7. Chapter Seven #2
“This is just,” she breathes, her voice a mix of shock and heat. “It’s really big. Like you.”
I grin, my hand sliding to the back of her neck to grip her firmly. “Careful, wife,” I growl against her lips. “You’re going to lead me to believe you’re a filthy girl, and I’m certain you’re not.”
“Certain, huh?” she breathes, her thumb grazing the head of my dick.
I slowly trace a tantalizing circle around her lips with my tongue, never taking my eyes off hers as I watch her pupils blow wide. “Certain.”
I believe in love. I believe in the heart-stopping, world-ending kind.
But my proclivities? They lean toward fucking.
I’m a man of specific, darker tastes, and I usually have to be in a deeply trusting relationship before I can take a woman as far as I want to go.
It’s exactly why I’ve spent my fair share of time at Cinnamon Grove’s Supper Club.
It’s the perfect playground for a man like me.
Then again, so is Vegas. And so, apparently, is my wife. At least, she’d like to think she is.
She swallows hard, her gaze searching mine in the red-tinted dark. “How do you know…that I’m not filthy? What if I could be?”
I study her. I can see the dare dancing in them, but beneath the bravado, there’s a flicker of something else. There’s a hint of fear.
“Would you let me fuck you in a car like this?” I challenge, my voice dropping to a rough register. “Somewhere outside? In an alley? In the bathroom of a crowded club?”
Her breath hitches, her eyes blown wide in the dim red light. “I…what?”
I let my dick pulse against her palm, the contact emphasizing every word. “Right now. Forget a hotel room. I’d fuck you in a private dining area so hard, the patrons would stop eating just to listen to you come over and over again.”
“You’re serious?” she whispers, her thumb tracing the head of my dick, her touch hesitant but curious.
“I’ve never been more serious. Let me take you out of here and do filthy things to you, Ms. Mysterious. Let me see if you can actually handle the things I want to do to you.”
I frame her face between my palms, needing to taste her again before the world intrudes. While her brain is still clearly rewiring itself, I crush my mouth to hers. It’s a greedy, possessive thing. A hard reminder of exactly what she’s playing with.
“I’d love to eat your pussy while we take one of those romantic horse-drawn carriages around the city,” I rasp against her lips. “I saw one just a few blocks back. Would you let me, wife?”
She’s speechless, her lips parted, and her face flushed. The “Goody Two-Shoes” has officially been replaced by a woman who looks like she’s just discovered a brand-new kink. A new appetite.
And fuck, do I want to feed her.
I let a slow, knowing smile spread across my face before leaning in to steal one more chaste, lingering kiss. “Just what I thought. This is fun, Aspen. But it’s probably best to stop this now and find a solution for our stolen things.”
She bites her bottom lip. “Fine. But I could, you know. I could be into it.”
I smile. “I know, my beautiful wife,” I say, my thumb smoothing over her cheekbone. “But I’d rather be sure you’re ready. I don't want to frighten you.”
“Sounds dangerous,” she whispers as we begin the clumsy process of untangling our limbs to climb out of the car.
“You have no idea,” I warn, offering her a hand.
She fans herself with her free hand, a small, shaky laugh escaping her. “Come on,” she says, regaining her footing and lacing her fingers with mine. “My friends said they’d be at the new club near the Venetian. If we can find them, Mylene has my spare key, and her phone has my location tracked.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I say, my voice still rough with the remnants of the heat between us. “But I’m not entirely off the horse and carriage escapade, if you change your mind.”
She doesn't pull away. Instead, she offers me a slow, feline smile that reaches her eyes before she breaks into a laugh.
It wasn’t a ‘no.’ And in this city, an absence of a 'no' feels like the ultimate jackpot.
Aspen
That was…interesting.
The same woman who went six months without going past second base with Croix actually considered letting a stranger do filthy things to her in public places.
What is becoming of me? Is this the rite of passage Tatum and Holly warned me about?
Is this what happens to every ‘good girl’ who sets foot in Vegas?
Because if so, I should have come a long time ago.
Then again, if I had, I wouldn’t have met him.
The timing feels intentional. Purposeful.
Even with the night dissolving into a series of strange and unfortunate events, something about him makes it all make sense.
And the kissing—the way he kisses me defies sense and sensibility.
It’s a masterclass in tension and ache, and I like it entirely too much.
So much that the mere thought of a horse-drawn carriage now has my pulse erratic and my panties a drenched mess.