by Lee, Kimber
I felt it then—the rush of euphoria that dampened the brief moment of pain that I felt. It coursed through my entire being like electricity, awakening my dormant senses. I didn’t close my eyes. I wanted to watch. I wanted to see everything that he was going to do to me. Everything.
With his hands firmly on my ankles, which were looped over his shoulders, he plunged even deeper. This position meant that every sensation was out of this world. He was deeper than anyone had ever been and it felt like I could feel him everywhere.
I moaned loudly when he began to move inside me. Pulling back, he thrust into me again, turning my world upside down. He thrust again to the root, and I could feel a liquid warmth wash over me when I heard him give out a low, animalistic groan.
“You’re so tight,” he breathed out, and I could now hear a hint of an accent on his tongue. He punctuated his sentence by pushing inside me again, grunting loudly. “So fucking tight but you’re not a virgin. How is that possible, Rainelle?”
I cried out, my toes curling and my heart pounding.
“Are you going to come for me again?” he demanded, his thrusts becoming faster and even deeper. “Are you going to show me how much you like this?”
“Oh hell, yes!” I hissed, because I could already feel another climax building up inside me, like a volcano waiting to erupt. I could feel it in every nerve, every muscle, every heartbeat.
Still inside me, he removed my legs from his shoulders and blessed me with his weight as he positioned himself over me. He leaned on his forearms on either side of me, regarding me through navy eyes. I wrapped my legs around his lean waist, clenching my sex around his cock as he continued to furiously thrust into me. His mouth placed gentle kisses on my neck, nipping the skin with his teeth. His breathing became labored, as did mine. And my hands flew to his now unruly dark hair and held on for dear life as I arched my back under him and climaxed. Hard. The spasms continued even as his body tensed and he joined me, coming even harder and longer than I did.
He gripped the pillows on either side of my head as he jerked violently in orgasm. Each time he’d shudder, I’d give out a moan because it felt like he was pounding into me all over again. I came once more, quick and short. My fourth orgasm in one evening.
He pulled out, rolled off me, and onto his back. I squeezed my eyes shut for a while, collecting myself. And when I opened them, he was sitting, removing the condom, tying it, and hurling it into the wicker bin at my bedside.
I sat up, astonishingly fine. My limbs didn’t hurt, my pussy felt a bit overworked, but okay. And I was completely fine with this impromptu one-night stand. More than fine.
Damn. That is one sexy back, I thought to myself, eyeballing the hard planes of muscle there.
He must have felt my eyes on him because he twisted at the waist to look at me. “You okay, Rainelle?” His eyes searched mine.
“It’s Rae,” I corrected, amazed by how calm I was. “Um,” I faltered, “I don’t know your name.”
“That’s because I never told you,” he countered, stating the obvious. His hand reached out and cupped my left breast, running his thumb across the nipple. “What beautiful tits you have, Rainelle.”
I reddened, my erect nipple betraying my response to him.
He smiled, like he knew what I was thinking. Then his hand slid under the pillows behind me again and he produced another condom packet.
“Nuh-uh,” I protested, snatching a pillow and flinging it over my shoulder to sate my curiosity. About a dozen unopened foil packets innocently lay there.
“They’re in every room,” SRG informed me, as if he really could read my thoughts. He tore the second one open. “And you want me again just as much as I want you.”
“Very presumptuous of you. I’m saying no. Are you going to take me against my will?”
His eyes darkened as he stared at me. “No. Because…” He stroked the inside of my thigh and his fingers came back slick with my cum. “…you already miss the feel of me inside you.” He brought his index finger to his mouth and sucked. Damn!
I swallowed, turned on beyond belief. He had a point. The aftereffects of him inside me were practically magical. I felt… revitalized. And yes, I wanted him inside me again.
“Get on your knees,” he commanded, sensing his victory. “On the bed,” he added.
After only a moment’s hesitation, I did as he asked, facing the wall behind the bed. I felt him get off the bed and then I felt pressure on the mattress behind me as he settled on his knees there. His hands were smooth yet hard and they effortlessly glided across the globes of my rear, sending tingles of delight up my spine.
“Kneel forward, Rae.”
One syllable, but he made my name sound like a poem. I knelt forward. My breasts were pressed into the coolness of the sheets and I squeezed my eyes shut because it felt safer.
“Beautiful ass,” he commented, because it was suspended in the air and probably looked much better from that angle. I had never been prouder of my intense workout regime than when he’d said that. “Do you want me to fuck it?” he went on, his voice husky.
“I’m not…”
I didn’t get to finish my sentence—whatever garbage it was I was going to spew—because he drove into my pussy then. And from that angle, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to speak again, the pleasure was so intense. I cried out, my hands scrabbling to grab hold of something, anything. SRG’s hands were on my hips, holding me steady as he continued his perfect assault. I screamed, so overtaken by the bliss of him plunging his cock into me, I thought I would break apart like glass.
I was vaguely aware of a loud smacking sound behind me and it took me a minute to realize that it was the slap of his balls—so heavy with suspended release—smacking against my clit. The faster he went, the louder the noise got. Every thrust made me see stars. Every thrust threatened to rip me to shreds.
And all the while he was talking.
“Say… no… again,” he growled between thrusts, his big hands moving higher and resting under my ribs as he pulled me to him. “Tell me… no… again.”
“Uhhh,” I groaned, lurching forward with a particularly deep, beautiful thrust.
“No?”
“Yes,” I murmured as I came, choking on a sob. The satisfaction was just too much. What did he want from me? “Oh damn, damn, damn! Yes!”
I couldn’t take anymore, especially when he picked up the pace once more to find his own release. Thankfully, he quickly found it, his grip tightening and his breathing ragged, driving his cock into me until he came in a series of spasms.
Still inside me, he leaned over my back, pushed my hair aside—it had long ago escaped my elastic band—and kissed my nape.
“Greedy,” he remarked into my skin. Then he withdrew from me and I rolled over, unable to believe that this had just happened. Again!
I was equally unable to believe that I just had the best sex of my life and didn’t feel guilty about the dodgy circumstances. I didn’t know my “partner’s” name and I only met him that evening. Could eye-fucking even be considered a meeting?
I couldn’t help watching him repeat the process of removing the condom. He made it seem like art. It was then that I knew that if he wanted to take me again, I’d be more than willing to oblige, even though my limbs would protest. I was greedy, after all.
God, listen to yourself, Rae! You need serious help.
Oh, go away. You’re just mad because I got some.
“Go to sleep, Rae.”
I didn’t really think I was tired after all that—thoroughly worked out, yes. But at his words, I felt drowsiness wash over me. SRG pulled the covers over my naked body, and before I could object, slipped into bed beside me. He flipped the light off and the room was blanketed in darkness. Well, as dark as a third-floor hotel room in Sin City could get.
“I don’t even know your name,” I murmured, more to myself than to him. I had to repress a sigh of contentment when he spooned me from behind.
He rested one arm over my stomach and pulled me into the warm, male hardness of his body. He felt delicious. I never shared a bed with anyone before. I instantly decided that it was something worth looking into.
“Sleep, Rae,” he repeated, his warm breath caressing the shell of my ear.
I slept.
Chapter 3
Not even a dirty martini could quell my rage and I freaking loved that drink. The guy at the bar already knew this. He’d made me three already—very dry, with three olives in each glass. And it wasn’t even happy hour yet.
“What’s eating you up?” a guy’s smooth voice asked from beside me.
I jerked my head in his direction and was met with sea-green eyes, fiery red hair, and what was obviously a genuine Armani.
Great.
Darryl Winer was sitting in a bar stool beside me, wanting to know what was “eating me up.”
Could this day get any worse?
First, I woke up to an empty bed that morning. Scary Russian Guy had, apparently, taken off sometime in the early hours and didn’t even leave me a note or a goddamn card. I only had one one-night stand before him and that guy even told me his favorite color after sleeping with me. SRG only casually mentioned owning a hotel. I had no other info about him.
Of course, I didn’t expect cuddling and breakfast in bed with him. I was under no illusions that what happened the night before would be more than just a one-off. But the whole mystery was eating at me. I liked knowing the facts, and the fact that I knew next to nothing about SRG pissed the crap out of me.
The simmering anger I felt—mostly at myself—continued in the shower as I thoroughly scrubbed the memory of him off my body. It continued as I pulled on yet another stupid skintight dress—ruby red this time, to highlight my jezebel status—and went downstairs for a big breakfast.
And it almost came to the fore when I bumped into SRG himself on my way out the large, lavish dining room after an incredibly delicious, hearty breakfast of bacon, toast, and bacon.
He was with an older silver-haired man who was clad in a smart charcoal black suit, and was at least a foot shorter than SRG, which made him roughly my height. SRG’s hair was pulled back from his face in a low ponytail and I was horrified to discover that I itched to run my hands through it. He was in a sky blue V-necked T-shirt that matched his eyes, black low rise jeans and incredibly scruffy black motorcycle boots. Divine was the first word that came to my mind, despite the fact that I found it difficult to believe that he could possibly have any shares in a hotel of this exquisite standard, looking the way he did.
He’d glared at me—yes, glared at me!—and said nothing before leading his companion into the dining room without so much as a backward glance. No “Morning, Rae”, or even a small nod of recognition. Those blue eyes of his just turned arctic and he ignored me as if he didn’t break into my hotel room last night and fucked my brains out.
I felt like a prostitute. I certainly looked like one.
Darryl Winer sitting next to me at the bar ten hours later, asking me what was “eating me up”, was not helping matters. He wasn’t supposed to know I existed, let alone talk to me. I was being sloppy.
“Meeting someone?” I asked him, tipping back my glass and downing my vodka. I’d consumed olive after olive as well and was beginning to feel a little ill.
“Are you?” Darryl countered, and I looked at him. He really was attractive with those green eyes of his. Cassie Winer was right to be jealous of anyone that so much as blinked at him.
“Flying solo tonight, I’m afraid,” I casually replied, motioning to the bartender, Dan, to get me another drink.
“Tad Thornberry not with you tonight?”
“Who?”
“Tad?” Winer gauged my blank look. “The guy you were wrapped around yesterday?”
Shit. Winer really did get a good look at me last night and I thought I was being inconspicuous.
Sloppy, Rae. Real sloppy.
“What’s it to you?”
“Tad’s an old friend of mine,” Winer informed me, accepting the bartender’s silent proffer of a scotch on the rocks. “He has a wife and two teenage kids. He does not need to have a beautiful woman like you wrapped around him like a snake.”
This was rich. The guy I was following because his wife thought he was cheating on her was lecturing me for being a home-wrecker.
Dan was blatantly ignoring me. Probably because he thought I’d had enough. Idiot.
“What about you? You got a wife? Kids?” I asked Darryl, although I already knew the answer.
His eyes immediately glazed over—with genuine love, I saw. “Her name’s Cassandra and we’re expecting a baby.” He paused. “That’s why I need to wrap my business up here and get back to her tomorrow.”
Cassie’s pregnant? I thought, startled. Huh! Guess I don’t know everything.
“That’s, um, great. You do that,” I told Winer, meaning it. His wife was dumb as a brick if she ever thought he’d cheat on her, especially when she was pregnant with what was obviously their first kid.
“And you’ll stay away from Tad?” Winer downed his drink and set the glass on the counter.
“Absolutely,” I told him truthfully. I prayed to God I’d never relive my “arm candy” humiliation and bump into Tad again.
Winer nodded. “Nice talking to you.” Then, he got to his feet.
I realized then that he really was a good guy. He was looking out for his friend—and his friend’s family by default—when he nicely told a perceived, slutty threat to back the hell off. And he wanted to get back to his wife and unborn baby ASAP, when he practically had carte blanche in Vegas with whomever he wanted.
“Wait,” I said to him, and he turned to me, arching a brow.
“Yes?”
“Tall guy. Long, dark hair and really blue eyes. Owns the hotel?” I sucked in a deep breath. “You were sitting with him last night. What’s his name?”
A smile that tugged at Winer’s lips told me he knew exactly who I was talking about. “Last name Anghelescu. All you need to know.”
Ang-hel-ess-coo. That didn’t sound Russian to me. But before I could press it, Winer stalked off, leaving me alone at the bar with questions—and an anger that was still a long way from dissipating. I grabbed my handbag, hopped off the stool, and shakily got to my feet. Drinking had definitely been a poor decision. I was making a lot of those lately.
Like last night.
“Get a grip, Rae,” I chided myself, because this was getting ridiculous. Why was I so mad? It wasn’t as if this guy gave me any promises. It wasn’t as if he committed himself to me. For all I knew, Angel-whatever-the-fuck made it a habit of randomly accusing women of giving him come-hither looks so he could have an excuse to break into their hotel rooms and fuck them senseless.
I felt myself get wet just remembering—remembering the feel of him inside me, giving me orgasm after orgasm while his big, hot body left a palpable imprint on mine. Just the thought of it was enough to undo me.
I’m not going to think about this.
Gambling. Gambling would take my mind off everything. Did being slightly tipsy mean I’d be more careless or more intuitive? I didn’t know. I didn’t care. All I knew was that my work in Vegas was done and I could go home—maybe even visit Renée—earlier than expected. Darryl Winer wasn’t a cheating dog. Cassie could sleep easy. And so could I.
I was thinking that it felt good to be able to give someone some good news for a change, when I walked smack-dab into a tall, willowy figure that reached out and steadied me with his (I could see that they belonged to a guy) arms.
I muttered an irrational, “Watch where you’re going!” and immediately pulled back.
“Baby Phat Girl?” the man queried, his voice laced with disbelief.
No, I thought in a wild panic, those three words giving me a jolt of recognition.
I practically sobered up in that instant, narrowing my eyes. Sure enough, the incubus from Paris was stan
ding in the doorway of the bar, looking incredibly… good. I hadn’t gotten that good of a look at him the first time we met (and who could blame me?), but it was safe to say that he wasn’t even my type.
He was far too lean and boyishly fresh-faced. Icy blonde hair curled behind his pierced ears, furthering his cherubic image. His eyes were long-lashed, chocolate brown, and were set in an extraordinarily alabaster skin that if I didn’t know any better, I would’ve thought he was a Twilight reject. But I did know better and I knew that I had to get away from him. If I hadn’t gotten drunk, I would’ve felt him coming a mile away and this confrontation would’ve been easily avoided.
“You following me or something?” he asked, snapping me out of my trance.
My eyes focused on his chest. Incubus was splashed across his black T-shirt in blood red font. An incubus that wore Incubus band tees. It was not lost on me how apropos that was, which may be due to my intoxication. I didn’t want to laugh but I was close to doing so, which is why I steadfastly bit my bottom lip.
“Baby Phat?” he repeated, arching a brow.
“It’s Rae,” I snapped, only because I kept thinking he meant the dreaded f-word.
“Ray,” he said, now blatantly checking me out. He did it in an extremely offensive, leering way. “Like Ray Charles?”
I couldn’t help it. The drunken laughter I’d been suppressing escaped my lips. In fact, I pretty much doubled over in laughter and would’ve fallen over in my stupid heels if the demon didn’t reach out and wrap his arm around my waist. I knew I was supposed to recoil. Getting manhandled by a demon? Not cool. Getting manhandled by a sex demon? Well, I’d probably have to bathe in holy water… every day… for the rest of my life.
“Rae with an ‘e’, not a ‘y’,” I explained between laughs. I stopped, glancing down at his arm and looking up at him. “And you? What’s your name?”
