“It sounds like a great bedtime story. Tell it to me now.”
“Once upon a time . . .”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Saturday, 7:25 p.m., Las Vegas
Dusk settled over the city of sin. The sun drifted far below the spectacular vista of monstrous hotels and massive buildings that dotted the skyline as Clay floated out of dreamland. He stretched and scooted closer to Julia, her naked skin warm against his as neon flickered through the window, the nighttime waking up. The twilight hour danced over the sky, tugging Vegas from the bright, heavy desert sun of the day to the glitter of its neon nights.
He ran a hand over her hip, unable to resist the call of her soft, sweet skin. She murmured in her sleep, an alluring invitation to him. His damn hand had a mind of its own, and he traced his fingertips across the flesh of her stomach, soon drifting below her belly button. She shifted in her sleep, or maybe she was starting to wake up too, as she moved her bottom closer to him. He was spooning her, and his dick was at full attention now, nestled against the soft globes of her ass.
He brushed a kiss on her shoulder, and she shuddered, the soft exhalation sending a wave of desire through his bones, igniting the embers in him. He traveled lower still on her body, his fingertips in hot pursuit. She responded to his moves, parting her legs slightly, making room for his hand. He sought her out in seconds, his fingers slipping between her thighs. His breath hitched at that first intoxicating touch of her. He could feel the hint of her arousal already, her flesh damp against his fingertips.
“Hi,” she whispered, in a sleepy voice.
“Hi.”
“You looking for this?” she asked, as she shifted onto her back and opened her legs for him.
He didn’t move for a second. He was flooded with so much desire all at once that it paralyzed his brain and his body, as if all his neurons and synapses had gone into overdrive, momentarily freezing his gears.
He recovered the power of speech and action as he drew his fingers over her sweet pussy, now wet and slick. “Yes,” he growled, finally answering her. “I’m looking for you.”
“You found me,” she said, drawing up her knees and letting them fall open.
He inhaled sharply, the deep breath filling him, spreading heat to the far corners of his body. He dropped a hand to the inside of her thigh, lust jolting through him as he opened her legs more. But it wasn’t just lust; it was deep and abiding love. It was the intersection of desire and forever. To be deeply, madly, desperately in love with the woman you wanted to fuck was the greatest rush, the most lasting high.
“You are ready,” he said, low and husky, as he moved between her legs, and rubbed his erection through her wetness. She gasped, her eyes floating closed, her lips parting, as he touched her. Her response fueled him—she felt the passion too, she felt the same way he did. There was no other choice, there was no other way but for them both to be cocooned in this cocktail of love and lust. It was only them; they were all there was in the whole world, and she was all he could ever want.
“Please,” she whispered, and he didn’t have it in him to tease her or taunt her right now. Nor was he going to be rough or tie her up. Right now, he knew—without her saying it—that he needed to make love to her. She needed pure vanilla sex after the day she’d had, so he entered her, savoring the delicious feel of her warmth gripping him.
“So unusual to see you in this position,” he whispered, his arms pinned on either side of her as he moved slowly in her.
“Sometimes I just need my man to be on top of me,” she said, her eyes looking into his.
“You’ll get whatever you need from me,” he told her as he thrust into her, and she moaned deeply as she took him in. She wrapped her legs around his hips, opening herself more so he could fill her.
“Come closer,” she whispered, looping her arms tighter around his neck, and tugging him near, so his chest was against hers. “I want to be as close to you as I possibly can.”
“You are, Julia. You are,” he said, as he licked a path along her neck up to her ear, drawing out a heady moan from her as his mouth mapped the column of her neck, then her collarbone, then her shoulder. “I can’t stop kissing you.”
“Don’t stop kissing me,” she said, gripping him tighter with her strong thighs as she rocked her hips against him, thrusting back, matching his moves.
He pumped deep into her as bolts of pure pleasure tore through his body, the intensity of being inside her obliterating the world. He rained more kisses down on her skin as he made love to her, wanting, needing—terribly needing—to be as close to her as he possibly could. He needed it for himself, and he needed it for her. He wanted her to feel safe with him always, and to know that what they shared was so very different from how others had touched her body. When he touched her, whether rough or soft, it was always with love, with reverence, and with respect.