Waking Up in Vegas

by Stephanie Kisner

  Flexing my couch-back hand was doing nothing to wake it up. I had to move my arm, and there was only one way to do it without waking up the slumbering co-host nooking into my side.

  I slid my arm around her shoulders and once again, she surprised me by tucking herself a little deeper into my chest. On autopilot, I dropped a kiss onto the top of her head.

  Not on autopilot, my hand was tingling back to life and it took pretty much everything I had to not touch her with it. My fingertips itched to drag down her arm, maybe settle at the side of her breast, and just the thought of doing it had me sprouting the second boner of my evening, and at least the fourth one of the day.

  Fantastic.

  When the movie ended, I eased out enough to twist and slide a hand behind her knees and tighten the arm slung around her shoulders. I carried her in to bed, managing to tug enough of the covers over her so she wouldn’t get cold.

  Jensen was a hard sleeper—she barely stirred. Until, riding on impulse and a little too much beer, I brushed the hair back from her forehead and grazed a light kiss over the skin there.

  She sighed and mumbled what sounded like, “Night, sweetie.”

  I don’t know how long I leaned in the doorframe, watching her sleep.

  ***

  Wednesday morning was a little easier. Jensen woke up on her own, and was already in the shower when my alarm went off. I put the dogs out through the kitchen door while I got the coffee on, not giving a second thought to walking around the house in my underwear. She was down the hall in the bathroom. Me and my morning wood were safe.

  Remember that saying about assumptions?

  I was lingering in the kitchen, listening for Lita or Angus to scratch to come in, and I guess the sound of Mr. Coffee was too loud for me to hear the shower turn off. And for me to hear when Jensen opened the bathroom door.

  Tired of waiting on the dogs, I opened the back door and shouted their names. This was, of course, the moment Jensen decided to come into the kitchen, calling out, “Good morning, Ta—oh! Sorry.”

  The dogs chased each other through the kitchen into the living room. I turned around when I was sure they were gone. Jensen was anything but sorry, I must say. She hadn’t moved from the doorway, just standing there staring with her lips in a little O.

  She was wrapped in a fuzzy white robe, her hair damp and heading every which-way on her head, her skin still pink from the shower.

  I watched her eyes travel down my body, coming to rest south of my belly button. And I won’t say somewhere south, either, because I knew exactly where she was staring. I could feel her gaze like a caress. Tack Jr. gave a little hitch, enjoying the attention, even if it was from afar, and I saw her eyes widen.

  I couldn’t stop the smirk. “You keep staring like that and he’s gonna wave at you again.”

  Her lips may have said, “Don’t flatter yourself,” but the dark blush on her cheeks told an entirely different story.

  Before she could turn and leave, I sauntered past her through the doorway and walked down the hall to my own—cold—shower.

  By the time I got out, Jen seemed to have recovered, although, even through our entire show, she looked anywhere but my eyes, and the blush hadn’t left her cheeks.

  Good. There was no sense in just one of us suffering here.

  I had the damn counselor that afternoon, and hanging out at home with Jen, in my estimation, would have only served to make talking harder. I opted to go straight to the gym after we finished our timeslot. I was antsy and edgy and determined to sweat myself into a coma, because the rising energy between Jensen and I desperately needed an outlet.

  Besides, she had a shiny new key and could look after herself.

  I did my usual circuit of weights, trimming a few reps off the usual, since I hadn’t been in in over a week. I reserved punishing myself for the treadmill. I selected the same program that had tried to rip my knee off, stuffed buds in my ears to turn away anyone who wanted to chat (including Tessa—I found myself strangely uninterested now), and did the whole cycle without hurting myself. Then I set it up and did it again, stopping a few minutes short of the full forty-five minute program when my thighs started screaming and begging me to stop. My clothes were drenched, sweat dripped from my hair, and I’d managed to burn all thoughts of sex from my head(s).

  As insurance, I took the coldest shower possible in the locker room.

  I arrived at the counselor’s office a little early. I wasn’t trying to impress Dr. Cheska, I was simply done at the gym and didn’t want to hang out. Tessa kept staring, and it was making me uncomfortable.

  Hmm. I made a mental note to bring that up during my session, to show the good doc that her words were sinking in.

  I promptly forgot all about it when a man came out to greet me, introducing himself as Dr. Bob Cooper. He said he was taking over my counseling, effective immediately.

  “Dr. Cheska thinks that you’d benefit more from talking to me instead of to her.”

  I kept my face impassive and held in the snort. The only one who would benefit from her passing me off was Dr. Cheska.

  We settled into his office (oddly, it was decorated almost identically to Dr. Cheska’s) and Dr. Cooper asked if the diary was helping.

  I admitted that I’d forgotten to use it.

  He assigned me one entry by Friday—which he said he’d glance over, but not read word-for-word. He mostly wanted to see that I was at least attempting to use it as a learning tool, although the entries were really mine alone, for me to work out whatever was cropping up during the week.

  I couldn’t stop the smirk. If only he knew.

  Somehow, our talk wound around to the roots of my attitudes toward women, and how I lost my virginity in particular.

  So I relayed the story of the all-girl Bon Jovi cover band, and how I’d been their gigolo-in-training for a while.

  “It was cool, I guess,” I said in response to his query of how it made me feel. “I mean, most high school guys have to practically beg their girlfriends to have sex, and it’s usually in the back seat of a car or somewhere else awkward and stupid. I didn’t have to go through that. Or the arguing or broken hearts afterward.”

  “But Tack,” he asked, “what do you think about it now, knowing how your life has turned out?”

  Wow. Way to judge, Doc. “You make it sound like the way I live my life is a bad thing. And it isn’t. I like playing the ever-changing field. No strings. No disagreements. No hearts involved to break.”

  I didn’t know him well enough to admit that a string or two were beginning to sound mighty appealing. Nor that I was now thinking that maybe I’d actually missed out by losing my virginity to a bunch of women who didn’t care about me in the least.

  By the time the hour with Dr. Cooper was over, I wasn’t sure if he was shocked or envious. Whatever, man. It was still the truth.

  And I was horny all over again.

  Dammit.

  I came home raw, which was normal after one of the Tack-talking hours, but this time, with desire floating way too close to the surface, as well. Today was geared to kill me with testosterone overload, and I hadn’t been able to shake it off on the drive home.

  I walked in to find Jen sautéing chicken and snowpeas. I was drooling already, and wasn’t sure if the cause was the delicious aroma or from seeing Jen in shorts and an apron.

  “You don’t mind, do you? I figured it was my turn to take care of you a little.”

  After the way the day had gone, I’m sure my thoughts of her taking care of me were far different from hers.

  I went into the bedroom to change into sweats. That zipper was leaving permadents in my dick. I picked my loosest fleece, and hoped they’d hide the tent that wouldn’t completely go away.

  Once she’d stuffed me with dinner and beer, I told her to find something to do while I took care of the dishes.

  Mostly, I needed a little breather from her closeness.

  I went into the living room after and f
ound her playing a hand of some kind of solitaire I’d never seen before, taking up most of the coffee table. I’d brought her another beer and set it near her elbow, then sat down next to her on the couch.

  “You don’t have to alter your routine just because I’m here,” she said without looking at me.

  Yeah, right. I could stay out all night with her in my house, and come home smelling like sex. With someone else. Instead, I told her I liked her company.

  Which was the truth. The place seemed a little brighter with her in it.

  “Wanna play with me?”

  Not a good question to ask me today, little cockblocker.

  I cleared my throat, because it felt like I was strangling, and squeezed out, “What’s your game?”

  If she noticed that I sounded funny, she didn’t let on. I put some bluesy rock on the stereo, low and mellow, and fetched myself a beer of my own.

  We settled on gin rummy, and after two hands of being beaten quite soundly, I was beginning to think she’d played me for a chump.

  Good thing we weren’t betting.

  Bad thing that every new hand brought a fresh bottle of beer.

  I was getting a little buzzed and feeling silly, so when Jensen flashed her third winning hand in a row, I launched myself at her, tickling under her arms and down her sides. Her cards flew over the back of the couch and she squirmed and shrieked, trying to get away.

  “You, my wench, need to learn how to soothe the male ego by letting me win once in a while.” I punctuated that by dancing my fingers down both sides of her ribs. Jen tried to scoot toward the end of the couch to escape, but that just laid her out flat under me.

  My hands stilled on her waist and her laughter died in her throat. My eyes locked on hers, pulled in by their amber warmth and expanding pupils. I tried not to move. I swear I did. Being attracted to Jensen was inevitable. Doing something about it was not.

  Then her eyes flickered down to my mouth. If they’d have come back up to mine, I could have still managed to crawl off her and pick up the scattered cards from the floor.

  But her stare stayed fixed on my lips. So of course, mine were drawn to hers like they had their own magnetic pull. I watched the tip of her tongue swipe over the plump center of her lower lip, and I heard a hoarse groan come from one of us.

  I think it was me. Sweet Christ.

  I dropped my face closer, still holding on to one last shred of my sanity. Right hand to God, if she pulled back at all, I would stop.

  Her eyelids had drifted down, though they were still open. Watching her watch me through her lashes was erotic as fuck. My dick sprang to attention and, I admit, I may have shifted my hips on reflex. Not that they were touching her. Much.

  She tilted her chin the tiniest bit and that lush lower lip brushed against mine. Then once more, telling me this was on purpose.

  The waiting game was over now. I hoped she could handle it.

  Hell, I hoped I could.

  I closed my lips around the place her tongue had just been, for some insane reason needing to lay claim to that very spot. I felt her sigh whisper across my cheek and my tongue teased the soft seam of her mouth, first asking, then begging, to let me in.

  When her gasp gave me the access I needed, I didn’t wait for a second opportunity. My tongue met hers with a fierceness that was almost scary.

  Scratch the almost.

  I think I died a little.

  She met my every movement, led when I retreated, and I’m not sure when her hands had crept up into my hair, but I felt them twisting in the strands, pulling me closer.

  Which was exactly where I wanted to be.

  I was still gripping her waist, but my fingers had shifted to drag her into me, sinking my hips into the cradle of her thighs. She hooked one calf around my leg and so help me, I was ready to explode right then and there. God knows it took everything I had not to press in deeper, for fear that I would.

  I trailed one hand up her body slowly, savoring every inch until I reached the curve of her breast. My thumb was tattooing circles into the side while her lips and tongue continued to drive me slowly insane.

  I’ve always taken pleasure in everything female, but the preliminaries were always just that—something to enjoy and get through quickly enough so we could arrive at the end we both wanted. We got happy, and went our separate ways.

  This, however… this was thoroughly warping my mind. I didn’t want to rush through anything with Jensen. This couch, with her underneath me writhing and sighing, was now my favorite place in the whole world. I could explore her like this for days and still feel we’d barely scratched the surface.

  And forget the walking away. You couldn’t drag me off with chains.

  I snaked the hand that wasn’t marking her breast around the back of her hips, finally holding her mouthwatering ass. I dug my fingers in gently and pulled her closer, hoping I had enough of a grip on containing my orgasm and that I wouldn’t have one from just the friction of our clothed bodies.

  Speaking of, much as I craved her bare skin against my own, I also didn’t want to give up the delicious, slow discovery I had right now.

  With a growl (I know, right?), I brought the meeting of our lips to an almost savage intensity. Any closer and I’d be crawling inside her. And it still wouldn’t be enough. I don’t know when it happened, but I needed her sighs, her taste, her curves, more than air.

  She moaned and I was instantly addicted to that, as well.

  One of her hands had drifted down my back. I was so far gone that I didn’t notice until her nails stabbed into my skin. That little slice of pain was kerosene on my fire, and with a groan, my pelvis ground into hers, smashing the biggest erection of my life into the apex of her thighs.

  I must have hit the right spot, because that moan was back and she answered my hips with a push of her own.

  Desire surrounding us like a fog, I finally pulled my lips from hers and made a track of soft kisses down her jawline, pausing to give special attention to the hollow behind her ear. Her soft cry was music to my soul, and she whispered something unintelligible.

  I was elated that I wasn’t the only one whose vocabulary had gone out the window.

  I was certain her nails were going to leave bruises now. I didn’t care. I wanted to be visibly marked.

  I already was, on the inside.

  Needing to touch every exposed inch, I nipped my way down her throat, murmuring her name like a prayer. Her moan vibrated through my lips and straight down to my cock. It throbbed and got harder, although I don’t know how that was even possible.

  Every instinct screamed for me to peel off every last bit of our clothes and bury myself in her, but I shoved it all away and slammed the door. No way was I going to speed things up. Every tiny sound from her lips was a treasure, and I wanted to collect them all.

  “Oh, God, Tack,” she gasped when I reached the curve of her neck and shoulder and scraped my teeth over her skin. Her fingers squeezed into my scalp and, taking the hint, I did it again. She quivered in my arms and, once more, the voice in my head screamed to get her naked with her knees pulled up to her ears.

  I knew that if I didn’t stop now, I never would until that voice won, and I wasn’t ready to go there. Yet.

  This was a fragile line, but we could still go back from here. If I got my cock inside her (and Lord knows I wanted it there with every molecule of my being), there’d be no retreat. Everything would change.

  So instead of going lower, which was probably what she expected, I nibbled my way back up to her mouth, teasing her lips with light brushes and passes until that hand she still had buried in my hair practically smashed my face into hers.

  Such a two-way street we had going on here.

  Her tongue invaded my mouth, and this time it was Jensen who got to swallow my groan. Every time I drew back, she pursued, threatening to pull us back to that place where the need lurked and danced in the dark.

  This could not continue. I’d finally leashe
d that lust and the bitch was straining at the shackles.

  With the strongest act of will I’d ever displayed, I raised myself from Jensen’s intoxicating curves, staying on hands and knees above her and looking down. (Resolved enough to pull away, yes. Crazy enough to stop all contact, no.)

  Her face was flushed and her lips were stained a deep red, fuller from all the attention they’d received. Her lids fluttered open and she looked dazedly up at me through the haze of want. “Tack?”

  I tried to contain my rapid breathing, but decided to just say fuck it. She knew I wanted her, why try to hide it? “We should stop, sweetheart. Before we do something we can’t take back.”

  She let go with a shuddering sigh, but gave me a shaky nod. “Too much beer,” she joked. It sounded hollow, and I knew that she, like me, was just trying to shake it off.

  I agreed, even though we both knew it was a total lie. She was intoxicating all on her own.

  And I had four more days with her under my roof.

  God truly hated me.

  Chapter 12

  *Thunderstruck*

  We’d moved to opposite ends of the couch after that, both of us afraid that any sort of contact would trigger one of us to combust.

  Something sultry by Black Bone Child was playing on the stereo, and though I was intentionally staring at the wall behind the television, out of the corner of my eye, I caught Jen’s toe tapping out the beat.

  “Good song,” I said, just to break the awkward silence.

  “Did you pick this Pandora station on purpose?” Her voice was low and rough, and once again I didn’t know what to make of her.

  “I’m not sure what you mean by that, but I picked it because it’s one of my favorites.”

  “So you didn’t put it on because someone told you that, second to AC/DC, I love blues rock.” It was a statement and not a question.

  “Why would anyone tell me that? For that matter, who do I know that would know that about you—and then would feel compelled to tell me?” I quit studying the texture of my living room wall and turned to look at Jen for the first time since I’d climbed off her breathless body. “What exactly is your point here, Jen?”