Little Dove

by Layla Frost

  We started walking again, moving through the crowds out for a wild Saturday. Our steps were forced to slow when a crush of people swarmed in with their party sashes, sparkling plastic tiaras, and big blended drinks.

  Perfect.

  Taking advantage of the slowdown, I tilted my head to look up at him. “I think I want to try sucking you while I ride your face. Do you think that’d work or am I too short?”

  “I don’t give a damn what I need to do, I’ll make it work.”

  Well, this is backfiring spectacularly.

  I think I’m more turned on than he is.

  I remained quiet as we weaved through the partiers. Once we were in a less dense area, I asked, “Do you think there’s a limit to how wet a woman can get before she risks dehydration? ‘Cause if there is, I’m probably nearing that point.”

  “Jesus, Juliet. You and your filthy mouth are asking for trouble.”

  “Yay.”

  It was funny that, with everything else I’d said, my little yay was what made him crack.

  Taking hold of my hand, the speed of his strides increased until I was practically jogging to keep up. Like a running back with his eyes on the end zone, he expertly maneuvered through the crowd, not slowing until we were at his elevator.

  He opened it with his thumbprint, yanked me in, and hit the button to the penthouse. Before the door even closed, I was up in his arms, my back against the wall and his mouth on mine.

  I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and my legs around his waist, taking everything he gave.

  The blessedly fast elevator dinged, and Maximo carried me into the bedroom before setting me down. My feet were barely under me when he tugged my sweater over my head. His gaze raked over the lace and ribbon covering my torso. “Christ, Juliet, if I knew you had this on, we wouldn’t have left the damn room.”

  “Surprise,” I breathed.

  “You’re full of them.”

  “Is that good?”

  His sinful smile was enough to steal my breath and make me dangerously close to combusting. “The fucking best.”

  Definite backfire.

  “Pants and shoes off, Juliet.”

  I knew once I stripped, Maximo would touch me. And once he did, I wouldn’t have the self-control to tease him any longer. It was my last opportunity, and I was taking it.

  Kicking off my shoes, my movements were slow as I unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans.

  Maximo crossed his arms, but he didn’t say a word.

  Wiggling my hips—both for the appeal and because the jeans really were skintight—I slid them down my ass to my thighs. I turned, giving him my back as I bent at the waist to shove the jeans farther down my legs.

  That was as far as I got.

  Maximo came up behind me, shuffling me forward until I was bent over the bed. Holding the thin fabric that covered my pussy to the side, he ran his finger through my slit. Even though it was me his skilled finger was teasing, he was the one who groaned in frustrated pleasure.

  There was a rustle of fabric before the head of his cock pressed into me. Unable to spread my legs with my jeans around my knees, everything was tighter and he felt huger than his already huge.

  It skirted that glorious edge between torture and bliss.

  When he slid out, I reached to try to clutch him to me, not wanting him to stop. His hands spanned my hips, lifting me to kneel on the edge of the bed. He pulled my jeans off before pressing a palm between my shoulder blades. “Back a little. Ass up. That’s my good girl.”

  With my torso to the mattress and my ass tipped, the height lined up just right for him to slam in. The force knocked my knees out from under me, but Maximo repositioned me and slammed in again.

  Lifting just enough to look over my shoulder, a fresh surge of arousal shot through me, nearly throwing me over the edge.

  Holy shit.

  He actually did it.

  Like the threat he’d made our first night together, he was fucking me fully clothed, his slacks lowered just enough to free himself.

  The actual visual was a million times better than it’d been in my head.

  _______________

  “Did you have fun, little dove?” Maximo asked when we were finished and in bed for the night.

  Amazing sex and two orgasms?

  Definitely fun.

  “Uh, yeah. I always have fun when we do that.”

  Maximo chuckled, and since his body was curled around me, I heard and felt it.

  “I meant this weekend.”

  “Oh. Yeah, that was okay, too, I guess.”

  His arm tightened around me, his voice lined with amusement. “I’m glad you found my resort fine enough.”

  Said orgasms, along with the long day filled with a billion of steps, caught up to me. My eyes were closed, my body was relaxed, and I was sated and happy.

  And that was why I stupidly rambled. “I used to be so envious of the tourists here. They always had so much fun. Carefree fun. I never went to the Strip to sightsee or watch the shows or eat. The only time I’ve been was to pick up Shamus because he was too fucked up or fucked over to drive. That was not fun. Today was.”

  “Juliet,” he muttered, tightening his hold.

  “It’s okay.” I wiggled back into him and sighed deeply.

  He didn’t push the conversation, and I was grateful. I let it all go as I fell asleep.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Carefree Fun

  Juliet

  FOR ALL ITS vices and sins, Vegas really was beautiful.

  The larger-than-life quality of the Strip reminded me of Times Square in NYC. Like most resident New Yorkers, we rarely went to Times Square or any of the sights that were deemed touristy. But my grandparents had taken me to ride the Ferris wheel inside the former Toys R’ Us once, and I’d been amazed at the grandeur of it all.

  Bright lights, huge buildings, and more people than seemed possible were a fitting description of the Strip and Times Square.

  As Maximo stopped at a red light on Las Vegas Boulevard, I watched the people on the overhead walkways. Some posed for pictures, others hurried from one casino to another.

  As I watched out my window, the pang of envy hit me, but it was far less than usual. Instead, my sour mood was because our weekend was over. I’d hoped we’d spend Sunday at Moonlight, but we hadn’t even stayed for breakfast. Instead, I’d come out after getting ready to find my bag packed and Maximo waiting with a bagel and to-go coffee.

  I was sure he had a lot of work to do, but it still sucked it was over.

  Lost in thought, I didn’t think anything of us turning until the car stopped. A valet was there in an instant, opening my door.

  My brows lowered as I looked at Maximo, but all I saw was his back as he got out.

  “Ma’am,” the valet prodded when I didn’t move.

  Confused, I climbed out and muttered, “Thanks.”

  Maximo opened the trunk and pulled out two small travel bags. A different uniformed worker took them and hurried inside, not even asking where they needed to go.

  Once Maximo was next to me, I didn’t take my eyes from the towering glass building. “Where are we?”

  “Cosmopolitan.”

  “Why?”

  “I took today and tomorrow off. I thought we’d stay here for the night.”

  My wide eyes shot to him. “What? Why?”

  Reaching out to twist the end of my ponytail around his hand, he yanked me against him. “For fun.”

  My insides turned to melty mush and my heart squeezed.

  He was so damn thoughtful.

  Like my veins were filled with champagne, excitement bubbled, leaving me light and happy. “What are we going to do?”

  “Anything you want.”

  That is not helpful.

  Correctly reading my thoughts, Maximo tugged my ponytail so my neck was craned back. “As long as I’m spending the day with you and the night ends with you riding my face, I don’t give a damn what we do.”


  There were people around.

  People close enough to hear his obscenely sweet words.

  But I didn’t care.

  I didn’t care about anything but the heat in his tender gaze, our impending day together, and ending the night riding his face.

  Beyond that, it was carefree fun.

  He released my ponytail. “Let’s go to the room first.”

  Going into the beautiful building, I was stunned by its stylish ornateness. Massive crystal chandeliers draped over a bar and lounge area. People posed for pictures in front of them and a giant high heel.

  Maximo and I walked through the lobby to where a concierge waited.

  “Mr. Black.” The man smiled, warm and professional, outstretching his hand to shake Maximo’s and then mine. “We’re thrilled to have you and your guest stay with us this evening. Would you care for a tour or may I show you to your room?”

  “We’re set, thanks.”

  The man handed him a key card. “Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to make your stay perfect.”

  After thanking him, Maximo guided me to an elevator. Once we were inside, I asked, “Do you think they’re going to send spies to tail us to make sure you’re not here to poach their procedures and employees?”

  He looked down at me with amusement. “Doubtful.”

  “Damn. Hotel espionage was on my to-do list today.”

  He chuckled, pulling me so my back was to his front before wrapping his arms around my waist. “I’ll see what I can arrange.”

  Once we reached our floor, we walked to a door at the end of the hall. He unlocked it, holding it open for me.

  Holy.

  Shit.

  This is unreal.

  “How’d you book this last minute?” I asked, doing a slow turn to take everything in. A hammock hung in front of the row of floor to ceiling windows. There was a terrace outside, and the view was as beautiful as it was terrifying.

  “It’s invite only.” Maximo’s lips tipped. “And I have a connection.”

  Of course, he does.

  In my shorts and distressed tee, I felt like a fish out of water. And not even one of those pretty neon fish. I was a guppy. Or a blobfish.

  However, I didn’t let it bother me—well, not much—because Maximo was even more underdressed in his gray joggers and black tee. Underdressed, but hot.

  Everyone knew gray sweats were the equivalent of male lingerie.

  His phone rang and he glanced at the screen. “Shit, I’ve got to take this.”

  “I’m sure I can find something to do,” I deadpanned.

  He touched the screen and put his cell to his ear. “Black.” He stepped onto the terrace and closed the door behind him.

  Left to my own devices, I scoped the place out.

  Even after staying at Maximo’s house for a year, my brain couldn’t comprehend the luxury and opulence of how the other half lived. With so much to do in Vegas, most people only used their room as a place to crash. Yet the suite had a mini spa, a theater room, and more space than could possibly be utilized. It was unfathomable to spend a not-so-small fortune on a room with pointless amenities that would likely go unused. And if they were used, what was the point of visiting Vegas just to stay inside?

  Backtracking to the living room, I eyed the fresh fruit in the bowl on the kitchen island.

  I bet that banana costs forty bucks.

  Next to it was a bottle of champagne on ice and a smaller bowl of strawberries.

  The champagne is six hundred, at least.

  And five bucks per strawberry.

  The door slid open and Maximo stepped inside. There was more tension in his body, his face tight as he scowled.

  “Everything okay?” I asked.

  “Fine.”

  Ooookay then.

  I wasn’t surprised by his dismissive answer since he never talked about work. And I didn’t blame him for not wanting to discuss it during his rare time off. So I did something that didn’t involve words.

  I kissed him.

  And after a long, frozen moment, he kissed me back. And then he took control, gripping my ponytail to tilt my head so he could spear his tongue in.

  Pulling away a minute later, he rested his forehead against mine. “How’d you know I needed that?”

  “Lucky guess.”

  Dropping his head to my neck, he teased it with his tongue. “Perfect guess.” He bit hard enough to make me cry out, a surge of moisture pooling between my thighs. “Sure you want to go out?”

  “Nope, this works. This is definitely better.”

  If Maximo was one of the features of the room, I could understand why people would choose to stay in.

  But he wasn’t for anyone else. Right then, he was only mine.

  “Let’s go before I change my mind,” he rumbled, releasing me.

  “Fine,” I said on a long, dramatic sigh.

  “Brat.”

  “Control freak.”

  Maximo swatted my ass, but it was more playful than punishing.

  Unfortunately.

  He unzipped his bag and pulled out a ball cap, sliding it on backward. At my gawking, he winked. “Got to go incognito for hotel espionage.”

  If he thinks he blends in, he is sadly mistaken.

  We went down the elevator, getting off at a different floor than we’d gotten on. The hallway was lined with art and statues. One in particular caught my eye, and the longer I looked at it, the more bizarre it became.

  “I liked the art at Moonlight,” I started, fighting a smile, “but you don’t have a statue of a naked man-dog and a naked man-bunny riding a donkey.”

  “Jesus, that’s insane.”

  “Insanely awesome. Unlike your lack of animal-human hybrid erotica.” I stepped closer to inspect it, surprised at the level of anatomical detail. “It must’ve been cold that day.”

  Maximo’s rich laughter rang out around me, and I lost my hold on my own.

  “If you’re done ogling the statues,” he said, “there’s more to see.”

  “I don’t think anything can top this, but okay.”

  We only walked for a short bit before I stood corrected.

  Pausing in front of a restaurant, I pointed at the name.

  Eggslut.

  “I’m beginning to think this casino is run by a pervert.” I tilted my head. “And now I don’t know if I’m hungry or aroused.”

  “We can go back to the room so I can take care of both,” Maximo offered, his tone playful while the look in his eyes was anything but.

  Oh, this is gonna be a fun day.

  Leaning into him, I grinned. “Later, Daddy.”

  “Why do I get the feeling you’re going to earn a red ass before you ride my face?”

  “Because I’m very lucky,” I blurted without thought.

  Maximo didn’t respond verbally, but he did get a tender look on his face that hurt beautifully.

  “Ready?” I asked when I couldn’t stand the intensity any longer.

  He answered my question with one of his own. “Are you actually hungry?”

  “No, I’m good.”

  Keeping a possessive arm around me, Maximo gave me a tour of the expansive building. There was too much to see to waste time with window shopping, but I did pop into an eyewear place for a kickass pair of silver aviators for me and a black pair for Maximo.

  When we got outside, I was grateful for the impulsive buy because the sun was blinding. I lowered my shades from the top of my head to cover my eyes as Maximo put his on.

  How does he keep getting hotter?

  This has to be some kind of witchcraft.

  “Cosmopolitan is near the center of the Strip, so pick which direction you want to go,” Maximo said.

  I looked one way then the other before seeing what I wanted. “This way.”

  “Shops at Crystals?”

  Since I was fairly certain they ran a credit check just to step foot inside, I shook my head. “Even better.”r />
  We walked for a bit before finally reaching New York-New York.

  “You want chocolate?” Maximo asked, looking up at signage for the Hershey’s store located in the resort.

  “No.” I paused before amending, “Well, yes. But I also want to ride the coaster and then eat a New York hot dog.”

  “You don’t like heights,” he pointed out.

  “Which is why I want to ride first then eat.”

  My stomach already churned with a mix of excitement, adrenaline, and horror that left me queasy.

  Despite the line for the coaster stretching on forever, Maximo sent one text and we were on the next ride. I chose safe seats in the middle, but there was only so much safety to be found on a coaster attached to the outside of a building. Luckily, Maximo sacrificed his hand so I could death grip it.

  “Want to do it again with the VR goggles?” he asked when we got off.

  My stomach dropped and turned. “No, once was enough. I just wanted to say I rode it.”

  He tugged my ponytail, but there was concern in his eyes. “You still want that hot dog?”

  “Definitely.”

  Maybe.

  Walking the winding halls of New York-New York was like stepping into an old NYC neighborhood. There was even a deli that looked nearly identical to one that’d been down the street from my grandparents’ house.

  The smells wafting from the restaurants were enough to make my mouth water. I stuck with my original choice of a hot dog and Maximo grabbed a slice of pepperoni pizza that was good, but not New York good.

  “Does it look like the real thing?” Maximo asked as we threw our trash away and strolled through the rest of the fake neighborhood.

  “I remember it being bigger,” I joked. “But kinda.”

  I’d been born in New York and had moved to the city as a toddler. A big chunk of my life had been spent there, yet I’d never felt like a New Yorker.

  I’d never felt like anything but a nomad.

  Temporary.

  That hadn’t changed, but at least I felt some semblance of stability for the first time.

  “Take a picture with me,” I blurted suddenly, wanting a keepsake beyond the bellyache that was already fading.

  Surprisingly, Maximo didn’t hesitate. He pulled his phone out, brought up the camera, and handed it to a middle-aged passerby to take our picture in front of a fake stoop.