McQUEEN:Las Vegas Bad Boys(12)

“The bathroom is there,” he says pointing to the other door in the master suite. “Do you need something to sleep in?”

“Thanks. A tee-shirt, I guess?”

He walks to the folded laundry and pulls out a cotton tee. I take it from him, feeling so awkward all of a sudden. Wasn’t it just a few hours ago we were naked in one another’s arms? And now I feel weird slipping off my clothes and getting in bed with him.

But I want to be in bed with him. I want him to wrap his arms around me and hold me tight. He’s like a big bear—so solid, so firm. And I want him to protect me, even if it is asking way too much.

Still, as he walks toward me, helping me ease my shirt over my head, helping pull down my gym shorts, as I kick off my tennis shoes, I think that maybe he wants to protect me, too.

And I know this is all going to end the moment we wake up and face reality, but right now I can let him be the bear I need.

“It’s gonna be okay, JoJo,” he tells me, slipping his clean shirt over my head. “Tomorrow is a new day.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

We get in bed silently, and he pulls me into his arms, just like I wanted. The idea of sleeping in a man’s bed for the first time should terrify me … but McQueen doesn’t scare me.

My face is nuzzled against his chest and he smells like safety, like freshly-cut grass and fresh air and honey. Which is a weird thought, because I know he’s been going hard all day … and we live in the freaking desert—there’s no grass anywhere. Yet he smells like a childhood I never had. And even if he is a stripper who’s rumored to sleep with a different woman everyday, right now, he feels pure. And all I want is to stay wrapped in his arms and be held by him.

“Goodnight, JoJo,” he whispers in the dark bedroom.

“Goodnight, McQueen,” I whisper back, realizing I don’t even know his first name—but also realizing that, right now, it doesn’t matter.



In the early morning hours, I wake. McQueen is curled up behind me, spooning me with his hands over my shirt—not under, which I find pretty damn attractive. If he was going to try to get away with something, this was the night to do it.

I keep my eyes closed, wanting to fall asleep again, but the heaviness of my fucked-up situation keeps me from any sort of REM. I’ve never in my life felt so helpless, so lost. I’ve never faced a problem I couldn’t overcome with the help of my family.

When Mom died five years ago, my siblings, my dad, and I became closer than ever. We all relocated here to Vegas—even Mary and Connor and their baby, Hardy, who was only one at the time.

This situation isn’t like Mom’s passing away. We knew she was sick for a long time, and when she finally passed we were all heartbroken, but grateful she was no longer in pain.

This is different than death. I’m not trying to hyperbolize the photograph and the impact it might have, but it has to be tied to something with my family. With this marriage. And that is a big deal. Especially if Dad believes Grotto and I are the key to merging the families. My family’s future hinges on me, and I just callously tossed it aside.

I’m horrible. To do that to Hardy and Justice and Bailey. They’re just a few of the kids in the family; there are more cousins and half-cousins and fourth cousins, both here in Vegas and back in Boston. All those kids are impacted by the way I respond to my father’s wishes for me.

The last thing I want to do is fuck over my family and screw the men out of work, the wives out of food for their kids, the kids out of their homes.

It isn’t something I should take lightly … but I did. In a moment of lust, of desire, I forgot what I’m supposed to stand for. My family may be fucked up, but we also stick together.

Which is a hell of a lot better than other families I see. Even McQueen says he hasn’t been home in over a year. How is that a family?

I don’t know how I’ll show my face to my brothers and father later today. I need to come clean, just tell them what happened and ask for their help. The God’s honest truth is that the moment I heard about my wedding, I fell into McQueen’s arms, and then the picture was taken.

And then instead of going straight to them … I went back to McQueen.

What does that say about me?

I don’t want to know.

Beside me, McQueen stirs. His breath is warm against my skin, and I instantly curl closer to him. When I do, I feel his cock hard against my ass.

The right thing to do is to crawl out of the bed, to go to the bathroom, shower. Get in my car. Drive home.

But the idea of the confession makes me want to vomit.

I can’t do that yet. It’s only four in the morning, anyway. I can stay here awhile longer, in this make-believe cocoon.

I roll over and face McQueen. Feeling his hardness against my core, I realize something I’m ashamed to admit. Even if I could have a do-over, if I could have avoided McQueen yesterday, not given him my virginity … I wouldn’t want to change a thing.

Even though it’s dangerous, and I know every second that I stay in his arms could hurt him even more, I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to move.

Does that make me selfish? A monster? A whore?

I don’t know.

I just know instead of walking out of his house at first dawn, I nestle deeper in his arms.





Chapter Ten





McQUEEN


Fuck. My cock is hard as rock.

I can’t think of the last time I woke up with a woman in my bed. I always call an Uber post-sex and get them gone before daybreak. Yeah, we’ll have had our fair share of fun, but it always has an expiration date.

But with JoJo’s little body, so taut and creamy, wrapped up in my arms when I wake, I realize I’ve been missing out on a whole lot of fun. Because damn, my cock is never this hard when I wake up all by my lonesome.

“Morning,” JoJo says, her voice tired, her eyes meeting mine.

“Sleep okay?” I ask, my hands running over her back, landing on her tight ass.

She nods, ever so slightly, but it’s obvious she didn’t. No fucking surprise. She was beyond worked up last night.

“Look, I wish I knew what was going on. But I understand if you don’t feel like you can trust me,” I tell her. “And since you don’t want to talk, maybe you wanna play?”

My cock twitches at the idea of her soft lips covering my rod. Damn, I’m imagining it a little too clearly. I feel like I could explode before we’ve even begun.

JoJo looks up at me; the mischievous glint I saw yesterday at the gym has returned.

“I’ve never heard of playing when you wake up in the morning. I tend to shower, get dressed, make a pot of coffee.”

“Oh, girl, you’ve been missing out, then. So many years without any games.”

I pull her on top of me and a tiny laugh escapes her mouth.

“I shouldn’t be doing this.” Her eyes tell me she’s holding way too many things back, but her tight nipples and damp panties tell me a thing or two as well. She’s a beautiful contradiction, and I want to make every part of her agree, until she can’t remember why she ever thought to hesitate.

“Sweetheart, if we’re gonna start the day talking about shouldn’ts, we’re never gonna get out of this bed.”

She doesn’t answer me with words, just nods ever so slightly and leans in for a kiss.

Her mouth is as sweet as I remembered, and as lush as I dreamed. She’s fucking hot as hell and she’s in my bed, in my old tee-shirt, and my cock is hard. Who the hell is this girl and what has she done to me in less than twenty-four hours?

I sit up, holding her in my lap. Her legs wrap around me, and her arms circle my neck. I take her shirt off and her little tits are right there begging to be sucked.

I run my tongue over her hard nipple, thinking about running my tongue across her soft folds, too. Her body seems to melt into mine, and my fingers tug at the waistband of her panties, wanting them off so I can see her pussy again, so I can begin exploring her with my fingers—because yesterday I hesitated, for fear of hurting her.

“I want to touch you,” she whispers in my ear.

“How badly?”

“So bad. So very bad. Let me see you, McQueen.”

I get out of bed, and hitch my thumbs in the waistband of my boxer briefs.

“I thought we were playing games?” I smirk, seeing her brow raised in question.

“What’s the game?” she asks, lying buck naked on my bed, her chin resting in her hand.

“Truth or dare.”

“Dare,” she says without hesitating.

“Oh … a girl scared of telling the truth.”

“Something like that.”

“Okay.” I shrug. “I was hoping to learn your deep, dark secrets, but I’ll settle for a dare that will make us both happy.”

“And what is that?”

“You can give me a lap dance.”

“No way,” she says, laughing, covering her face with a pillow. “No way, McQueen. Never.”

“Never? Girl, you’re such a fucking cock tease.”

She huffs indignantly, kneeling on the bed. “Not fair.” She points a finger at me, her tits bouncing as she moves, so unselfconscious in this stolen moment filled with smiles and teasing. “You’re a professional dancer. I can’t dance for you. I’d be way too embarrassed.”