What Happened in Vegas (3 page)
Read What Happened in Vegas Online
Authors: Sylvia Day
She saw that in the ring, too. The unusual design conveyed passionate chaos, and the fact that he registered that quality in the setting cemented her belief that he was the perfect man for her.
Climbing over him, Robin straddled his hips and extended her hand. “Put it on me.”
The feel of the cool band sliding over her knuckle was so sublime it caused goose bumps to sweep across her skin. She wanted this so badly, wanted
him
. Her rough-edged brewmaster with his gentle hands and insatiable hunger for her body. The man who listened to her talk about gem clarity and design theory and who patiently explained the difference between lager and ale.
“Yes,” she answered him, placing her hand on his chest next to her name over his heart.
Paul framed her ribcage with his hands, his thumbs stroking the lower curve of her breasts. “And what do you need from me?”
“I needed this.” She gestured between them. “A commitment from you. I’ll also need a room that’s mine alone, a workshop with lots of light and space.”
“Done.”
“And I need you to promise not to change your style for me.”
His brows rose. “I have a style?”
“I love you just the way you are. Don’t cut your hair or—”
He rolled abruptly, taking the top. “Say that again.”
Laughing, Robin looked up into his impossibly handsome face. “Don’t cut your hair?”
He snorted. “The part before that.”
“Don’t change your style?”
Bending his head, Paul caught her nipple between his teeth. She made a soft noise at the unexpected bite, then arched her back when his tongue soothed the slight sting. When his cheeks hollowed on a drawing pull, she moaned his name and gave him what he wanted.
“I love you, Paul. You’re everything to me.”
When he lifted his head, the fiercely tender look on his face was one she’d remember for the rest of her life.
Or she could just make him show it to her again. She had a lifetime to work on it.
# # #
Sylvia Day
is the national bestselling, award-winning author of over a dozen novels written across multiple sub-genres. A wife and mother of two, she is a former Russian linguist for the U.S. Army Military Intelligence. Sylvia’s work has been called an “exhilarating adventure” by
Publishers Weekly
and “wickedly entertaining” by
Booklist
. Her stories have been translated into Russian, Japanese, Portuguese, German, Czech, Italian, and Thai. She’s been honored with the
Romantic Times
Reviewers' Choice Award, the EPPIE award, the National Readers’ Choice Award, the Readers’ Crown, and multiple finalist nominations for Romance Writers of America’s prestigious RITA Award of Excellence.
Sylvia also writes under the pseudonyms S. J. Day and Livia Dare.
Connect with Sylvia Day online:
Twitter:
http://www.twitter.com/SylDay
Facebook:
http://www.facebook.com/AuthorSylviaDay
* * * * *
SYLVIA DAY
“Hello, Mrs. Robinson.”
I can’t stop the thrill that courses through me at the sound of the familiar deep voice. But then, I don’t want to. I’m horny, and he knows.
“Hi, Jason.” I turn away from my husband’s tool bench in the garage. The weather is hot; summer in our town always is. Today it’s at least one hundred degrees. Suddenly, it feels hotter than that.
My neighbor’s son stands shirtless in the driveway; his baggy shorts hang low around trim hips. He’s not wearing boxers, and a shiver races through me despite the heat. His cock, which I know to be long and thick, hangs heavily, tenting the cotton khaki of his shorts. I lick my lips.
“How are you today?” he asks, stepping into my personal space.
I look past him. His truck is the only car in the driveway next door. “Fine. My kids are napping. I just put them down.”
His full mouth curves seductively at the words he’d wanted to hear. He comes closer, his powerful athlete’s body rippling with muscle. I love to watch him move, watch him play. His mother is my friend. I’ve sat next to her at his college football games. I’ve sat next to his girlfriend, too.
Jason brushes past me, his shoulder deliberately skimming across my nipples, making me ache for him. He hits the remote on the wall and the door begins to lower, blocking out our neighbors. Before it’s halfway down, his shorts are on the floor. By the time the door is closed, he’s not the only one naked.
My blood races in my veins. I love the cock he’s fisting, I love it fucking me.
His smile is smug. My desperate desire is why he comes to me. He knows how bad I want it, how deprived I am. My need strokes his ego as surely as his cock strokes my cunt.
I jump up onto the edge of the pool table and spread my legs. I’m dripping for him, and when he gets to me, he slides right in. My eyes close, relishing the feel of the hot, hard, huge cock inside me. I lift my heels to the table, opening myself completely. Leaning back on my arms, I slit my eyes to watch him. That’s all the stimulation I need, the sight of his youthful body, full of grace and strength, glistening with sweat and lust as he pumps deep into me.
As he holds the edge of the table and thrusts hard and fast, his six-pack abdomen ripples with his exertions. There’s no time for foreplay or finesse. There never is, but I don’t want either one. I want to be fucked.
I moan; I can’t help it. He feels so good. The thick head of his dick stretches, massages, and rubs the inside of me.
“Like that?” he grunts, driving deeper.
“God, yes.”
I gasp, arching my hips to take more. The friction is amazing. There’s nothing like the feel of being fucked by a big cock. I tell him so and he growls. He loves it when I talk dirty; his girlfriend won’t. She’s too young, too inhibited. I have no shame.
Sweat dampens his hair and drips down his chest. The delicious scent of hardworking male fills my nostrils. It’s so unbelievably hot in my garage with the door closed. Like a sauna. He’s breathing heavy, his body working hard. Jason never has any control when he takes me and I make it worse by moaning, by loving his cock as much as I do.
“I’m going to come,” he warns. He fucks like a stallion and climaxes like one too—hard, deep, and copiously.
I whimper, wanting it, my nipples so hard they ache, my breasts heavy and shaking with the impact of his hips slapping against mine. His dick swells in anticipation, filling me so full he really has to work to get inside me. The pleasure is incredible.
He floods me, still fucking madly, and I orgasm.
“Yes, yes, yes,” I chant. The release of the sexual tension that knots my shoulders and back is so good, I shake. A moment later he stills; his head dropping forward as he catches his breath.
Five minutes later the garage door is opening and a dry, hot breeze blows in, evaporating the perspiration from our skin. The sound of an automobile door shutting nearby alerts us to arrivals.
Jason’s father is home and stepping out of his car. I wave. He waves back.
“Thank you for your help, Jason,” I call out as he saunters away, his back glistening in the summer sun.
He doesn’t glance back. “Anytime, Mrs. Robinson.”
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