Vegas Love (6 page)

“I have a question,” I say, after we’ve had sex twice. “I don’t want this night to end. And since you’re from Seattle and I’m from L.A., this,
us
—tonight—it could just be fun, right? A one-time thing?”

“Absolutely,” he says.

“And since you’re friends with the bride and groom, I assume they trust you. I’m hoping that means I can trust you too.”

“You can,” he says sincerely.

“Good.” I pull him up off the ground. “It’s still early. Let’s get the hell out of here and go have some fun.”

Turn Me On

Cash

She pulls me into a limo. “Where are we going?” I ask. Not that I care. At this point, I’d go just about anywhere with this girl. She’s amazing. And I don’t just mean the sex—which was practically mind-blowing. She’s gorgeous and funny as shit.

“Vegas.”

“I’m surprised you’d want to go there after—” She grabs my lips in her fingertips and shuts them, giving me fish lips.
 

“Rule number one,” she says. “No talking about the past. Other than I’m going to say that the last two times I’ve been in Vegas have been big disappointments. Give me a minute. I need to make a call.”

“Who are you calling?”
 

“Carter Crawford. He doesn’t know it yet, but we’re going to borrow his plane. I happen to know he’s not leaving here until tomorrow afternoon. Do you know him?”

“The best man?” I ask. I consider telling her that I know Carter quite well, since he’s my brother, but I don’t. She wants a no-names-kind-of night. Which is funny considering everyone knows the actress Ashlyn Roberts, who’s well-known for her blockbuster movie roles, red carpet antics, and bubbly personality.
 

“After the breakup with Luke and before I started dating Zach, Carter took me to Vegas,” she says, causing me to tense up. Just the thought of her fucking anyone other than me—particularly my brother—threatens to rip me apart. How can I possibly feel so crazy jealous over her already? It was just sex. Wasn’t it? “I thought our trip would be romantic with a whole lot of hot and sweaty, you know, but nothing happened between us. His brother, Cade, is my agent, and he was just trying to cheer me up.”

I breathe easier, then let my lips graze down her neck. “If hot, sweaty, romantic Vegas is what you want, Hotass. It’s what you’ll get.”

“I need a wig though.”

“Why?”

“So no one recognizes me, silly. I have a fake ID. Sometimes, I just want to go out without it being a scene. Tonight is one of those nights.”

“I bet we can find you a wig in Vegas.”

“Ha, you’re right,” she says as I pull her on my lap and kiss her again.

We fuck on the plane.

Twice.
 

Drink some more.
 

When we land in Vegas, we go directly to a store where she sends me in to buy a wig.

“What kind?” I ask.
 

“Long and blond.”

“Hot,” I say.
 

“While you do that, I’ll get us set up in a hotel.”
 

When I get back in the town car, she tells the driver which hotel to take us to.

“I’ve never stayed here before,” she says, pulling on the wig. “You go get the key, okay? I told them your name was Harry Tripping and not to ask for ID.”

“That’s funny.”

We ride the elevator to one of the upper floors and enter a sprawling suite. “Very nice. You have good taste.”

“Only the best for our wild one-night stand.”

A butler appears out of nowhere. “Anything you need?”

“Nothing he can’t give me,” she says, pulling on my tie and giving me a naughty grin.

I send the butler away then lead her over to the windows. “Look at this view.”

“Ohmigawd! Look! The Bellagio fountains are starting!” She leans against the glass and looks down. “Wow. This is kinda trippy.”

I push my hips into her ass, somehow ready for round—hell, I lost count. Two times at the wedding, a blow job in the limo, joined the mile high club twice, so round—six. Doesn’t matter though, my Johnson is raring to go. I wrap my arms around her waist, kiss her neck, and finger her while she watches the fountains rise. She reaches back and slides her hand down my pants.
 

“You’re hard again,” she says, seemingly surprised.

“You turn me on,” I whisper.

“Do me right here. I feel like I should say your name—but this is a still a no-names-kind-of night, right?”

“That’s what you wanted. I’m still calling you Hotass because, you”—I lift her skirt, slide off her panties, and slap her naked butt—“have a
very
hot ass.”

“Oh!” she says when I spank her. She guides me into her and as I start thrusting, she bends over more—putting her arms out and her hands flat against the glass.
 

“This is like a fantasy,” she says, moving against me in time with the fountains. “Do you think when they do the big finale you can come?”

“I’d rather make you come.”

“Spank me again, then.”

I pull back, but not out, giving myself just enough space to smack her ass before plunging deep inside her.

“Oh, god! Do it harder! Oh, fuck, yes. Yes. Yes. Yes!”

And just before the fountains stop, she collapses against the window.
 

“What’s next?” she asks me as I dispose of another condom. I grab the champagne bottle, take a swig, and then give it to her.
 

“In the plane, you told me it was my job to keep you drunk all night, but not too drunk, right?”

“Yes,” she replies.

I turn her to face me, pull her dress off, carry her to the couch, and get on my knees in front of her. “When I say drink, you have to drink.”
 

“What are you going to do?”
 

I take one of her nipples into my mouth and shove a finger inside her in response.

“Oh god,” she says again.

“For every drink you take, I do more.”

“Well if that’s the case, I hope you don’t want any champagne.”

My finger is still inside her but motionless. When she takes another drink, I attack her breast, gliding my tongue around her nipple, then pulling it between my teeth and quickly letting go—all the while, still stroking her pussy. She arches her back and moans.
 

So I stop.
 

“Ohmigawd! I hate you,” she says, taking another drink.
 

This time I trail my tongue down her stomach, then alternate between sloppy kisses and the kind of kisses that are sure to leave a mark. By the time I get to the top of her mound, her back is arched and her hips are thrust toward me. I know what she wants.

So I stop again.
 

She lets out a frustrated sigh.
 

I immediately grab her face. “Do you not like our game?”

“I love our game,” she says breathlessly.

“Then stop sighing like you don’t.”

“You’re bossy.”

“If you sigh again, I stop playing.”

“You’re torturing me. It feels so good,” she says, sliding her hands into my hair.

“I’m just getting started. Drink.”

She takes a slug and then pushes the bottle toward me. “You need to drink too.”

I take a drink—but don’t swallow—then I grab her ass, pulling her up to my mouth. I put both my tongue and the champagne inside her.
 

“Ohmigawd! That’s cold,” she laughs.
 

But she stops laughing as I lap her up.
 

She’s getting all worked up again so, naturally, I stop.

“I’m drinking! I’m drinking,” she laughs.

This time I take a piece of ice, sliding it across her wetness while she squirms and giggles. I grab her hips tightly, rub my tongue roughly against her, and just when she’s almost there, I stop.
 

Again.

I flick my tongue against her.
 

“I hate you,” she says, taking another swig.

After she drinks, I start again—this time letting my five o’clock shadow rub roughly against her while I use my tongue to get serious.
 

When she’s panting and on the edge, I shove my fingers into her as she comes. She’s moaning and saying
fuck, oh fuck
, over and over.
 

Her dirty mouth gets me hot.
 

That, and her wet pussy.

She lies back on the couch, fully relaxed.
 

“Oh, no. No stopping now,” I say, pulling her up off the couch and kissing her.

“Fuck me again,” she says, jumping into my arms and wrapping her legs around me.
 

“I’m not sure if I can. This officially tops my most sex ever in a twenty-four-hour period, and we’ve only been at it for a few hours. The night is still young. I need to pace myself.”

She doesn’t say a word—just sucks on my neck, causing my dick to spring back to life. Apparently, he’s ready to party.

“I’m all out of condoms,” I confess.

“I’m on the pill,” she says, her lips landing hard on mine and kissing me so deeply I can only think of one thing.
 

Get inside her.
 

I carry her toward the nearest wall, shoving her back against it to get some leverage, as I devour her mouth and fuck her with equal force.
 

“I’ve lost track of how many orgasms I’ve had,” she pants, collapsing again.

“I think we’re up to eleven.”

She kisses me sweetly. “I love that you’re keeping track.”

While she’s still clinging to me, I say, “So, what’s next? We have a wig and everything.”

“I should try it on!” she squeals.

I set her down and grab the bag, not wanting her to see what else I bought just yet. I’m enjoying watching her strut around naked too much.
 

When I pull the wig out, she laughs. “Ohmigawd, that’s really blond! Like, bleach blond.”

“I thought this would be fun.”

She twists her gorgeous light brown hair up into a bun then puts on the wig, checking herself in the mirror. “I guess it’s not as bad as I first thought.”

When she turns back toward me, I take in the sight of her. Creamy, lightly tanned skin. Pale pink nipples and perfect, perky breasts. Thin waist, slender hips, long legs, and probably the hottest ass I’ve ever spanked.
 

Actually, it’s the only ass I’ve ever spanked.
 

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” I tell her, closing the gap between us and grabbing her ass with both hands. “Want to see what else I got you to wear?”

“I’m not sure I ever want to get dressed again.”

“Sure you do. You want to go dancing—so I’m taking you dancing. But we’re doing it right. No VIP. Just you and me, sweaty on a crowded dance floor.”

She kisses me with a sigh. “It’s too bad you live so far away.”

I grab her chin and look into her eyes. They are by far the prettiest green eyes I’ve ever seen. Sure, I’ve seen them in the movies, but they don’t do them justice. I’ve never noticed the dark blue around the edges or how they have an almost turquoise tint.
 

“You can’t wear what you wore to the wedding.”

“Why not?”

“We’re going to a club, so you need the right outfit.” I pull out the skimpy black skirt I bought. “You’re wearing this.”

“This will barely cover my vagina!” she exclaims, holding it up in front of her.

“That’s kinda the point,” I tease, tossing her the top.
 

“I can’t wear this.”

“You can and you will,” I say, smacking her butt. “Get dressed.”

She skips into the bathroom while I look around the room for my clothes and put them back on. I don’t bother with my suit jacket, just pick it off the floor and hang it over the back of a chair.
 

I’m rolling up my shirtsleeves when she bounds out wearing the long blond wig, bright pink lipstick, the strappy black top, and the skirt—which does barely cover her vagina.

“You look fucking hot!” I tell her. “Let’s go.”

We make out in the taxi on the way to the club.
 

We’re waiting in a very long line, when one of the doormen walks by and winks at her and the two other skimpily-clad girls she’s been talking to.
 

The girls grab her hand and say, “Come on! We’re getting in!”

She grabs my hand and drags me behind them.
 

Once we’re inside, we squeeze up to the bar and orders shots.

“To new friends,” she says, clinking the girls’ glasses. “And to this very sexy boy.”

We down the shots then move to the dance floor. The DJ has the place rocking and the dance floor is so packed there’s barely room to move. I grab her ass and grind against her, the shot making me feel tipsy and, surprisingly, freaking horny.