by Nicole Snow
If she was any other conquest, I'd have already had her all over my dick. Instead, Delia's a landmine, and one wrong misstep will blow my entire world apart, making her collateral damage too.
I don't know what the fuck is going to happen between us in sin city. I'm going to find out.
“We're here, baby. Stop sleeping through your fun.”
She gives me a shy, way-too-fuckable smile. Christ, those lips. They're dangerous competitors with her ass, everything I can't stop imagining under me.
She makes me see sex in broad daylight. I've got her hair in my fist, open mouthed, owning her soft little tongue with mine. I reach for her ass and hold on so tight my knuckles go white, slamming her plush globes with the full might of my hips.
I want to shake her the fuck apart. I want to watch every curve dance and swing for me, rippling to the music I know she'll make when she's coming on my cock.
Half an hour later, we've got our rental, and we're heading into the city. It's been a couple years, but I remember Vegas like the back of my hand. It's a natural spot for rowdy troops looking for fun. I hit the town twice a year ever since I enlisted, but it's been awhile since I got tapped for the SEALs.
I'm not blind to the weird shit Vegas keeps dredging up. When I spooked her on the plane by mumbling about Kirkuk, I knew I was playing with fire, using her nosy little games against her.
If she wants to pump me for info, she's not getting shit. Not really. But when you've relived imminent death in your own head a hundred times from that mission, making a mockery of it's all you've got left.
It's all I can do to keep my sanity together. The brain clings to humor like a desperate fucking lounge girl – or at least if it's a mind as twisted as mine.
Her eyes pop out when she sees the hotel. We've got a prime spot, courtesy of daddy's family fortune. She reaches across from the passenger seat and squeezes my arm, digging her nails in. It shouldn't feel so natural to have her there, but hell if it doesn't.
“Look at this place! Please tell me I've got a window view?”
I smile and nod. “Yup. Your old man wanted to give my mom the finest, for some reason I'll never understand, and we've got his reservation. Oh, and that shit about separate rooms? I lied. We'll be sharing the same suite.”
Her lips twitch and she goes bright red. I pop the door and put my hand on her ass, pushing her inside, leading her through the place we'll be staying for the next week. One good look around, and she forgets all about chewing me out.
The room is built for sex. It's full of sleek edges, polished curves, and about a thousand reflective surfaces. It's meant for beautiful people to watch themselves fucking from every angle, and we fit the bill a hundred times better than our parents.
We'll put it to better use than Bruce and Evie too. The only question is whether I'm going to blister my ego and haul her into bed, or find some faceless Vegas chick to fuck when she's not looking.
Sneaking around with another woman won't be easy when we're sharing a suite, even though it's as big as a luxury apartment, with at least two or three distinct rooms and its own kitchen.
It's also rough when the only hot, wet cunt I want to sink my dick into is Delia's, own her virgin silk, find out how hot she looks when she's wearing a sheen of sweat, about to come for the third time as I slam my balls against her ass.
Fuck. I wait for her to wash up and try to kill my hard-on, staring out across the city. It's a gorgeous view. The place promises to light up like a maze of palaces and wonders at night, everything I've seen in Baghdad, but better because there's no traces cutting through the air or violent explosions here.
Standing out on the balcony isn't doing shit for taming my dick. Several long, sexy looking deck chairs sit waiting for us, and I'm forced to see myself pulling her onto my lap, naked and wet and wanting in the sultry Vegas night.
When she comes out of the bathroom, she's fuming, a delayed reaction to the single room we'll have to share. I wonder if she's been coaching herself in the mirror, working up the courage to lay into me, and I laugh.
“This is so wrong. I just can't fucking believe dad didn't think to book an extra room. Ugh.” She stamps her little foot as I hand her a key card for the room. “Roommates.”
“For the last time, babe, I'm not gonna watch you shower or whatever. I'll turn my back like a good boy when you're changing.”
Yeah, right. She shoots me a dirty look and purses her lip. Some of that fire in my balls goes straight to my fingers, and I want to wipe that bratty look off her face by slapping the shit out of her ass.
What the fuck is wrong with me? Maybe Kirkuk did more damage than I ever thought. There's got to be some wires crossed in my head if I'm hot to tan my own stepsister's ass, and then plow her 'til she can't walk.
“Cut your old man some slack. Dealing with Evie's shit isn't easy. Doesn't take much to lose track of a million things when she gets under your skin – trust me.”
Her eyes widen in a sympathetic look. That shuts her up, but I pop the door and head inside, looking for a distraction before she tries to get all touchy-feely.
She decides to let it go, turning her attention to the room instead, taking another long, wonder struck walk around it like we're visiting the goddamned Taj Mahal.
“Oh my God. Look!” she yells at me from out on the balcony, her hands clenched tight to the banister, overlooking the Vegas strip shining in the high Nevada sunlight.
I come up behind her, using the opportunity to get a good look at her ass. “Yeah, I was admiring it earlier. It's really something, babe.”
Yeah, something, I think, glancing at the deck furniture. Something that makes me want to rip your dress off right here and fuck you in front of the whole city.
I'm not sure what makes my dick throb harder – the chairs or her ass. I go back and forth, and the last time I've got my eyes glued to her hips, she catches me. Her hands hit my chest and she pushes with all she's got, trying to get me away, flushed and smiling.
I laugh. Something makes me lunge forward and grab her, spin her around, dig my fingers into her soft little belly 'til she can't stop laughing with me. It takes a sharp slap across the face to make me let go. I love the sting the same way I like sharp whiskey.
Shit, she's so feisty, even though she can't move me a single inch, pushing with all her might. I want to pick her up and fling her around, discover some new acrobatics I can do with her mounted on all ten inches of me.
“Don't do this crap again, Chris,” she whines, genuine sadness filling her eyes. “I can't mess around and get shot down again. We're here as brother and sister, right?”
Not exactly. But she doesn't need to know that now.
I smile, push my hand into hers, and give her a gentle tug. “Whatever, babe. Let's go have some fun.”
I grab her hand and lead her out. It's a damned good thing I've had plenty of practice with tactical driving. I navigate the Vegas traffic, heading for the casino.
My dick doesn't give a single shit about my brain catching up. As far as that fire in my trousers is concerned, I'm on a mission to fuck my own stepsister, and I'm coming closer to making peace with it by the second.
I watch her walk a little ahead of me. She's unsteady on those short heels, and it makes her ass bob. My balls ache to unload inside her, screaming in my head, hounding me to let go of all my reason and spread her legs wide open behind her head.
I know right there I'm a goner. It's Vegas, and I'm here to sin.
I don't give a shit who Delia is anymore, or what kinda mark I'm going to leave on her. I have to protect her. I have to know her. And yeah, I absolutely, positively have to own every virgin inch of her.
We pop in and out of casinos and attractions, walking along the strip. Even I've forgotten just how lively Vegas can be. The telltale signs of a few thugs and biker brutes lingering in the shadows reminds me the place can get lively in other ways at night.
I can't keep my hands off her, and it's not just the he
llfire scorching my veins that's doing it. I want to keep her close. Protect her, especially while she's stepping up her drinks at every place we hit.
By sundown, Delia's so drunk I have to pull her steady as we maneuver along, heading into the next casino. There's a new VIP section in this place with high stakes blackjack. I'm here to have some fun too, and I make a beeline for the table, jerking her along.
“Oh my god, Chris, you have to let me play. I've always wanted to try cards.”
I grunt. “Not 'til you've burned some of that venom out of your system, babe. You'll be throwing away money piss drunk. Just watch me and look sexy. Pretend you're my date for moral support and eye candy.”
She hasn't gotten pissy about my not-so-subtle hints since we left the hotel room. I'm sure it's the booze, and that puts me on edge.
I don't want her laughing and clinging to me because she's fucking drunk. I want her sober, hungry for every inch of me, ready to rip off her clothes and open her legs.
She's warm and clammy when I hold her hand. Drunk or not, she looks fucking hot in the dark black cocktail dress she's chosen. I take a bench at the nearest high stakes table, thinking it's a damned good thing I've been pacing myself with drinks.
Delia's distraction enough, and staring at her too long makes my dick feel like it's about to explode.
I pull some cash out of my wallet and exchange them for chips. Two thousand dollars.
There's one other guy playing at the table with the dealer, an older Asian guy in a suit. Delia watches excitedly next to me.
The first few hands are rotten. I'm down a couple hundred before I start to get pissed and focused. The SEAL instinct takes over, and I eye every card, remembering the card counting my old buddy Joe taught us on lazy nights at the barracks.
The guy in the suit loses big. I'm up, down, and even, but the trend starts to flip, and I'm ready to go all in.
“Come onnnn, big brother. You can do better than this,” Delia purrs. “Show them what you've got. Bet big. All or nothing. We'll drown ourselves in beer or hit the fanciest place in town tonight.”
It's a ridiculous idea. I'm not made of money like her father. I've always been responsible as hell growing up under my mom's slow motion self-destruct sequence.
I can't stand a challenge, though, especially when it's coming from my playful and dangerously fuckable stepsis. I look at the dealer and split my hands, pushing big bets on all of them.
The Asian man starts to sweat. He stares at me like I've lost my mind, and ups his own bet, while the dealer manages a friendly smile.
The first cards are aces, one in each hand. Fucking great. I take a quick survey and tap the table for another hit, never falling for the wishful thinking that Lady Luck might actually give a damn about me tonight.
Five more seconds. The dealer finishes up, ends with a queen and a seven. It's too good to be true.
The Asian guy goes bust, and the dealer comes up short.
I'm staring at a king and an ace in both hands. Perfect twenty-one.
Delia jumps out of her seat and lets out a yelp. The dealer frowns, grudgingly passes me my winnings, and I throw a chip back for a tip.
By some freak miracle, we've just hit it fucking big. The thousands that stack up in a neat pile when I cash in are almost like half a mission's hazard pay. I tuck it into my wallet and head to the ATM for a deposit. It's never good to carry too much excess in Vegas, especially when we're going out after dark on the streets.
“Holy shit, Chris, what're you going to do with all that money?”
“Give some back to my lucky charm,” I tell her with a wink. Maybe it's the casino's humidity, but there's a light, sexy glow to her underneath all the lights, a gentle halo of sweat along her brow.
I can't resist. It's a fairly lonely spot next to the cash machines, so I corner her, push her against the wall, and brush my lips over hers.
It's insane, it's wrong, and I can't fucking stop. She gasps pure pleasure when I grab her bare thigh. I dig my fingers into her flesh, all I can do to fight the burning urge to slide my hand up, find out what kind of panties she's wearing, how damned soaked they are.
I'll only feel them for a heartbeat before they're gone for the night, leaving her wide open for all the rowdy, savage things I want to do between her thighs.
“Chris...what the hell...” she's half drunk, but not so gone that she doesn't understand that look in my eyes.
“I was wrong about you, babe. Dead fucking wrong. I don't give a shit if you've never had a man between your legs or if our parents shacked up like idiots.” My voice turns into thunder as I drag my hand off, wrap both around her back, and cup her ass, pulling her to me. “I fucking need this. Pick a place for dinner, and load up. No more drinks. I want you sober, well fed, whatever you need to stay up all night and take my cock.”
She trembles so hard I can feel it. At first, I think she's going to flip, overwhelmed with my about face. Then she jerks forward, shoving her lips into mine.
I push back. Hard.
We kiss, wet and hot and wild, for the next few minutes while people walk behind me. I can't pretend with her anymore.
I need, need, need to fuck her, claim her, show her what she's done to me. The taboo only makes it worse. I want her because she's hot and pure, because my stupid mother made her off limits.
Or, I should say, she tried. And she's about to fail miserably.
Truth is, no woman's off limits for Chris Cleveland, and Delia's going to be my best fuck ever by the end of the night.
“Come on, baby, hurry up and pick a place.” I'm dragging her down the Vegas strip, reading every other menu, going toward the edgy part of town.
“Holy crap, wait, look at this!” Delia points to this goofy looking comedy club, one more thing we'll have a whole week to see. She needs to make up her mind about dinner.
My stomach keeps growling and I barely care. I know she's got to be hungry too, and we need to eat.
My cock won't stop begging me to skip dinner and deal with the much more pressing hunger first, but I want her ready for me with no distractions.
The girl can't keep up. She falls behind me, dizzy and wowed by Vegas at night, the city of lights yawning wide in all its glory.
It's like the third time it's happened. The first two times, I found her gawking at some Vegas sight, and had to march backwards to take her hand and lead her along. This time, I'll drag her if I have to.
We're getting further away from the lights and all the tourist areas. Stone faced men sulk in the shadows, looking out at us from the alleys, beggars and bastards who'd love to lay their hands on a drunk, rich girl who's lost in Vegas.
It's not just about playing protector. I'm moving this night along.
I need that pussy tonight, and every second we waste gallivanting around Vegas is delaying me from sinking inside her hot, tight sweetness.
“What the fuck, babe? You need me to carry you around in those heels, or what?”
There's no reply, and I turn around. Shit.
Delia's gone.
She's disappeared inside what looks like this cheesy fortune telling and magic show. I curse and fly up the short steps, consoling myself because it's one more reason to find out how nice that ass of hers bounces underneath my palms.
I'm going to spank her ass raw from getting away from me like this.
When I get inside the place, sex is about the last thing on my mind.
There's not even a door concealing the entrance, but a cheap burgundy curtain. The place smells dank the instant I walk in, and I nearly trip on some old boards.
Fucking hell. It's abandoned, and it clearly hasn't been locked up very well by the city. My heart shoots adrenaline into my system, and I scan the darkness for her.
The place is like a small theater inside, with several rooms full of seats and separate stages. It's dark and seedy as shit. I'm wondering what the hell she was thinking by rushing in here alone, but something isn't right, and it's hard to
give a shit about anything except finding her safe.
It's too damned quiet in this place. I need to take a risk.
I cup my hands over my mouth and yell. “Delia? Where the fuck are you? Come out right now!”
Shit. There's a narrow hallway with some restrooms, and I wonder if she's ducked in there, either lost or looking for a real bathroom. The girl drank like a fucking fish before I hit the blackjack table, and we only made a quick pit stop before leaving the casino.
My gut tells me that's too damned easy. I walk up to the women's room and press my ear to the door, listening for Delia, listening for anything.
A second later, there's a loud smacking sound, like somebody throwing flesh against a wall. “Shut the fuck up and stop struggling, bitch, or we'll cut you wide open. You can suck us off or bleed out on the floor here with the rats and the roaches. Your choice.”
My teeth pinch together so hard they're about to break. My hand shoots down and I squat, ripping the knife out of its holster around my ankle. I carry it everywhere, naked without it, and our Vegas getaway is no exception.
I'm in full mission mode now, feeling the kind of angry, survival-focused adrenaline spiking through my veins that always hits during a big operation.
The last time it seized me was in Kirkuk, when those Iranian bastards started shooting. We were outgunned and surrounded then, and it was only their fear of creating a bigger international shitstorm that caused them to backoff.
I don't know how many vicious motherfuckers I'll find behind the door. I don't know if they have guns, or if they'll tear into Delia the second I walk in.
I just hear their brute laughter, listen to her muffled sob, and I know exactly what I need to do.
I have to fucking save her!
I let three more seconds go by – all I'll spare to assess the situation.
“Gag her with her fucking panties,” the same gruff voice inside growls. “Take a pic once you've smeared your load across her eyes. The boys in LA'll eat this shit right up. She's got nice skin. Young. She'll fetch a pretty penny for sure.”
My heart thuds as Delia whimpers again. Fuck, fuck.
