Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
VANESSA
If anyone other than my very closest friends asked, I would deny it in a heartbeat.
But to myself ?
I couldn’t lie.
There wasn’t much I didn’t like about Alec’s appearance on Late Night with Greg Raymonde , but when he told that man, on live TV no less, that he would smack the shit outta him for disrespecting me?
Well…
That was my tipping point.
I drowned out all the noise, even the encouragement from my friends, and made the decision that felt good to me and me alone.
Which was how I ended up having a lovely private dinner at Veil with Alec.
We weren’t hiding really—we just wanted to be sure our privacy would actually be maintained this time, and this was how the people in Vegas did it. Veil was an experience onto itself—extensive security vetting, private elevators, several restaurants to choose from, a small casino, and of course, the main attraction, which was the hotel.
Not that I was planning to need it.
The only area that wasn’t ultra-restricted was the lobby, which guests could easily circumvent. Secluded hallways led to cloaked entrances for everything, and every window had the coveted feature of obscuring the ability to see in, while providing an obstructed view out.
It was perfect.
Which was why I had zero qualms about being damn near in Alec’s lap as we had dinner—beautifully prepared gourmet surf and turf, flawlessly poured cocktails, and finally…back to the kind of conversations we used to have before the last few weeks had blown up.
Effortless ones, about everything, and not much of anything.
“So you’re serious?” I giggled. “I would’ve never taken you for a conspiracy-theory kinda guy.”
“I’m not saying I believe all of them—or even this one. I am saying…I understand the logic.”
I laughed even harder, leaning into his shoulder. “Alec, how is that not the same thing as believing it?!”
“Because I don’t believe it, but I…I believe it could happen. Not that it did,” he explained, sipping the last of his simple bourbon and coke. “With the exact right conditions, you know?”
“Yeah,” I murmured, looking up at him from the position I was in. “I know.”
He stared back at me for a moment, then shook his head, putting his glass back down on the table. “What are you doing right now, Vee?”
I raised an eyebrow. “ Vee ? I’m getting a new nickname now?”
“I’m testing it.” He smirked. “How do you feel about it?”
“Well…nobody else calls me that…it’s short and simple…it could be a winner. It’s cute—like Shaw calling my friend Ellie .”
“Cute wasn’t exactly what I was aiming for,” he said, reaching up to brush a tendril of hair from my face.
I grinned. “Change my mind about it then.”
“You sure?”
My eyes went wide. “I…don’t know, that question is a little alarming.” I laughed. “What does that mean, am I sure ?”
“Are you sure you want me to change your mind about it being cute?”
“I was just saying something,” I admitted. “But now I’m curious.”
He wet his lips with his tongue, then dipped his head, speaking into my ear. “Your titties look very suckable in that dress, Vee,” he muttered, in this tone that rippled through me to land right between my legs.
Lingering.
“Shit,” I groaned. “I…see.”
“Good.”
When I met his gaze again, it was very…familiar.
Very reminiscent of how he’d been looking at me on that couch during our Arnez and Arizona appearance. This time though, instead of just looking, he reached out to touch, using a hand under my chin to tip it up so he could kiss me.
His other arm snaked around my back, closing at my waist to pull me in.
Okay.
He wasn’t playing.
And I was perfectly willing to participate, happily indulging the maneuverings of his tongue in my mouth, different from either other time.
The first time had been…a little uncertain.
The second…a little conservative, due to the setting.
This time…I wasn’t sure if it was the liquor or the expectation of privacy, but he kissed me like he had a point to prove, like…he definitely wanted to take advantage of one of the hotel rooms so conveniently in our reach.
Or hell…maybe just… right here.
No.
“Are you trying to get in my panties, Alec?” I asked when we finally managed to pull away to take a breath.
“That depends—are you extending an invitation?”
Was I?
As completely ready and willing as my body was…my mind wasn’t quite as sure. The last person I slept with— freaking Bronx Boy— had truly just been a fling, and had been intended as this ultra-private, one-time thing I could smile about when I pulled it from my memories.
And it was that, until it ended up being a fucking disaster, through no fault of either of us.
I was already skittish about being connected to anyone after that, and now all this drama was just making it so much worse. Making me so…fearful.
I didn’t want to feel like that.
What I wanted was whatever nameless emotion this was that Alec made me feel. Comfortable, desired, valued, cared for, all wrapped up into this one foreign thing I couldn’t find the right word for.
Whatever it was, it was too alluring to allow overthinking to get in the way.
“We should get a room.”
He didn’t smile, but approval gleamed in his eyes as he met my gaze, holding it to ask, “Are you sure? It’s cool if?—”
“No. I’m sure,” I said.
So…we got a room.
It was quiet between us after that though, through leaving the restaurant to board the glass-walled elevator.
Confidence in my appearance had never, ever been a problem for me, but the way Alec stared at me the whole ride to the one of the highest floors, completely ignoring the stunning view in favor of scrutinizing me, was…daunting. I turned away from him, staring out at the glittering, colorful lights of the city as a reprieve.
It worked well.
I was so committed to not paying attention to him that I didn’t even catch that he’d crossed the small space to come up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist.
Verbally, he said nothing.
But his mouth on my neck said plenty.
“ Mmmm ,” I groaned, closing my eyes as his tongue flicked against my ear. He trailed kisses down the curve of my neck, the back of my shoulder, then reversed course. His teeth grazed my skin for a gentle bite before he closed down, sucking hard enough that it would probably leave a mark.
I didn’t care.
We didn’t separate when the elevator went off—we stayed stuck together just like we were, somehow making a smooth transition to the door. He let me go just long enough to retrieve the key card and get inside. He was on me again as soon as we crossed the threshold, hiking me up to press against the cool steel of the closed door so I could wrap my legs around his waist.
We’d put this off for so long that now that we were finally on the precipice it felt so damn urgent.
Downright important.
His tongue in my mouth again was a crucial first step—it muffled my shriek of pleasure when he slipped a hand into my panties. His fingers were incredibly persuasive, coaxing ample wetness to facilitate the friction against my clit, then slipping and sliding to tease my lips, the magnitude of two fingers breaching my pussy.
“ Shit ,” he groaned, in clear admiration.
I hated the loss of his fingers inside me, but loved the visual of him putting those same fingers in his mouth, tasting me, so clearly enjoying the flavor against his tongue. He dropped my feet to the ground, dropped to his knees, dropped my panties, and flung them somewhere deeper in the room. He hiked my dress up over my hips, hiked one of my thighs up on his shoulder, grabbed handfuls of both my ass cheeks to keep me steady.
Then dove face-first.
There was nothing to muffle my exaltation of pleasure that time.
I watched, enthralled, as he did exactly what he’d looked like he wanted to do on the couch that night—devour me.
Nothing gentlemanly about it.
He was ravenous, unashamedly grunting, slurping, sucking, licking, getting me all over his face as he turned me into a whimpering mess with his mouth. It was kinda surreal, actually.
Black America’s favorite, “respectable” pretty boy was nose-deep in my pussy, fingers up to his knuckles pressing into just the right spot that had me moaning his name, not knowing—or caring—who might hear it. When I couldn’t support my weight anymore and was just holding on by my grip on his hair, he pushed my other thigh over his shoulder too, opening me wider for more access to lap me clean with his tongue.
I could barely breathe after.
He was fully locked in though, easily hefting me in his arms. I expected the bedroom, but no—he stopped at the first elevated surface—the counter in the miniature kitchen—to rid both of us of our clothes.
He…wasn’t lying when he said I needed multiple fingers that day on the phone.
My mouth watered as I watched him roll a condom onto more dick than any one man deserved, then step between my legs—he hadn’t asked me to open, I just did . I was already dripping with a fresh wave of wetness, my pussy more than happy to receive his offering.
He sank in as far as he could go, and then grabbed my legs to spread wider, somehow finding space to push deeper, filling me to the absolute fringes of pain and pleasure.
It was fucking perfect .
He grabbed a handful of my hair at the back, pulling my mouth to his as he fucked me deep and slow. My fingers gripped the edges of the counter, holding on tight as my pussy constricted and released around him, welcoming the tension, the stretching, the weight of him inside me.
Finally .
I moved my grip from the counter to his ass, digging my nails in to encourage him impossibly deeper. His free hand found one of my nipples, pulling, plucking, squeezing, making me squirm as he answered my unspoken request for him to go deeper.
Faster.
Harder.
That coil of pleasure in the pit of my stomach coiled tighter and tighter with every stroke, and as it built, I knew with absolute certainty…we never should’ve crossed this line.
His tongue in my mouth was too perfect, the skill of his fingers between my legs too masterful, the surge in his hips too seamlessly in tune with my preferred cadence for this to ever be a one-time thing the way it probably should.
This was the type of sex that made a girl feel a little possessive.
A lot possessive, actually.
“ Vee ,” Alec groaned, dragging his mouth from mine to speak into my ear.
“Yeah?” I whimpered, moving my hands to his shoulders, holding on tight as he dug into me with expertly slow, penetrating strokes that incited a deep tremor in my thighs.
“You know your pussy isn’t the only thing that’s mine after this, right?”
I wanted to answer, but I couldn’t.
Any possible words got stuck in my throat as my mind blanked, overcome by the sudden rush of orgasm clouding my senses, overwhelming everything except a deeply entrenched state of…bliss.
Anything else was a blur.
Sounds muffled, colors muted down to grayscale.
Vaguely, I felt the tension in his hips and shoulders as he came, felt his breath on my ear, but I was practically floating for a moment.
And then it all came back in a rush of sweet sensation.
He hadn’t pulled out—he was still buried in me deep, his hips lodged against mine as he caught his breath. I grabbed both sides of his face, bringing his mouth to mine so he could kiss me again, and he eagerly obliged.
“You heard what I said?” he asked, lips against mine when he finally pulled back.
“Yeah.”
“And?”
I could’ve teased him.
Could’ve taken the moment to play a little game, try to put myself in charge. But the absence of his dick left me feeling entirely too hollow, too hungry for more of him. So instead, I slipped down from the counter for my turn on my knees, grinning as I pulled the used condom off him.
“Tell me more about what’s included in the Belongs to Alec Everett package.”