Chapter 3
Alyssia
“You should’ve ordered two servings,” I say, peering down at the last piece of calamari on Travis’ plate.
“If I knew I was having company, I would’ve.”
My lips fall into a frown when he spears the perfectly breaded and fried piece of seafood with his fork, but instead of eating the delicious morsel himself, he holds it up to my lips.
Travis stares into my eyes, patiently waiting for me to open my mouth to receive the gift of the last bite of the meal we just shared.
When I do, the glint in his eyes mirrors the Las Vegas Strip lights streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows of his suite.
He watches me eat with a rapt attention that comes close to stealing my breath. I chew slowly, enjoying the way his gaze travels downward from my eyes to my nose, to the movement of my jaw, farther down to my neck as I swallow. He observes it all.
“Did you get enough?”
I nearly miss the question as my mind begins wandering into dangerous territory. I do my best to hold the promise I made to myself before stepping into his hotel room firm in my mind.
“Huh?” I blot my lips with a napkin and try to ignore how Travis watches even that movement.
“Are you still hungry? I could order room service,” he offers.
I wave my hands. “I should feel bad for making you split your meal.”
“Don’t,” he insists. “You were the cause for me actually taking my time with dinner instead of scarfing it down while I worked.”
“Workaholic, huh?” I tease.
He chuckles before running a hand through his curly hair. “Focused,” he answers, his voice strengthening.
“Then you’re in town for work?” We haven’t discussed our careers, and frankly, I don’t want to, but the question comes out anyway.
“I am. You?”
I shake my head and rise from my chair, crossing the carpeted floor to the window. “Friend-cation,” I reply over my shoulder.
Travis approaches. “The friend from the bar who has better taste than you.”
I narrow my eyes on him, pulling a sideways smile from his lips.
“Kandace does have better taste than me,” I admit.
“They say acceptance is the first step to recovery.”
I bite my inner lip, refusing to smile.
“Then you two make these trips to Vegas often?”
“Vegas, Miami, Mexico City. We don’t live near one another, so we have to plan our get togethers. It just so happened that her husband had a work conference here this week at the same time one of our favorite cover bands is playing.”
“Let me guess, she’s the one who introduced you to the band.”
“Every great friendship has the more outgoing one with slightly better taste and the introverted one. Guess which category I fall into?”
He cocks his head to the side, the space between his brows wrinkling. “Is that true?”
I jut my head back. “You’ve never noticed?”
His expression gives his answer away.
“It’s everywhere,” I exclaim. “Bert and Ernie, Galinda and Elphaba …”
“Lilo and Stitch,” he adds.
I snap and point at him. “See, you get it.”
“Jekyll and Hyde,” he adds.
“Does that one really count? Technically, he was only one person.”
Travis shrugs a shoulder. “Never read the book even though it was assigned. Wasn’t into school much,” he offers casually. “For the sake of your argument, we’ll say it counts.”
“Oh, bacon and eggs is another one.”
“Bacon is the extrovert of that duo.”
“Definitely bacon,” I mumble with a grin before turning to face the window again.
We both stare out at the lights in silence for a while. Travis’ arm brushes against mine, and though there’s no direct skin to skin contact due to our clothing, heat rushes through me.
The silence isn’t awkward or displeasing in the way I would think it would be with a person who’s a practical stranger. Not even when Travis slips a hand behind my back, holding me by the waist.
“I love this view.”
“One of my favorites in the city,” he tells me. “I request this room every year when I come into town.”
“What do you enjoy about it?” I ask.
I sense the precise moment his gaze leaves me and he peers through the glass.
“I like seeing the city from this high up. Reminds me of all of the possibilities, the ways to enjoy. I don’t get a lot of free time while here for work and my job has me viewing the city from a much lower angle.”
“On the Strip?” I ask.
“You could say that.”
I nod, not wanting to probe any further about his work.
I motion with my chin toward the view. “What possibilities do you see from up here, Mr. Townsend?” I tease.
His hand inches farther along my waist, pulling me into his body. I willingly go, inhaling his citrusy, masculine scent.
“Winning,” he answers, staring down at me. “That’s what Vegas is all about. People come here full of hopes and dreams to hit it big at a casino, or make it onto one of the coveted stages or … what I do. It’s all about winning.”
“Winning is everything?”
The corners of his lips flex. “Here it is. And in life.”
On an inhale, I mull over his words.
“Winning looks different for everyone,” I finally say. “Some people just want safety, security, and a place to call home.”
His fingers tighten. “That’s not winning. Those are the basics.”
“To some, the basics are winning. Especially if you once had those very things ripped away from you—” I clamp my mouth shut.
“Everyone knows what winning looks like,” he says, then motions toward the lights. “There. That’s winning. You’re lucky if you get to own it, even just for a moment.”
There’s a reverence in his voice with an underlying edge in it. I wonder what he’s seeking, or what’s seeking him.
“And I always get lucky in Vegas,” he finishes.
The hard edge in his voice arouses something inside of me. I don’t believe in luck, not for me, anyway. Yet when he says it, I believe it exists for him.
And that makes me want to believe it for myself.
It gives me something to reach for, something almost palpable and solid to hold onto.
As a person who’s felt adrift for longer than I can remember, there’s a security in being with someone who knows who and what it is they want. Even if this coupling, if it’s even that, lasts for a little while.
“Then you must be a gambler,” I say. “Your luck extending to the casinos.”
His eyes drop as he looks down at me. “The gamblers get lucky betting on me,” he states, his voice rigid with conviction.
“No one can make the claim that you lack for confidence.”
He moves in front of me, pinning my back against the window glass. My arms come up around his shoulders.
“Confidence well earned, Alyssia.”
My knees weaken a little from the sound of my name on his lips.
He presses into my body, making heat lick through my veins. The fire burning in his eyes rivals the lights on the Strip.
At the back of my mind, something knocks, reminding me of a promise I’d made to myself before entering this room, but I can’t quite recall what it was.
“Then show me,” I say, my voice coming out as a challenge. “Just for tonight,” I add.
Travis accepts
He crushes his lips against mine while pulling my hands from around his neck. One of his hands tightens on my hip while the other binds my two wrists over my head. Pushing his body into mine, he forces my knees to widen to make room for his hips.
My dress rides up past my hips, exposing the lace panties I have on underneath.
Every touch, every caress, every brush of his breath against my skin reminds me of how long it’s been since I’ve been touched like this.
Even before Hudson and I broke up, we hadn’t been with one another for weeks.
Travis catches my bottom lip with his teeth.
He tugs before pressing his lips against mine. With this move, he takes possession of my body.
That’s the only way I can describe it.
My leg rises, wrapping around his jean-clad ass. Travis loosens his grip on my wrists, stoops low, and uses his hands to spread my thighs around his waist.
My breath catches when he lifts me from my feet, giving himself space between my thighs and firmly anchoring me against the window.
He intertwines his fingers with mine and raises our arms above our head, never breaking the connection of our mouths.
When I sever our kiss for much needed air, Travis uses the opportunity to trail those magical lips lower, kissing and biting the flesh of my neck as he goes.
A moan passes my lips when he bumps his hips against my pelvis. The bulge in his jeans is unmistakable.
“You taste like heaven,” he says against the shell of my ear. “Does every part of you taste as good?” Now his lips brush against mine as he asks me this.
He’s a talker.
My body shivers.
“Why don’t you find out for yourself,” I suggest, panting.
That beautifully bowed top lip leads the charge as his mouth contorts into a smirk. The seam of my panties doesn’t stand a chance against the torrent of moisture that pools there.
“Don’t move your hands,” he warns a second before releasing my wrists and yanking my knees farther apart.
Travis isn’t particularly broad or buff, but the man has instincts like a jaguar and is strong as a damn gladiator.
But that mouth?
His mouth is full of secrets that he obviously wants to share with me.
Or share with my pussy.
Because as soon as he puts his lips against my core, a moan of “Oh, God,” rips from my throat.
Yet, the barrier of my panties remains.
Not for long, though.
Travis hikes my dress up to my mid-section before using one finger to slide the seam of my panties to the side.
“Shit,” I grunt and moan at the same time from the way he runs his tongue over my aching clit.
We may have met only a couple of hours ago, but when he presses his entire mouth against my pussy and proceeds to do his best to slay me, I get the feeling that Travis isn’t the type to do anything half-assed.
My fingers curl in on themselves until my hands tighten into fists. My back arches away from the window, and I dig one of my heels into Travis’ back.
His assault on my body is relentless. I believe he’s encouraged by my physical response to the way he’s eating me out, because every caress that causes me to jerk and moan louder, he repeats until I’m crying out.