My Sinful Nights: Book One in the Sinful Men Series

by Blakely, Lauren

  She pulled away to slide her dress past her hips, showing me the top of her panties. White lacy panties. Blood pounded in my cock as I gripped myself.

  “More,” she said, tipping her chin to my crotch. “I love watching you.”

  I shuttled my hand harder, working my fist over my dick. “You get me so crazy with wanting you. You love turning me on. You move your hips—I’m hard. You walk into the room—I’m ready to take you. God forbid you bend down to pick up something that dropped on the floor. You don’t even want to know what would go through my head.”

  “Oh, I do. I do want to know,” she said, sliding the dress past her panties, letting it fall to the floor.

  My hand tugged harder. My breathing grew unsteady. “I’d grab your hair, push you against a chair. Lift your ass in the air, and sink deep into your sweet, wet pussy.”

  It was her turn to moan, a throaty, feminine sound that made my balls tighten. She returned to me, clad only in her panties and the shoes I’d bought for her. “I love watching you touch yourself, knowing you’re thinking of fucking me.”

  “I’m always thinking of fucking you, Shannon,” I said, on an upstroke. My spine tingled as she resumed her lap dance, her heat mercilessly close to my dick. “Fuck, Shan. I need you so much. Need to be inside you.” I set my dirty words aside for a moment to say the kind I needed in this moment. “Let me make love to you, babe.”

  She leaned in, her breasts pressed to my chest, her mouth on my jaw. “I need that too, Brent. Need it so much. Need all of you again.”

  Finally.

  We were finally going to come together the way we’d been dying to.

  Clothes flew off, and the woman I adored straddled me, positioning herself over my cock.

  I groaned so damn loudly from the expectation of pleasure, from the absolute otherworldly bliss of reuniting with her like this.

  Of fucking and making love.

  Because that was what it was with my woman.

  She rubbed against the head, then unleashed the sexiest moan of pleasure in the world, chased by my name. The way she said it, full of lust and love, left me with no doubts.

  “You,” I moaned, ready to thrust up into her when my phone beeped.

  An alarm.

  Tension swept over me. What the hell was that?

  She raised a curious brow. “Is that a sex alarm?” It came out playful.

  And when my tardy brain finally reminded me of my fuck-up, I dropped my head against the couch, cursing, then I muttered, “I have a plane to catch.”

  32

  Brent

  She was a statue.

  She didn’t move for ages.

  Then, in slow motion, her lips parted. “What did you say?”

  Holy hell. What did I say? What didn’t I say?

  I smacked my forehead, and my own sheer idiocy mocked me. I hadn’t told her I had to leave tonight.

  I had forgotten to tell her I had to move my departure.

  And on top of that, I’d practically forgotten my flight too.

  With the weight of twelve tons of bricks on me, I dragged a hand through my hair. “I have to catch the red-eye.”

  She stopped moving. “When did you get the room?”

  “Earlier today,” I said, rewinding briefly to the call with Nate. And then, holy shit. Fuck me with a chainsaw. The call with Tanner.

  I heaved a sigh. I’d packed a bag and tossed it in the trunk of the town car on the way to pick her up, but had promptly forgotten about my flight the second I’d laid eyes on Shannon. Hence the alarm.

  “When where you going to tell me you were leaving tonight?”

  I groaned my frustration. “I was going to tell you when I saw you. But . . .”

  “But what?”

  “I got distracted by you,” I admitted.

  She laughed, but it was a mirthless sound. And it was made worse when she wriggled off me, grabbed her clothes, and yanked on her panties.

  “You were distracted?” she asked, like it didn’t compute. “Now I’m really confused. You knew I wanted to be with you tonight. Knew I wanted to make love, and you were just going to bang me and catch a flight?”

  I heard worse than shock in her words. I heard self-loathing. Like she couldn’t believe she’d be with someone who’d do that.

  And honestly, it was a dick move.

  But I hadn’t meant to do it. “Shan, it’s not like I wanted this,” I said, standing and grabbing my clothes too.

  Well done, brain. Well fucking done.

  “Right, but it seems like you could have remembered at some point. Like, at my house or in the car or during intermission or in the elevator.”

  “It seems that way, but we were talking about important stuff in the car. Remember?”

  She rolled her eyes, holding up a hand. “Don’t. Don’t go there.”

  “Look, I’m sorry. I should have said something, and I didn’t,” I said, frustration laced through every word, stringing them together. “And now I have a plane to catch in sixty fucking minutes.”

  As she tugged on her dress, she shot me a sharp stare. “Then you should go.”

  “Don’t be like that,” I said with a sigh.

  “Like what?” she fired back, then dropped her voice. “You should go. That’s the reality. You set an alarm. You have a flight. Go.” Her tone was too cool for my taste.

  “Shan,” I said, zipping my jeans. “It’s the New York club. Remember the guy who called earlier in the week when we were at lunch?”

  She nodded as she grabbed her shoes. “Yes.”

  “I told you I had to go to New York for dinner tomorrow night to meet with the head of the neighborhood association, but I just found out this afternoon, after I booked this room, that they had to move the meeting to lunch tomorrow instead, so I have to catch a red-eye tonight instead of a morning flight. But I didn’t want to miss anything tonight with you. It’s not like I wanted this.”

  She exhaled, taking her time. “And it’s not like I wanted to be taking it slow, getting to know you again, falling hard for you, and then tonight to be ready. It’s not like I wanted to be naked, on top of you, about to make love to you for the first time in ten years, and then have to cut the night short.”

  When she put it like that . . .

  I shoved my phone in my jeans.

  Tension twisted in my chest, squeezing my lungs. The last thing I wanted was to fight with her, not when she’d been melting in my arms moments ago. And I didn’t want to miss my flight either. “I’m sorry. But I have to go.”

  Her green eyes were like stone. “I get it. I do. It’s important. You should leave.”

  And I knew what she wasn’t saying. That work came first again. I didn’t know how to tell her that it wasn’t true.

  Because it looked true. It felt true to her.

  But even if I didn’t know how to ask for absolution, I had to try my best. “Look, I forgot to say anything about the change in my flight. It happened this afternoon at four o’clock. This guy is running me around, working me over, ragging my ass about my rep and the club. He’s looking for reasons not to do business with me. The neighbors are worried I’ll bring trouble to the neighborhood. They didn’t like my late-night show or something, and now I have to be squeaky clean. I have a lot on the line. I’ve promised jobs to people. I have to show up. It’s not like I want to go to New York at midnight—I’m just trying to do it all.”

  “They think you’ll bring trouble to the neighborhood?” she asked, latching onto that detail.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “That’s not who you are.” Her tone was defensive, like she was protecting me. It was an odd sound, but not an unwelcome one.

  “I know,” I said, though I didn’t know what she was getting at.

  And once again I wasn’t sure where we stood.

  All I knew was I had to leave. I stepped toward her, setting a hand on her cheek. “You’re not second best. You could never be second best.”

&nbs
p; “Thank you.” She swallowed and looked away, then put on some strange sort of smile. “You should go.”

  I put her in a cab to take her home, but the expression on her face was unsettling.

  The look said she was checking out of us.

  33

  Brent

  Focus did not come easily.

  But I didn’t have the luxury of fucking up.

  I didn’t have James with me to save my ass.

  And I was the goddamn boss.

  So I had to man up and take care of business in New York.

  When I landed in the morning, I sent her a message telling her I missed her and she replied Same here, but that was it.

  I’d have to be okay with that. This time around, we were figuring out how the hell to navigate what this was.

  At least I hoped so.

  But now it was time for business.

  * * *

  Turned out the head of the neighborhood association had a guilty pleasure.

  Vegas.

  “Love the city, love the Strip, love to gamble,” he said in a confessional whisper over lunch on Sunday.

  “No better place to lose money than Sin City,” I remarked as I tucked into the prime rib.

  “What was it like growing up there?” Alan asked, hungry for details. “You must have stories to tell.”

  Over steak, I entertained Alan and Tanner with stories of the Strip, tales of mob bosses, and details about shows and neon and gambles won and lost.

  Alan was enrapt. “But there’s a seedy underside too,” he said. “Don’t you think there’s a very seedy underside?”

  “Sure,” I said, a little wary now because what did this have to do with anything? “But that’s the case with any city.”

  “Right, but Vegas has its very own Crips. What are they called?”

  “The Royal Sinners,” Tanner supplied.

  Tension shot through me. Why the hell was he bringing them up? “Yes, but gangs aren’t unique to Vegas.”

  “That is true,” Alan said with a laugh, then a shrug. “And hey, what do I know about gangs? I’m just a guy with a bit of an obsession with true crime.”

  The tension dug deeper into me. Did he know something about Shannon? Was he going fishing on this tell me about Vegas expedition?

  “True crime is all the rage,” I said, adding a smile, trying to keep my comments general, like this discussion could only ever be about pop culture.

  “Man, it sure is,” Tanner said, jumping in. “There’s a podcast I’ve been listening to, and the theme this season is the most cold-blooded murders for hire . . .”

  My head clanged, and my blood chilled.

  I gritted my teeth as they talked, trading stories about their favorite episodes. No one mentioned the Paige-Prince family, and for that I was grateful.

  Still, my skin prickled with every word they said. Even though the conversation was simply circumstantial.

  Finally, Alan cleared his throat. “But let’s get down to business. You want to win over the neighborhood association, and that’s not going to happen by talking about true crime.” He slapped on a smile.

  “No, it’s not,” I said, pasting on a grin too. Were both of ours fake? I didn’t know, but I sure as hell wanted to move on to other topics. “Talk to me about who I need to win over, Alan. Tell me what you see in your neighborhood,” I said, dead set on shifting gears.

  Alan clucked his tongue. “Look. As much as I love shooting the breeze about Vegas, that’s just between us guys. When it comes to the neighborhood, you need to present a different side. We’re all about families. We want to see that you’re a family guy. That’s what matters. You need to meet the people in the neighborhood. Show you care.”

  “That’s easy, because I do care.”

  “Good. We’ve got a big picnic coming up in the park. Fundraiser for some neighborhood services. I’ll get you the date. You could come by and say hello. Meet the neighbors. Talk to them. Let them know you’re a family guy at heart. Don’t say much about comedy. Don’t tell dirty jokes. And all that shit we just riffed on?”

  “The Vegas stuff. The true-crime stuff,” Tanner added, like I could forget it.

  “What about it?” I asked.

  Alan made a slashing sign across his throat. “Don’t say a word.”

  I furrowed my brow, wanting to point out that I wasn’t the one who’d brought up the subjects in the first place. But I didn’t want to rock the boat. Instead, I said, “I have a million other things I can talk about.”

  “Good. Because Vegas is verboten.”

  I couldn’t help but wonder why.

  * * *

  But after another hour with the two of them, I left the meeting figuring that they were simply playing their parts.

  Alan and Tanner were two men who liked to swear like bros, talk like pigs, and then act like choirboys.

  They weren’t my favorite people, but I’d learned their rules and had figured out how to play their games.

  Alan had asked me to swing by and meet his wife and kids that evening, and I’d said yes, so I’d do that later.

  Back at my hotel, I unknotted my green tie and tossed it on the king-size bed. Making quick work of the buttons on my crisp white shirt, I stripped that off next, grateful to be rid of it. I grabbed my phone, scrolled to my messages, and clicked open the photo Shannon had sent me a couple of days ago—one she’d snapped at the photo booth on Friday afternoon. She’d added a bushy black mustache to my face, and planted a purple wig on her own head.

  I ran my fingertip across her face. Even in a silly shot like this, she was beautiful. I dropped my head onto the pillow. “I’m so screwed,” I muttered.

  I was more than crazy about her. I was completely under her spell, hypnotized, and I never wanted it to end. It hadn’t taken much for me to fall back under. I was nearly there before I’d even started seeing her again. But then she did things like this—things that were so goofy, so silly, and so utterly us. Things that made me want to hold on tight and never let go.

  But she’d seemed so out of sorts last night. Understandable, but still, I’d felt her drifting away.

  And that was not going to fly with me.

  An arrival text wasn’t enough.

  I had to be the man she needed.

  But more so, I had to be the man I wanted to be.

  Even if work got in the way now and then, I needed to let her know she was first in my mind and my heart.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of pink and purple on my upper arm. The tattoo she’d given me was still there. That was as good a reason as any to call her.

  “Hey,” she said when she answered on the second ring. The background noise told me she was in the car.

  “Hey you. Guess what I just learned?” I asked, as if I had a big surprise.

  “Tell me.” Her voice sounded light, and I hoped that meant I was forgiven.

  “Those temporary tattoos last at least two days,” I said.

  She laughed. “Admit it. You just haven’t showered since the day at the photo booth.”

  I heaved an exaggerated sigh. “You’re right. I’m a pig. Also, I am not a mustache guy. Remind me to never ever grow one because I look stupid as hell like this. You, on the other hand, are hot in a purple wig.”

  “Why, thank you. I do have mad Photoshop skills, don’t I?”

  “Could be another career path for you,” I said, parking my free hand behind my head, thinking how epic it was to slide right back into this kind of comfortable banter with my woman. “By the way, have I mentioned I was sorry for jetting last night?”

  “You have,” she said softly. “And it’s fine. We’re good.”

  “But I’ll say it anyway. I’m sorry for letting you down. And for taking off early.”

  “We are all good. I swear.”

  “So I’m forgiven?”

  “You were never unforgiven. That was just a speed bump. We made it over.”

  I grinned. “We s
ure did, and I will make it up to you. I promise.”

  “Anyway, how was the meeting? I keep thinking about what you said when you left. How they were worried you’d bring trouble to the neighborhood. Did that come up today?”

  Ah, the heart of the matter. Do I tell her they mentioned one of her least favorite topics? Or do I keep that to myself?

  Keeping things to myself wouldn’t help us move forward.

  Still, I figured treading lightly was best. “Mostly good. He made it clear he’ll go to bat for me as long as I don’t bring any baggage to the table.”

  I was met with silence on the other end of the phone.

  Dead silence.

  “Sorry,” she said in a quiet voice, sounding strained. But her reaction didn’t compute.

  “Why are you sorry?”

  “I’m sorry he said that,” she added.

  “Oh. Sure. Me too.”

  “Did he explain what he meant by it?” she asked, as the beep from her turn signal echoed in the background.

  Staring at the ceiling, I asked myself if this was the moment to be fully honest. After last night, though, I needed to do just that. “Turns out they aren’t too wild about me being from Vegas,” I said, starting with that.

  “That’s odd.”

  “The guys were into it, but they don’t want me to talk it up when I meet the neighbors. They want all the Vegas connection on the down-low. And the weird thing is—they brought up the Royal Sinners.”

  “What?” Her voice rose.

  “They’re true-crime junkies. It was nothing specific, babe. Just general questions. They both listen to true-crime podcasts.”

  “But why would they bring up the Royal Sinners?” she asked in a rush.

  “I think it was just curiosity. They were asking all sorts of questions about Vegas and the mob and gangs.”

  “That has nothing to do with your clubs.”

  “I know that. I absolutely know that.” I settled into the soft covers on the bed. “But what can I do? I need New York. The location is perfect, and New York is the centerpiece of our expansion plans. I’m meeting the neighborhood association president’s wife and daughter tonight to say hi, so that should help. I just have to jump through their hoops.”