our game,” he gr//owled, k//issing her, t//ongue entwining fiercely yet lovingly. His hand slid down, three fingers plunging into her s//oaked s//ensitive ar//ea, thr//usting fast, thumb r//ubbing her s//ensitive sp//ot, drawing relentless m//oans, fl//uids streaming, soaking his hand. “A… you… I… I need you… now…” she wh//ispered, eyes glazed with d//esire, b//ody trembling, pl//eading to be filled.

He smirked, lifting her onto the poker table, spreading her legs, her w//et, pink s//ensitive ar//ea p//ulsing invitingly. “You’re mine, Isabella, as n//eon belongs to Vegas,” he gr//owled, his tip brushing her ent//rance, making her m//oan and arch. He pushed slowly, filling her inch by inch, until she scr//eamed, “A… you… so deep… I’m… gonna d//ie…” Her b//ody shook violently, fl//uids g//ushing, soaking the felt, the sound of fl//esh sl//apping echoing. He moved, thr//usting fast and deep, each stroke hitting her core, making her m//oan incessantly, b//ody arching, ch//est bouncing, h//ips quivering with each impact. “A… a… Alexander… faster… I… can’t take it…” she scr//eamed, t//ears of pl//easure streaming, nails cl//awing the felt.

He gr//owled, switching positions, standing her up, pressing her against the glass wall, lifting one leg, thr//usting deeper, hands sq//ueezing her ch//est, p//inching her n//ipples, making her arch, hitting her third cl//imax, fl//uids fl//ooding, dr//enching them both. “Isabella, are you l//ost in it?” he rasped, eyes bl//azing. “So good… I’m d//ying… I l//ove you…” she ch//oked, voice breaking, b//ody taut. He switched to a r//iding position, seating her on him, his mem//ber thr//usting up, filling her completely. She b//ounced, ch//est jiggling, h//ips sl//apping his th//ighs, fl//esh sounds echoing, fl//uids g//ushing, soaking them. “A… a… Alexander… I… too good…” she scr//eamed, hitting her fourth cl//imax, t//ears streaming. He gr//owled, thr//usting up hard, reaching his peak with her, h//ot fl//uids mingling, dr//enching their skin, the table, the floor. He held her tight, k//issing her l//ips, p//anting. “Isabella, I want you, forever.”

Isabella adjusted her dress, face flushed, struggling to regain composure. “Alexander, that… we lost c//ontrol, didn’t we?” she asked, voice trembling, eyes wary. He stepped closer, blue eyes still sc//orching. “Lost c//ontrol? Isabella, that was the real f//ire between us,” he said, brushing her cheek. She stepped back, heart racing. “Don’t… we need to talk about Crimson Palace, not… this!”

Alexander chuckled, softening. “Stubborn, I like it. Crimson Palace is your chance to shine, but Sophia Grant will do anything to ruin you. I can help, but you must trust me.” Isabella tilted her chin, def//iant. “I don’t need saving, Alexander. But if you want to work together, be honest.”

They discussed the tournament, and Isabella was surprised by Alexander’s sharpness. He proposed an international poker event at Crimson Palace, blending n//eon and art, but she noticed he kept his distance, eyes occasionally distant, hiding something. When she asked about Sophia, he cut her off: “Don’t dig into my past, Isabella. Focus on the cards.” She nodded, but resolved to uncover the truth.

The next day, Isabella began working at Crimson Palace, the space pulsing with n//eon and the wh//isper of poker chips. She received a text from another dealer, warning that Sophia was colluding with a rival sponsor to take her spot. Isabella texted Alexander: “Sophia’s playing dirty. We need to meet.” He replied: “You’re quick. Tonight, VIP lounge at Palace. Don’t let Sophia know.”

At the VIP lounge, red n//eon lights tw//inkled, Alexander seated in a corner, blue eyes scanning her as she entered. “Sophia’s a threat, but I have a plan,” he said, voice low. “Stay with me, Isabella, and I’ll ensure you win.” Isabella smirked, eyes ch//allenging. “I don’t need guarantees, Alexander. But I’ll work with you, if you’re honest.” He looked at her, eyes sh//immering, as if seeing a new fl//ame. “You make me want to be honest, Isabella,” he wh//ispered, his hand brushing hers, making her heart race.

The chapter ends with Isabella and Alexander leaving the lounge, Vegas’s n//eon lights tw//inkling, as if witnessing the f//ire igniting between them. Isabella knew she’d entered a dangerous game, but with Alexander beside her, she was ready to face it, even if Sophia or his past tried to ext//inguish her fl//ame.