One Weekend in Vegas: A Best Friend's Older Brother, Rock Star Romance

Chapter 7

As the door to Ryder’s room closes behind us, my gaze is pulled to the vista of neon outside the wall-to-wall windows. I walk toward the lights, mesmerized by all the bright colors fighting for my attention.

The warmth of Ryder’s body soaks into my back, and a split second later, he wraps his arms around me and tugs me into his chest.

“You like the view?” he asks, his lips ghosting the shell of my ear.

Even as gooseflesh erupts along my neck and down my arms, my knee-jerk reaction is to make a snarky comment to push his buttons. I choke it back and remind myself that his question isn’t meant to start a war.

Forty-eight hours.

It’s what I’ve agreed to.

We’re about four hours in, and so far, so good.

“Yeah.” I lean my head back against his shoulder and slide my hands over his where they rest on my stomach. “You and the guys aren’t sharing a room? Or a suite?”

“Nah. Since we’re here for the duration of the residency, we figured we’d want our own space.”

“I’m in your space for the next two days,” I remind him.

“You’re right where I want you. Almost.” His lips find the pulse point in my neck.

The lust that has simmered between us since I rescued him from his fan roars back to life. Who am I kidding? The chemistry between us has been combustible for the last nine years. All it takes for the desire to ignite is for one of us to touch the other.

He grasps my hips, his fingers flexing into the fabric of my shorts, and presses hot, open-mouthed kisses along the back of my neck. When he nips at the juncture where my neck and shoulder meet, my knees buckle.

Locking one arm around my waist to hold me in place, he growls against my skin. “Where are you going, love? I have plans for you.”

I whimper at the pressure building in my core.

He pulses his hips against my ass, his erection prominent between us. Each small movement sends another jolt of electricity through me. I lift my arms over my head and grasp the soft strands of his hair.

“Do you know how fucking hot it was watching you claim me?” His lips tickle the sensitive skin behind my earlobe. He teases along the waistband of my shorts, ghosting his fingertips over the bare skin there, then deftly releases the button.

“She was drunk,” I say, pushing my hips forward, silently encouraging him to continue with the zipper.

Instead, he teases the little metal pull, flicking it several times. “I’m not talking about her.” He releases my waist and slips a hand under the hem of my T-shirt to cup my breast over the lace of my bra and drags his thumb back and forth along my nipple.

Sparks of light dance behind my eyes like the neon that flickers outside the window.

“Ryder.”

His fingers still on the zipper of my shorts and on my breast.

“Yes?” The smirk is clear in his voice.

“Stop teasing me,” I demand, tugging on the hair still fisted in my hands.

“Fuck.” The word hisses from his lips. The hot breath of air against my skin sends a shiver up my spine.

“I doubt you’ve forgotten how a zipper and a bra clasp work.” I arch my back and press my breast farther into his hand.

He flexes, causing my nipple to rub along his palm. “I thought this was foreplay.”

“I don’t want foreplay.”

“No?” With a hum, he brushes the spot between the opening of my shorts and over my panties.

I suck in a breath. “No.”

“What do you want, Britt?” The stillness that settles over him now is heavy with anticipation, and my core throbs.

“You.”

“Mmm.” He nips at my shoulder. “What do you want from me?”

I tighten my fingers in his hair again. “I want you to fuck me. I want you to make me come, goddamn you.”

“How?”

How?My blood heats in a way that has nothing to do with being turned on. I’m standing here telling him I want him to make me come, and he needs a fucking instruction manual? He never has before.

“Seriously, Ryder?” I snap.

“Tell me how you want me to make you come, Britt. Do you want my fingers?” He teases me over the soft fabric of my panties. “My mouth?” He kisses along the column of my throat until my knees threaten to buckle again. “Or my cock?” He pulses his hips again, and the evidence of how turned on he is pushes against me.

“I want it all,” I breathe. “Everything.”

“That’s my good girl,” he growls against my throat.

I shouldn’t love the way he calls me a good girl. No, not simply a good girl. His good girl. But there’s a possessiveness to the tone that has me forgetting everything but the man responsible for so, so many orgasms over the years.

He shimmies my shorts down. Then he releases me and steps back, dragging my T-shirt with him, leaving me standing in front of the panoramic vista of the Vegas skyline in nothing more than my bra and panties.

My body is tuned to him, eager to touch him, but before I can turn and reach for him, he closes the distance and forces me closer to the windows.

“I want to fuck you against these windows, love. I want you screaming my name so loudly that everyone on the Strip knows who’s making you come.”

He tangles his fingers with mine and lifts our joined hands until mine are pressed to the glass.

“Keep those there,” he demands.

“Or what?” I crane my neck and peer over my shoulder, meeting his fiery gaze.

“Or I’ll stop. I’ll bring you to the edge over and over again, but you won’t come until you keep your hands still.”

With his lips twisted in a smirk, he reaches behind him to tug his T-shirt off. Muscles and ink take on a neon hue, the lights reflecting off the nipple ring on his right pec. He’s muscled in a lean, athletic way, his chest tapering down to a toned stomach and a sprinkling of hair disappearing under the low-slung jeans on his hips.

The sight of him without a shirt shouldn’t have this kind of power over me. Not after all this time. It shouldn’t make my core tighten and my mouth go dry. But my history with Ryder is full of shouldn’ts.

I shouldn’t have slept with my best friend’s older brother.

I shouldn’t have done it again.

I shouldn’t be falling for him.

I shouldn’t be pregnant with his baby.

He lines himself up, his front to my back, and covers my hands with his. For a moment, he doesn’t move.

My heart sinking, I peer back at him, confused.

“Is this okay?” His gaze searches mine, like he’s afraid I’m going to say no. To walk away.

Has he forgotten? I don’t do anything I don’t want to. And every new experience I’ve had with him has only unlocked more layers of pleasure. Has only made me fall harder for him.

“If it wasn’t, I would tell you.”

One corner of his lips tilts in a half smile. “You’re perfect for me.” Without waiting for a response, he claims my mouth and unclasps my bra with a twist of his wrist.

His words ping through my body like a hit of champagne, fizzy and fresh. I kiss him harder, begging him with my tongue to keep going.

He breaks the kiss and trails his hands up my sides to the straps on my shoulders. The caress tickles, making me giggle and bend away from his fingers, but I don’t move my hands.

“So ticklish,” he murmurs as he slides his hands under the lace to smooth the straps along my arms.

The bra dangles around my wrists, a purple, lacy version of handcuffs, until he lifts one hand from the glass and then the other, and it drops to my feet. He lifts our hands higher, setting them in place, forcing my body closer to the glass, the cool temperature tightening my nipples further.

He traces his fingers down my arms, up over my shoulders, and down my back, only reaching in front of me when his hands are level with my breasts. With his lips pressed to my shoulder, he pinches and twists my hardened nipples. I mewl, arching my back into the rough caress. I’m rewarded for my efforts with hot, open-mouthed kisses along the back of my neck. I tilt my head in a silent invitation, and his lips find my pulse point. Nipping at my flesh, he palms both breasts and slides his thumbs back and forth over the hard nipples.

“Have I told you that I love your breasts?” He kneads them as he speaks.

“Yes.” My response is more a moan of pleasure than an answer.

“I love how they fit in my hands. How responsive they are. How sweet they taste on my tongue. Fuck. That’s the only problem with this position. I can’t fucking taste you.” He drops his hands to my waist and glides his index fingers inside the fabric at my hips. “At least not there.”

He slips a hand under my waistband and dips low until his fingers move through my folds. With his index finger pressed against the bundle of nerves at the top of my pussy, he groans.

“You’re fucking soaked, Britt. For me. Is what we’re doing turning you on?”

“Yes.” I grind my pelvis against his hand, desperate for more friction.

“What about the thought of my mouth, baby? How about me tongue-fucking that pussy until you come on my face? Does that turn you on?”

The heat in my core blazes, the flames licking up my spine. “Fuck. Yes. Do it. Please.”

He’s always had power over me. When he isn’t saying something to piss me off, his words have the ability to turn me into a quivering mess of hormones.

He pulls his hand away from my pussy, and I whimper at the loss.

“Only for a minute, love,” he tells me.

With a gentle tug, he slides the silk of my panties over my hips. Then he kneels, guiding them down my legs until his fingers are at my ankles and my panties pool at my feet.

“Lift.”

I obey, picking up one foot, then the other. When the panties are gone, he spreads my legs farther apart and drags his fingers up my calves with a pressure so light it makes me shiver.

“My fingers and my tongue are fighting with each other.” He angles close and presses a soft kiss on the inside of my knee while tracing lines up my inner thighs.

“Why?” The question is out before I can stop it.

“They both want time with your pussy. But my tongue keeps telling my fingers that they already had a turn.”

My core throbs at the words. At the memory of his tongue making me come. His talent doesn’t stop with words. He has an incredible voice, whether he’s singing or talking dirty, but when that tongue gets involved? It drives me wild. I shift my legs to give him more room to wedge between them.

He leans his head against the glass, meeting my eyes as he gazes up my body.

I pant, caught in his spell. “You’re crazy.”

“Crazy for you, Britt. For your body. You’re like a drug I can’t fucking quit. I don’t want to.” He shifts again, bringing his hands to my hips and pulling me toward his face.

I allow him to guide me where he wants me. My fingers slip on the glass, but I flatten my palms, steadying myself against the window.

“Ryder.”

“Is this what you want, love?” He drags his tongue from back to front, and my knees buckle, my fingers curling into the unyielding glass.

He tightens his hold on my hips, keeping me upright and in place as his tongue circles my clit. With a series of taps against the bundle of nerves, he sets off sparks of light behind my eyelids in the same rhythm.

“Oh my god.”

“Keep those hands in place, love.” His words are muttered against my pussy with a puff of hot air. Then he’s drawing my clit into his mouth and resuming the quick movements of his tongue.

I grind myself against his face as pressure builds in my core. “Please.”

My hands slip again. This time they come off the window. I lift them back into place quickly, but not fast enough.

“I saw that,” he tells me.

For an instant, dread washes over me. He’s going to stop.

But he doesn’t, and my insides are back to blazing as he flattens his tongue along my clit, then licks inside me and pushes his tongue as deep as he can.

“Fuck.”

He’s a starving man, and my body is his feast. He continues working me over, but he adds his fingers to the mix, pressing two of them knuckle deep and finding the spot that sets the fireworks ablaze. He rubs his fingers and taps my clit in a different rhythm, and the orgasm that builds drives me to my tiptoes.

“I’m going to come.” I whimper the words, too overcome to stop them.

As soon as they’re out, he pulls his fingers from my pussy, and his hands find my hips again. His tongue shifts, and the orgasm backs off. Way off. Like a different zip code off.

“No.”

“I told you, love.”

“They slipped. It was only once,” I plead. I’ll do anything to reclaim the orgasm that’s barely out of reach.

He blows along my pussy, sending me into a full-body shiver.

“Ryder.” I widen my stance, desperate.

As I hoped, his attention focuses on my pussy again. His eyes glitter and his tongue glides along his lips, leaving a trail of moisture behind.

“I need you,” I tell him.

Need. Not want. The craving I have for him is impossible to ignore.

What did he call me? A drug he didn’t want to quit?

He’s the same for me.

“Fuck it.” With a growl, he dives toward me. He buries his tongue in my pussy and licks a line of heat to my clit. His fingers join in, pressing on my G-spot. That combination, his fingers and the way he sucks my clit, is all it takes.

I shatter in an explosion of pleasure, flying into the neon of colors, as he uses his tongue to work me through the orgasm. He only stops when my quaking knees buckle again. My fingers are curled into fists against the glass, my nails digging into my palms, leaving behind small red crescents. He stands in one fluid motion, lifting me in his arms and carrying me toward the bed.

His lips find mine, his tongue invading my mouth with a ravaging hunger. The taste of me on him pulls a moan from deep inside me. I tangle my fingers in his hair and relish the afterglow of my orgasm still humming through my blood, but I want more.

I need more.

I keep my arms around him as he lowers me to the bed, and I part my legs, giving him space to lie in the cradle of my thighs without breaking the kiss.

This kiss is different. The frenzy is gone. The flash fire has calmed.

This one is deeper, more dangerous, a steady flick of flame and heat.

“Make love to me, Ryder,” I whisper.