I have to think of a way to convince her.
After this.
Usually, I tease her until she's begging me to stop. Not today. Today, I need to feel her against my hand. I need her eyes locked on mine as she screams my name again and again.
I kiss her hard. I love the softness of her skin, the way she groans into my mouth as my fingers get closer.
She digs her hands into my hair, holding my head against hers. She needs this release.
She needs me.
I brush my fingers against her as softly as I can. She shudders. I do it again and again.
Each time, she shakes a little harder, kisses a little deeper.
When my thumb brushes against her clit, she breaks free of the kiss to groan.
Her eyes bore into mine. Her expression is needy. "Please."
Fuck yes. I stare into her blue eyes as I rub her.
She lets out another groan. One of her hands tugs at my hair. The other sinks into my shoulder. It feels fucking amazing, her hand on my bare skin. The look of pleasure on her face feels better. Fuck, that feels better than anything.
I rub her a little harder, a little faster. She holds my gaze as her eyes fill with pleasure. The bliss is all over her face—in the way her eyebrows relax, the way her eyes get heavy, the way her teeth sink into her lip.
"Pete." She tugs at my hair.
"Louder."
She's too busy groaning to get out a word. She lets out incomprehensible grunts. Then her fingers dig into my skin and she screams my name.
God damn, I love the way my name sounds on her lips.
I rub her harder. "Louder, baby."
"Pete," she groans. "Please don't stop."
Never. I bring my free hand to her chest. I play with her nipples as I stroke her.
Her eyes press together. There's beautiful agony all over her face. I steady my speed so I can soak in every second of it.
She screams my name again and again as she comes. The way it falls off her lips makes it hard to stay in control. Makes it hard to do anything but pin her to the bed and drive my cock deep inside her.
Her eyes blink open then they're on mine. She doesn't say anything, just presses her lips to mine.
Right now, she's mine.
I need more of that. I need her mine forever.
Chapter Forty-One
Pete
Mom is sitting at a roomy booth, her attention on her cellphone. When she puts it away, she shoots us a knowing look.
I shrug. Not like I can put anything past her.
Jess blushes. She tries to play cool, but she runs her words together. "Good morning, Ophelia. Did you have a nice night?"
Mom smiles at Jess then she shoots me an equally knowing look. Such a sweet girl. What is she doing with someone as depraved as you?
Jess hasn't quite figured out how much my mom likes to sleep around. I can't say that I think about it often, but she likes to remind me and Tom every chance she gets.
She thinks it's funny to make us blush.
"What?" Jess looks at me. "What are you two signaling telepathically?"
"Nothing, sweetheart. You don't need to hear the details of my night." Ophelia picks up her menu. "It was the usual. Went to a bar, met a woman, took her home."
"Oh." Jess blushes. "I thought you were seeing someone."
Ophelia shakes her head. "No, I'm afraid I've never wanted to settle down." She folds her menu and sets it aside. "Peter and Tom are all the commitment I need."
"I'm twenty-three," I say. "He's twenty-five now. I'm not sure you can play the single-mother card anymore."
"Yet, you still need your mother's advice constantly." Ophelia shakes her head in mock outrage. She looks to Jess. "Is he this stubborn with you?"
"Much worse." Jess looks to me then to Mom. "But he's very handsome, so I put up with it."
Mom laughs. "A woman after my own heart."
I clear my throat.
Mom lets out a deeper laugh. "Are you really jealous, sweetheart? I don't think anyone could steal Jess from you."
Fuck, am I jealous? Mom could steal just about any remotely bi-curious woman. But it's not like I ever doubt Jess's commitment or devotion.
I don't think about my ex too often anymore, but I do think about what happened, especially when I'm on the road. She and Kyle made it sound like their sordid affair was the inevitable result of the distance.
It was an excuse, but sometimes, I can't help but wonder if there's some truth to it.
Will Jess get tired of the distance? Of the fame bullshit?
Whatever happens, I'm not losing her.
I squeeze her hand. The way she squeezes back sends those doubts running for the hills.
"Why is it the two of you look distressed?" Ophelia asks. "When it's so obvious you just had sex."
Jess turns bright red.
I blush too.
Ophelia chuckles, amused. The three of us are silent until the server comes to take our orders. It's the usual breakfast stuff— eggs, toast, bacon, coffee.
Jess looks from Ophelia to me. "I guess I can see where you got your dirty mind."
"Me, dirty? Where did you get that idea?"
She shakes her head. "No one is believing that."
"It's true," Ophelia says. "You can protest better than that, Peter."
I chuckle. I used to hate it when she called me Peter. It was what my dad called me. But after ten years, it feels like home.
I take in Jess's expression. She's still a little awkward about Mom's sex comments, but she's smiling.
The server drops off our coffee. Jess fixes hers with plenty of cream and sugar and takes a long sip. She sighs with pleasure.
This is my chance. Not sure it will work, but I'm willing to try it.
I take a sip of my black coffee. Not great, but not bad. "Jess and I were talking about getting married while we're here."
"We were talking about that?" Jess raises a brow.
"Okay, I was talking about it," I say.
Mom cuts in. "What's the rush? Let your poor girlfriend—"
"Fiancée," I correct.
"Let your poor fiancée enjoy her life for a while. You're only twenty-three. Why do you need to get married this week?"
It's hard to explain. I need everything with Jess. I need it now.
I need to convince her, but this isn't the fucking way to do it.
I run my hand through my hair. "I'm sorry, baby. Don't mean any harm. Just want you to be my wife now."
Her gaze goes to her engagement ring then it's back to my eyes. "I'll think about it. But only if you agree to table the conversation for the rest of the day."
I can live with that deal. I nod.
"You swear? You bring it up once, and I'm going to flip." She pulls her long hair behind her back.
"Cross my heart and hope to die," I say.
She looks at me sideways. "I still can't decide if you're being sweet or pushy." She slides out of the booth. "Excuse me. Ladies' room."
I watch her walk away. The way her hips sway as she struts is fucking captivating.
Ophelia waits until Jess is out of earshot. "What is wrong with you?"
"What?" It's not a crime gawking at your fiancée. It would be wrong not staring at Jess's perfect ass.
"You know more about women than this." Ophelia takes a long sip of her coffee. She shakes her head with disapproval. "The woman is clearly mad for you. What's the rush?"
"You'd understand if you'd ever wanted something serious," I say.
"You've known her what, four months?"
"About that."
"Give it a year."
"Tom didn't."
Ophelia shakes her head. "You're not a follower, Peter. You never have been. Don't try to pin this on your brother."
Can't argue with that.
"You keep pushing her and you'll push her away."
"She lost her scholarship. She doesn't want me to pay."
"So you marry her?" She lets out a
chuckle. "I guess that is one way to solve the problem."
"I do want to marry her."
I'm not like Tom, Miles, or Drew. I never saw the appeal of casual hook-ups. Don't get me wrong—I still tried to fuck my way out of my misery, but I always knew, deep down, that it would feel empty. I've always wanted forever. But Cindy cheating—that fucked everything up.
I always knew, deep down, that Cindy and I weren't forever. When I tried to imagine a life together, some part was missing. With Jess, everything is clear. I can see us in that house on the beach in ten years. I can see her getting home from a long day in court, tired and achy, and me throwing her on the kitchen table, pulling her panties to her feet, and planting my head between her legs.
I can see us traveling every place in the world together, collapsing in our hotel room at night, peeling each other's clothes off before bed.
A lot of what I see is sex, sure, but there's more too. I see her walking at graduation. I see her squealing over her first job, her first win in court, her first law firm of her own.
I see a future for us.
I want her as my wife.
Ophelia clears her throat. "You really want to get married now?"
I nod.
"Then you need to convince her you want marriage, that you're not doing this to trick her into getting your way."
I know that much. The tricky part is the how.
Jess struts back into the restaurant. Sometimes, I get lost staring at her. Not sure which part of her I like the best—the angelic hair, the clear blue eyes, the librarian glasses, the narrow curve of her waist, the round flare of her hips, or the lush ass.
It's got to be the tattoo on her back. The one she got for me. Real or Not Real.
We both know this is real.
Just need to make sure the world knows it's forever.
She slides into the booth next to me and presses her forehead to mine. "Talk about me at all?"
"Mostly, Mom was telling me I was being an idiot," I whisper.
"She's a smart woman."
I nod. "Yeah, she is."
Jess looks up at me. "I do want to marry you. But I'm not sure I want to marry you in Vegas this week."
I press my pointer finger to my lip in the shhShh gesture. "Promised someone I'd table that conversation."
Her lips curl into a smile. "True." She leans back to a Mom is watching us appropriate distance. Her gaze meets Ophelia's. "Thanks for talking some sense into him."
"Sweetheart, nobody can get through that gorgeous head of his. But I did try."
Jess smiles. "That's all I can ask."
***
We spend the afternoon at a nearby aquarium. We spend the evening walking the fake Parisian streets and eating scallops and steak—and plenty of vegetables for Jess-at a secluded French restaurant.
After dinner, we take a tour of the fake Eiffel Tower. It's cold enough and quiet enough—not many people are in Las Vegas half a week before Christmas—that we have the tiny metal vista point to ourselves.
She squeezes my hands, taking in the view with delight in her eyes. The Strip is a dizzying mix of neon. The mountains to the west are low against the horizon. It's too bright to make out any stars, but the big silver moon hangs low in the desert sky.
This city is a real wealth of sensation. I wouldn't mind a week and a half on a quiet island with Jess. For a rock star, I'm not big on the whole sleep all day, party all night thing. I'd rather spend my time reading or practicing or making Jess come.
Especially making Jess come.
I let the sights and sounds of the day wash over me as I hold her close. Must have seen a million things, a million people, a million signs.
One stands out.
It's perfect.
It's enough to convince her.
Chapter Forty-Two
Jess
We wake at an ungodly hour—it’s so early the sky is still lit by neon rather than by the sun—eat breakfast in our hotel room, and take a cab to the Stratosphere Hotel.
Pete tries to play coy. Well, my fiancé pulls off mysterious well. He very much succeeds at playing coy. Still, I get the feeling there's something up his sleeve.
The horrifying hour of the day gives it away. No normal person would awake before eight A.M., especially in Sin City.
Thankfully, the early hour means the casino is quiet. Well, quiet by casino standards.
We're here for the main attraction—the viewpoint at the top of the hotel's hundred-something-story tower. I have to admit, it will be nice watching the sun rise over the desert. It would be nicer watching the sun rise from our hotel room, especially if we were naked in bed—
Dammit, when did I become such a sex-crazed maniac? Before Pete, I thought about sex a few times a day. Like a normal person. My ex, Nathan, wasn't exactly Casanova, but it was pleasant enough. Occasionally, I craved it. But now, I can't get enough of it.
No, that's not right.
I can't get enough of Pete.
There's no line for the observation tower at this time of day. But there is someone else in the clean, white elevator. He's wearing a bright blue hotel vest emblazoned with the hotel's name. He looks at Pete with recognition in his eyes, but he speaks only about the history of the tower and the city.
I absorb nothing. It's much too early for history. I rest my head against Pete's chest and soak in the feeling of his arms around mine. We don't have enough time together. I need every second of it. I need every ounce of him.
My ears pop three times during our ascent. I take a deep breath and swallow hard. There. That's better.
The elevator stops at the floor for the observation deck.
Pete squeezes my hand. His palm is usually cool and steady. Right now, it's not.
He's sweating.
He presses his lips together and shifts his weight between his feet.
He's nervous.
Why?
He looks at me with an utterly inscrutable expression. "You ready?"
"Ready for coffee." I smile. "But the view should be nice too."
"There's a rollercoaster. You want to look down 100 floors?" he asks.
"One hundred and eight floors," the elevator guy corrects. "There's also a slingshot ride at the very top of the tower. You get a 360-view of the strip. We have a great all-inclusive package. You can purchase it at the gift shop."
Pete smiles at me. "What do you say, baby? You want extra thrills today?"
It's too early in the morning for thrills. "I'll think about it."
There's a lightness to his expression, but there's no mistaking the nervous energy in his eyes. He shoves his hand into his pocket, takes it out, tries his back pocket, takes it out.
Has he ever been this nervous?
I don't think so.
What the hell is he up to? And why is he up to it this early in the morning?
The elevator boy is looking at us expectantly. Okay, we've been standing here for long enough. I squeeze Pete's hand and lead him onto the observation deck. Half of it is inside. The other half is outside the glass doors.
The view of the city is gorgeous. The sky is a soft shade of blue. The sunrise casts orange over half the sky. The other half is bright with the neon lights of the casinos.
This early, there are only about half-dozen people here— a few tipsy frat boys laughing over tchotchkes in the gift shop and a family of tourists in matching Las Vegas, Nevada t-shirts.
At first, Pete's whole we're normal thing didn't make any sense. Normal people don't swoon over cactus holiday gardens. They certainly don't have sex in public bathrooms at cactus holiday gardens.
But right now, this feels normal. A very Las Vegas kind of normal. We're up high enough that nothing else can get to us. No one— not family or friends or fans—knows where we are.
The world is ours.
There's some brave soul on the observation deck. It looks cold out there. But the guy is wearing something warm. A coat. No, a cape.
A white, st
udded cape.
He turns, and everything shifts into focus. He's an Elvis impersonator. Huh? That's strange, but in a totally normal for Las Vegas kind of way.
Pete slides his arm around my waist. "You want to say hello to The King?"
Uh... Why not? "Sure."
Pete chuckles, but there's something different about it. He's still nervous.
I study his expression. He's actually blushing. My goodness, is it hard to do anything but stare at his flushed cheeks. I nearly walk into the glass door.
Deep breath. I can ogle my fiancé later. Say when we aren't a few thousand feet above ground.
He pulls the door open for me. "After you." His voice is confident, but that nervousness is still there.
I force myself to focus on my footsteps. It's cold out here. Really cold. That's one way to wake up. Goosebumps spread over my neck. My eyes nearly burst open.
The Elvis impersonator looks to us. "Hello, Little Lady. Are you Miss Jessica James?"
What the hell? I look to Pete for a clue, but his expression gives nothing away.
"Yes, I am." I cinch my coat tighter.
Elvis looks to Pete. "And are you Mr. Peter Steele?"
"I am." Pete smiles.
"Just call me The King." The man is doing his best impersonation of Elvis Presley's exaggerated drawl. "Now, I hear the two of ya'll are getting married right here, right now."
What? "We are?"
Pete nods. "It's not legally binding."
Okay...
Elvis steps in. "It's our 'I Was Just Kidding' package. You get the entire ceremony without any of the legality."
I Was Just Kidding Package? God, Vegas is a weird place. But that does sound familiar. I could swear I read a few signs on casino wedding chapels—marriage was on my mind all day yesterday—that offered some version of a just for fun ceremony.
Because everyone associates weddings with fun and not with stress and family drama.
"You can back out." Pete slides his arms around my waist. "But I want to show you how special this can be, even if it's the two of us, and Elvis, in our jeans at the crack of dawn. What matters isn't the decorations or the venue. It's the two of us promising each other forever."
My heart threatens to melt. His words are sweet and his voice is earnest.
Sinful Ever After (Sinful Serenade #5) Page 26
