AiFantacy

Some interracial love

Added 2025-03-19 10:08:55 +0000 UTC

The VIP room at the Bellagio smelled like money, cigars, and expensive cologne—basically, a wet dream for anyone with a pulse and a bank account. At the center of it all was Wei, a 35-year-old Chinese tycoon with a tailored suit that hugged his lean frame like a lover and a smirk that said he owned the damn world. He kinda did—tech stocks, real estate, and a yacht named Dragon’s Dick didn’t lie. Sprawled across the velvet couch beside him was Connor, his 28-year-old Caucasian boytoy, all golden hair, blue eyes, and a body that looked like it was carved by a horny Greek sculptor. Connor’s shirt was half-unbuttoned, showing off abs you could grate cheese on, and he was sipping a martini like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“Another round?” Wei asked, swirling his whiskey, his dark eyes glinting with mischief as he watched Connor lick an olive off the toothpick with exaggerated slowness.

“Only if you’re dealing the cards, babe,” Connor drawled, his Midwestern accent clashing hilariously with the high-roller vibe. “I’m shit at blackjack, but I’m real good at strippin’ for it.”

Wei laughed, sharp and dirty. “You lose on purpose, you little slut. Last time, I had you naked before the dealer could shuffle.”

“Guilty,” Connor grinned, kicking off his loafers and tossing one at Wei, who caught it midair like a fucking ninja. “What’s the bet tonight, Mr. Billionaire? My ass on the line again?”

Wei leaned closer, voice dropping to a purr. “How about this: you win, I buy you that tacky gold chain you’ve been drooling over. I win, you suck me off under the poker table while I bluff the Saudi prince next door.”

Connor choked on his martini, spraying it across the leather ottoman. “Jesus, Wei, you’re gonna get us banned!”

“Baby, I own half this casino. They’ll ban you before they touch me.” Wei smirked, snapping his fingers. A waiter materialized with a deck of cards and a bottle of champagne that probably cost more than Connor’s rent back in Ohio. “Deal.”

The game was a mess from the start. Connor kept giggling, flashing Wei glimpses of his chest to distract him, while Wei retaliated by sliding a hand up Connor’s thigh under the table, fingers brushing dangerously close to his crotch. By the third hand, Connor was down to his boxers—bright red ones with cartoon hearts, because of course—and Wei was still fully dressed, looking smug as hell.

“You’re cheating,” Connor accused, tossing his cards down and pouting like a brat. “No way you’re this good.”

“I’m just better at everything,” Wei shot back, popping the champagne and deliberately spilling some down Connor’s bare chest. “Oops.”

“You dick!” Connor yelped, but his protest turned into a moan when Wei leaned in and licked the bubbly trail off his skin, slow and filthy, right over a nipple. The room was soundproof, thank fuck, because Connor’s “Oh, shit, yes” was loud enough to wake a coma patient.

Wei pulled back, grinning. “Lose the boxers. I want my prize.”

Connor stood, swaying his hips like a stripper on a bender, and shimmied out of the ridiculous underwear. His cock bounced free, hard and pink and begging for attention, and Wei whistled low. “Goddamn, you’re a walking porno.”

“Says the guy who looks like a Bond villain with a hard-on,” Connor retorted, dropping to his knees between Wei’s legs. He yanked at Wei’s belt, fumbling with the buckle until Wei swatted his hands away and did it himself, freeing his own cock—thick, dark, and already leaking.

“Fuck, you’re big,” Connor muttered, half-awed, half-terrified. “I’m gonna choke and die, and you’ll have to explain this to my mom.”

“Tell her you went out happy,” Wei said, grabbing a fistful of Connor’s hair and guiding him down. Connor’s mouth was hot, wet, and sloppy as hell—enthusiasm over skill—but Wei didn’t care, groaning as Connor gagged and drooled all over his Gucci slacks.

“Shit—yeah, like that,” Wei hissed, hips bucking. Connor pulled off for a second, gasping, a string of spit connecting his lips to Wei’s dick. “You’re ruining my blowjob rhythm, asshole!”

“Then keep up,” Wei growled, shoving him back down. Connor moaned around him, one hand jerking himself off while the other gripped Wei’s thigh. The poker table rattled as Wei fucked his mouth, cards and chips sliding everywhere, a $500 chip landing in the champagne bucket with a plop.

Wei came with a grunt, spilling down Connor’s throat, and Connor swallowed like a champ before pulling off, coughing and laughing. “Fuck, I deserve a medal—or at least that chain.”

Wei hauled him up onto the couch, kissing him hard, tasting himself on Connor’s tongue. “You’re a mess,” he muttered, shoving Connor’s legs apart and grabbing the champagne bottle. Before Connor could ask, Wei poured a cold stream right over his cock, making him yelp and squirm.

“What the fuck, Wei?!” Connor half-laughed, half-moaned as Wei’s mouth followed, licking the bubbly off his shaft, sucking him down with a hunger that shut him up fast. Connor’s hands flailed, knocking over a cigar tray, and he came embarrassingly quick, shouting something incoherent about “rich bastard magic.”

They collapsed together, sticky with champagne and sweat, laughing like idiots. “You’re insane,” Connor panted, sprawled across Wei’s lap.

“And you love it,” Wei replied, smacking his ass. “Now clean up—we’ve got a prince to fleece.”

“Only if I get to blow you under the table again,” Connor winked.

Wei smirked. “Deal.”