by Lacey Black
Dani’s gasp against my ear pulls me out of my internal turmoil. Now isn’t the time for sappy shit; shit that I can’t control. Now is the time to fuck this beautiful woman. To leave my mark on her, hopefully with a memory she’ll carry for the rest of her life.
Sliding myself completely out, I slam back inside of her. I swear I hit her stomach as she moans her pleasure in my ear. My pace suddenly becomes swifter and more precise. I’m on the verge of losing control as I grasp at her perfect tits. Wishing I could suck them again, I latch my mouth onto the only thing it can find right now: her mouth.
The kiss is potent, passionate. It’s so intense and fierce, I’m afraid the flame-retardant vinyl of the tent might actually burst into flames. The sounds of skin slapping against skin and labored grunts fill the smoldering confines of the space we occupy. She grips my shaft hard with each thrust bringing me one step closer to losing my fucking mind.
I realize a change of pace is needed if I’m going to last longer than a few more seconds. Gripping Dani around the waist, I roll us over until she’s straddling me, without breaking our connection. When her legs are positioned next to my outer thighs, I thrust up into her body hard. I grasp Dani by her hips and hold on while she takes me for a ride. She lifts up slowly and slams her body back down on mine, gyrating and grinding against me. Un-fucking-believable. My eyes roll back in my head.
Not only does this position send me deeper than ever, but it also gives me the perfect angle to stroke that sweet spot deep inside her. And if the way she’s riding me like a bucking bronco at the rodeo is any indication, I’d say I’m hitting it perfectly.
Dani’s legs grip my outer thighs as I bring us both closer to climax. My moans mix with hers as I feel her muscles grab ahold of my dick and squeeze the life out of it. Dani all but screams as another powerful orgasm rips through her body. I latch my lips onto hers to swallow the sounds of her pleasure, though I’m sure it’s fruitless. As I thrust up into her body once more, Dani bites down on my lower lip. Not enough to draw blood but enough to cause an sharp sting. The moment is more intense than anything I’ve ever experienced as I follow her over the edge, head first into blackened oblivion.
I hold on tightly as we both try to slow our racing heartbeats. She sags against my chest, spent and sated. I slowly roll us over until we’re lying side by side atop my sleeping bag. Dani stretches like a cat while I wriggle the lightweight sleeping bag open. Holding it, I wait while she slips inside and gets comfy. Opening the tops of the windows in the tent, cooler night air finally penetrates the confines of the muggy tent.
Before I climb inside my bag next to this beautiful, naked woman, I hear the guys outside the tent. Jon’s clearly still unhappy about being booted from his own tent, but I couldn’t care less. Balling up his sleeping bag, I unzip the entrance to the tent and toss his bag out, careful not to expose myself.
“Thanks for something,” Jon slurs as he retrieves his sleeping bag from the dirt. I don’t answer, just zip back up the entrance, closing off my friends from the naked woman in the tent with me. He may be pissed, but he’ll get over it. Jon never stays mad for too long.
I slip inside the sleeping bag and snuggle up as close as possible to the beautiful woman beside me. Her body is warm and wet, but I think it only makes this moment that much more perfect. So this is what snuggling is like, huh? I’ve never done it. Never even wanted to try it. A girlfriend in high school used to want to cuddle on the couch while watching movies, but I always considered it useless. I was usually there for one thing, and cuddling together under a blanket–clothed–wasn’t it.
Dani sighs loudly as I pull her into my arms and tuck her back against my side. She fits perfectly. My eyelids are suddenly heavy as exhaustion from the drive, the drinking in the sun, and the best fuck I’ve ever had takes a toll on me. My body is spent.
Dani mumbles softly as she drifts off to sleep, bringing a smile to my lips. Lips that still feel her body against them. I’ll never forget this night. This moment. This woman. As I succumb to sleep, thoughts of how I wish my life were different plague my mind. I wish I didn’t have to go to work for my father on Monday. I wish I could take Dani out on a proper date. I wish I could stay right here, right now, forever.
She’s the last thing I think about as I fall into a deep sleep.
In the morning when I wake, she’s gone.
Chapter One – Blind Date From Hell
Dani
Present Day
“So, you’re a teacher?” my date asks while chewing a mouthful of sloppy Chicken Parmesan.
“Yes,” I confirm for the second time tonight, all the while moving my baked halibut around on my plate in an effort to hide the fact that I haven’t eaten more than a few bites. Greg’s open trap of tumbling food is enough to turn my stomach and dissolve any appetite I had when I walked into this restaurant.
“That’s pretty cool. I bet you’re a great teacher. I mean I would have loved to get you as my teacher back in the day. I never had a hot teacher,” he mumbles while chewing. Chew. Chew. Chew. I swallow the bile that’s threatening to make an appearance when his bushy eyebrows wiggle like some sort of caterpillar walking across his forehead.
I hate my sister. It’s official. I have the worst sister in the world. I don’t know what I ever did to Trysta to make her hate me enough to subject me to this kind of torture. “Go on a blind date,” she said. “It’ll be fun,” she said. “Greg’s so adorable; like a puppy,” yada yada yada. Apparently my sister is mean and blind. And don’t get me started on her lack of hearing, because if she really had to sit in the same room with this guy while he ate, there’s no way in hell she ever would have set me up with this clown.
“So, what do you do at The Mirage?” Please let him say pit boss. Please!
“I’m a custodial engineer,” he says while shoveling a heaping pile of steamed broccoli into his face.
“Custodial engineer?” I ask more to myself than to him. I have a pretty good idea where this is going.
“Yeah. I clean the restrooms, mop the floors, and pick up after the rich gamblers. But I’m not a maid,” he informs me sternly. “No, I don’t clean the rooms. I do more of the general grounds of the casinos. I’ve been there for six years now, and have worked my way up to the blackjack room. Someday, I hope to hit it big and get the High Roller Room. But, the guy that cleans that room now is really good and has been there for like twenty years. Your sister is one of everyone’s favorite cocktail waitresses in the High Roller Room. Nice girl; big boobs like yours.”
“Wow, that’s…yeah.”
“Have I told you that I have a teacher fantasy?” Greg asks, a few pieces of cheesy noodles flying from his pie hole.
“Excuse me?” I ask, praying to God that this conversation isn’t about to turn in the direction I’m fearing.
Greg leans forward enough so that his blue and green polka dotted tie featuring two animated dinosaurs on the front dips into his plate of cheese sauce. “Oh, yeah. Hot teacher asks me to return after class. When I walk in, she’s got her long ruler in her hand and uses it on my -”
“That’s nice and all, but it’s getting late,” I say with a little more force than I intend.
“Oh. But we’re still eating the main entrée. We haven’t even gotten to dessert yet,” he says with an insinuating smile while wagging those caterpillar-like eyebrows again.
“Yeah, well, it’s getting late and I have class tomorrow,” I reply while depositing my cloth napkin down on the tabletop. Greg doesn’t realize that it’s Friday and I don’t actually have class tomorrow. If he asks, though, I’m pleading Saturday detention duty.
Greg stands up when I do and walks around to my side of the table. A drop of the sauce is sitting on his chin like a big neon sign. Like a zit, my eyes are glued to that little dripping of food. In fact, I’m staring so long that it takes me a second to realize that the drop of goo is moving towards me. I snap out of my trance just in time to divert my lips away from Greg�
�s. He places a wet kiss that reminds me of a dog, on my cheek.
“Are you sure you have to go home now? I thought maybe we could go back to my place tonight. My mom is out at Bridge Club so she won’t be home for at least another hour. Plenty of time to drive home and get disciplined by a hot teacher,” he says, baring his coffee stained teeth. And that’s the moment my stomach actually rolls and I fear I’m going to blow chow all over the front of his dull white shirt, elementary neck tie, and wrinkled khakis; all in front of Vegas’ middle class at a mom and pop Italian restaurant.
“Oh,” I start with a laugh. “I don’t think so, Greg. It was really nice to meet you,” I lie while digging out a handful of bills from my pocketbook. I drop just enough to cover my portion of the bill and a tip. Let Mr. Can’t Chew With His Mouth Closed pay for his own meal.
“It was really nice to meet you, Dena,” he says.
“It’s Dani, actually,” I mumble while grabbing my wrap from the back of the chair and whipping it over the shoulders of my navy blue dress.
“Dani? Are you sure? I could have sworn your sister said your name was Dena.”
“Nope, I’m pretty sure it’s Dani,” I reply, voice dripping with sarcasm, before turning and walking away. I don’t stop. I keep walking straight out of the restaurant, even though Greg is still talking behind me. I don’t stop until I’m sliding into the driver’s seat of my 6-year-old Toyota Camry. My hands are still shaking as I slip the key into the ignition and start the car. I’m definitely ready to go home and drown in a bottle of wine and a bubble bath.
But first thing’s first…
“It’s barely eight o’clock,” my older sister, Trysta, says in way of greeting.
“You set me up with a troll. A troll, Tryst. He talked with his mouth full the entire time. He spit food particles while trying to show me some new video game app on his cell phone. He lives with his freaking mom for God’s sake!”
“Hey, now, Greg isn’t that bad. He’s always so nice when he’s vacuuming and cleaning up the trash around the room.”
“He’s repulsive. I was afraid one of his eyebrows were going to crawl off his forehead and land in his dinner,” I yell at my sister, which instantly makes her laugh.
“Yeah, those things are a little on the creepy side,” she adds through her laughter.
“I’m glad you think this is funny. Laugh it up, Tryst. Enjoy this moment. Because I assure you it won’t ever happen again. I will never, ever, ever let you set me up on a blind date again. Got it?”
“Yeah, I got it,” she says when her fit of laughter is under control.
In Trysta’s defense, she never has to work for a date. She doesn’t know what it’s like to be looked over once, sometimes twice. She is the epitome of beautiful. Her long blond hair is more platinum than my honey-colored locks. Her figure is that perfect hourglass shape with not an ounce of fat on her. Well, except her boobs. They practically have their own zip code. And don’t get me started on her legs, which extend for miles and miles, as she parades around on four-inch heels all night long.
Trysta is two years older than me, and we are as different as night and day. I’m quiet to her openly friendly. I prefer books to her manicures. I love to throw my hair up in a ponytail while she makes sure not a speck of makeup is out of place before she leaves her bedroom. But for all of our differences, she’s still my best friend and has been since our mom left before we were teenagers.
I’m just a little plainer than my supermodel-worthy sister. I stand a few inches shorter than her at five foot, five inches, and while I don’t lack in the chest department, my double D’s still don’t compare to hers. My hands haven’t seen a manicure since she treated me to a spa day two years ago for my twenty-seventh birthday.
“I’m heading home now,” I tell my sister. “I’m picking up a pint of Chunky Monkey at the corner market. Do we need anything else?” I ask.
“No, I don’t think so. I don’t go in until eleven, so I have plenty of time to hear all the details of your date,” she says with a chuckle.
“Fine, but I’m not telling you about it until after I have my ice cream.” The last thing I want is to lose my appetite before I’ve indulged in my favorite dairy treat.
“Deal. See you in a few,” she says before signing off.
I drive home to the comforting sounds of Dierks Bentley and Lady Antebellum. Even though I’ve been in Vegas for almost five years now, I still can’t turn my back on my country roots. Even in the middle of the Vegas strip with bright lights and dancing showgirls, I feel most comfortable in a pair of worn boots.
Thinking of my favorite pair of worn cowboy boots reminds me of Country Fest. It was the last concert I’ve been to, more than eight long years ago. Before my life changed forever. For the better.
As I pull into the driveway of our cute little yellow bungalow house, my mind can’t help but return to that one moment in time. That one night when everything was perfect, even for just a little bit. Reid. The one man that I will never forget. His touch, his scent, his eyes. Even if I wanted to, I’ll forever hold his alluring gray eyes in a special place in my mind. Though, that moment in history is something for me and me alone, I try to keep his memory locked away.
Something magical happened that night we shared a tent. A life was created.
One that Reid knows nothing about.
* * *
I just get settled into my chair at the kitchen table when the back door flies open with a loud bang as it bounces off the wall. “Hey Mom,” my seven-year-old son, Ryan, says as he walks through the open doorway, trailed behind by my exhausted looking dad.
“Hi, Ryan. Were you good for Grandpa?” I ask, standing up and walking over to the love of my life.
“Yeah, we watched Pawn Stars all night. He even let me stay up til ten o’clock!” Ryan exclaims, obviously very happy that his grandpa allowed him to break bedtime by two hours.
“Ten o’clock? Really?” I ask, fretting mock dismay.
“Yeah, did you know that Chumlee once called in sick but was really home playing video games?” Ryan asks, his eyes lighting up with laughter.
“I did not know that,” I tell him, fighting the smile that’s playing on the corner of my lips.
“Grandpa said that you can get fired for that,” Ryan adds with a decisive head nod as confirmation. Ryan has always looked up to the only man in his life–his grandpa. Whatever Grandpa says is practically law. I’ve used that logic in my favor a time or two in the past when it comes to dealing with my rambunctious son. Ryan definitely isn’t a difficult child, but sometimes his strong will can be challenging to deal with.
“Grandpa is very smart. Usually,” I reply before giving my son a big squeeze. “Why don’t you go put your bag in your room.” Ryan starts to take off down the hallway that leads to the bedrooms in our modest sized bungalow home. “But be quiet. Don’t wake Auntie Trysta.” Ryan throws me a quick nod over his shoulder before he takes off down the hardwood hallway at DEFCON Seven, each step echoing off the white walls like a fighter jet taking off from an aircraft carrier. The entire place practically vibrates.
“Ten o’clock, huh?” I ask, not able to mask my smile at the older version of myself, as I walk over to the coffee pot.
“What can I say?” he asks while nodding his head in confirmation when I hold up the almost-full coffee pot.
“It’s fine. What time did he get up?” I ask, already knowing the answer to that question. I can tell by the way Ryan was practically bouncing off the walls that he didn’t get much sleep. Some people get cranky, some full of energy. But I know his energy levels are short lived. Wait until about six o’clock tonight. Then, he’ll drop like a lead balloon.
“Six,” he winces. “And of course he wanted waffles.”
“Of course.” I smile knowing that his waffles were probably topped with plenty of sticky syrup and either strawberries or bananas just like mine were when I was his age.
“How’d last night go?” he
asks, taking a cautious sip of his black coffee.
“Horrible. I hate Trysta. I can’t believe she set me up with that guy,” I tell my dad while stirring a heaping spoonful of sugar into my coffee cup.
“She meant well,” Dad confirms.
“I know.” And I do. Trysta hates the idea of me sitting at home every weekend while Ryan’s father is off doing God knows what, living his life. It’s not that I’m not living the life I want, it’s just that I didn’t have a choice on which road I was to follow. I was twenty-one years old and pregnant. There was no decision to be made. I was having a baby. She doesn’t broach the subject too often, but will occasionally use my lack of knowledge pertaining to Reid against me. Case in point: last night’s blind date. She caught me at a weak moment.
Dad doesn’t know the real story. How can a daughter in her early twenties tell her dad that she slept with a guy she didn’t know, didn’t use protection, and wound up pregnant? She can’t. Trysta is the only one who knows the truth about Ryan’s dad. That morning when she picked me up at the main gate of the festival, she knew something was up. We’ve always been close, in tune with each emotion, facial expression, and basically every thought that went through the other’s head. She’s been my best friend since I was ten years old and our mother left for places unknown.
“Thank you for humoring her,” Dad says as he slides down into an empty seat at the kitchen table. “It’s difficult to be set up like that.”
“You have no idea,” I mumble. The look Dad gives me tells me that maybe he does have an idea. “How do you know?” I ask, noticing that he’s fidgeting something fierce and unable to hold eye contact.