by Kaylee Ryan
“So sweet,” he murmurs before pushing his tongue past my lips. His lips are firm yet soft as they connect with mine. I bury my fingers in his hair, and he moans deep in his throat at the same time as he pushes into me.
I tense at first, needing some time to adjust to his size. He doesn’t move, just stays buried inside of me and deepens his kiss. Needing more, I wrap my legs around his waist and tug him into me. He pulls away from the kiss and drops his forehead to mine.
“Incredible,” he murmurs as he slowly withdraws and just as slowly enters me again.
He doesn’t seem to be in any kind of hurry, but I am. This fire burning inside of me is raging. It’s as if my earlier orgasm was just a simple appetizer. I’m more than ready for the main course. “More,” I beg. He lifts his head and thrusts a little harder. It’s better, but not good enough. “Faster.”
“I can’t,” he says, his jaw tight. “I’m not going to last, beautiful. I need you there. Touch yourself,” he commands.
Releasing my grip on his hair, I slide my hand between us and circle my clit.
“That’s it.” He rocks his hips and gives me exactly what I asked for.
“That,” I pant as he swivels his hips, never breaking rhythm. “I’m so close,” I breathe.
His thrusts grow harder, faster, and I let my hand fall away, holding onto his muscular arms. “Saylor,” he warns. That’s as far as he gets before my second orgasm bursts inside of me. It’s intense as warmth spreads through my body. His release is immediate as he throws his head back with a grunt. “Fuck me,” he whispers, burying his face in my neck.
“I kinda think we just took care of that,” I say, winded. I’m still trying to catch my breath.
He chuckles. “We should do it again,” he says, thrusting one more time before pulling out.
“Only one condom. What kind of Boy Scout were you anyway?” I tease. I’m hoping we can avoid any awkwardness.
He slides off the bed and stands. I roll to my side to watch him. Leaning in, he kisses me and smacks my ass. “Nothing could have prepared me for you, Saylor,” he says, then ambles toward the bathroom in his naked glory. Not a minute later, he strolls back out of the bathroom and sits on the edge of the bed. Sliding his hands under the covers, he puts pressure on the inside of my knee, wanting me to open for him. Apparently, when it comes to Rhett, I’m easy. I don’t put up a fight and let my legs fall open. He takes a warm rag and cleans me up. When he’s done, he tosses it to the floor, obviously not concerned with the carpet in this high-priced suite we’re staying in.
He surprises me when he climbs into bed and slides under the covers. Immediately, he reaches for me, pulling my back to his chest. “Good night, baby,” he whispers.
I should question it. I should ask him what we’re doing. I should ask him what this means. However, I don’t. Instead, I let his deep, even breaths lull me to sleep.
Rolling over, I reach for her and come up empty-handed. Prying my eyes open, sure enough, I find the bed beside me is empty and cold. She left me at some point in the middle of the night. Instantly, I’m pissed off. For the first time, I wanted the woman to be next to me when I woke up, and she’s not. Neither one of the reactions am I used to. Part of me wonders if it was a dream, but the images running through my mind are too vivid to not be real. Throwing back the covers, I climb out of bed. My foot hits something damp. Looking down, I see the cloth that I cleaned her with, further confirmation that last night wasn’t a dream.
After a quick pit stop to the bathroom, I head out to the living area of the suit. Saylor is sitting on the couch, eating a bagel and drinking coffee.
“Morning,” I say, taking the seat next to her.
“Morning,” she says, way too damn chipper. “I ordered breakfast. Just bagels and pastries. I wasn’t really sure what you wanted, and I know we have to be there at eleven to set up.”
“What time is it?” I ask her.
“Just after ten. I was getting ready to come and wake you up.”
She doesn’t mention leaving me last night or early this morning. “You sleep well?” I ask her.
“Yeah, did you?”
“I did. I missed you though.” Reaching over, I move her hair from her shoulder. “I expected you to be there when I woke up.”
“Once I’m up, I’m up, so I went ahead and showered and got ready. I didn’t want to have to rush.”
I study her, trying to see if she’s telling me the truth. Her voice is sincere, if not a little hesitant. I believe her, but at the same time, there is something else just below the surface.
“I should go finish getting ready.”
She’s looks perfect to me. Dark skintight jeans and a Baxter’s Distillery T-shirt. All she needs is shoes. “Trust me, babe, you look great.”
She gives me a shy smile. “I need shoes, and I want to touch up my lipstick. I should have eaten first.”
She stands, and I watch her go. Her ass is fucking spectacular in those jeans. When she disappears behind her bedroom door, I know she’s not coming out until she has to. I grab a bagel, slather on some cream cheese, and head to the shower. We’ll get through today, and then I’ll have her in my bed again. There really is no other option.
After scarfing down my bagel and a quick shower, I’m back in the living area and still no Saylor. I find myself standing outside of her bedroom door. I want to barge in and toss her on the bed and repeat every second of last night, but that has to wait. We’re here for a reason, and because of that we need to go. “Saylor,” I say, knocking lightly on her door. “You about ready? We need to get going.” How long does it take to reapply lipstick?
Arms braced above the door, I stand there and wait for her. When the door finally opens, I don’t move. She did more than just reapply her lipstick. Her hair that was straightened now hangs in soft curls down her back, and she’s taller. I travel down to her black high heels. I have to tighten my grip on the frame to keep from locking us in her room for the rest of the day. “You trying to tempt me with those fuck-me heels?” I ask, my voice gruff.
“What?” she asks innocently. “I’m just trying to look good, you know, to sell the Baxter name.” She pats my chest with both hands then slips underneath my arms.
I follow her to the living room, trying not to trip over my tongue on the way. Her ass in those jeans is epic. Her ass in those jeans and heels fuck with my head and my cock. My dick rises to the occasion, and my head is telling me to make her mine.
“Ready?” she asks, looking over her shoulder.
“Yeah, let’s get this day over with,” I say, placing my hand on the small of her back and leading her to the elevator.
“Why so grumpy?”
“Really, Saylor?”
“What?”
“You, that’s what.” I grab her hand and place it over my cock. “You did this, and looking like that”—I point to her—“I’m going to be hard all fucking day.”
She takes a step closer, her heels bring her closer than ever before. “I’m sorry.” She sticks out her bottom lip in a pout. “What if I promise to make it better?” she coos.
Grabbing her hips, I pull her into me. “Let’s go back to the room,” I say, kissing down her neck.
The elevator doors slide open, and she steps out of my hold. “Duty calls.” She shrugs and prances out of the elevator.
“Son of a bitch,” I mumble, following behind her. Dorothy was able to score our suite in the hotel that is connected to the casino, which means we never have to leave the building, something that I never really cared about until now. Every motherfucker we pass is checking her out. I can only imagine how bad it would be out on the strip. My irritation spikes the more stares she gets, and that irritates me too.
“So where do we set up?” she asks.
“We’re going to be in the lobby of the casino with the other vendors. Dorothy shipped all of our supplies and arranged for someone to set up our booth.”
“Then why did you need me? Could yo
u not have hired someone here?”
“Honestly, I can’t answer that. Gramps just said I needed an experienced bartender to come with me. I didn’t question him.” I should have. Now that I’m here, I’m wondering why I didn’t. Then again, once I found out Saylor was coming, I didn’t care. The thought of a few days away with her was all I could think about.
We find our booth easily enough; there is a representative from the casino there to greet us.
“Rhett Baxter?” the guy asks.
“Yes.” I offer him my hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“You too. I’m Cliff. I have your badge for the event and everything is set up. However, I didn’t get the name of your bartender.”
“That would be me.” Saylor raises her hand. “Saylor,” she tells him.
“Nice to meet you,” he says, holding her hand longer than necessary. “Give me a few minutes, and I’ll be back with your badge.”
“He’s friendly,” she says, watching him walk away.
“This is your show.” I point to the table behind us, changing the subject and distracting her from Cliff. “You think you can handle it?”
“Please,” she scoffs. “I’ve been slinging drinks for years.”
“Here you go,” Cliff says, handing Saylor her badge. “So the show starts at noon. It’s open to the public as well as other businesses. You’re free to pass out samples. Patrons are carded before being allowed access to the lobby, so you don’t need to worry about that. The casino will take on that liability. The idea is to let them sample your product, hence getting people to the casino and hopefully digging into their pockets and partaking in the fun before they leave. For you, it’s an opportunity to reach new customers and potential businesses to serve your brand.”
“Noon to five?” I clarify.
“Yeah, after that we’ll break down the booths. You can choose to take your product that’s left over with you, or if you decide to leave it, it will be considered ownership of the house and dispensed as ordered,” Cliff explains.
“We’ll leave it. Whatever’s left you can have,” I tell him. I don’t want to deal with shipping it back; it’s not worth it.
“Great. Good luck today,” Cliff says before turning to Saylor. “Maybe after we can go get a drink?” he asks her.
I slide up behind her and place my hands on her hips. He holds his hands in the air and backs away, wearing a cocky-as-fuck grin. When he turns and walks away, Saylor elbows me.
“What?” I play dumb. I know exactly what her jab was for.
“You,” she huffs. “Don’t think just because of last night you have some kind of claim over me,” she says, her voice low yet stern.
That’s exactly what it means. I just need to get her to see things my way. “Wanna bet?” I taunt her.
She rolls those big blue eyes at me. “Sure, we can bet if you feel like losing some of your money.”
I place my hands back on her hips and pull her back against my front. My cock is hard, all for her. “You feel that, Say? You feel what you do to me?” I watch over her shoulder as her chest rapidly rises and falls. “You want me. I can see it in the way your body responds to mine.” I run my finger down her arm that is currently covered in goose bumps. “I know what you’re thinking.”
“Right,” she scoffs, still fighting this connection.
“My cock, deep inside you, that’s what you’re thinking about. That’s what you want, Saylor. Admit it,” I say before kissing the side of her neck.
“People are staring,” she says breathlessly. Her plea is as weak as her resolve.
“I don’t give a fuck. Let them see. Every motherfucker in here needs to see that you’re untouchable to them.”
She ignores my statement. “They’re opening the doors,” she says.
Releasing my hold on her, I move to stand in front of her. Bending down so we are nose to nose, our lips a breath apart, I say, “You look beautiful today. I didn’t get a chance to tell you.” With that, I press my lips to hers. It’s brief and not nearly enough, but it will have to do until this gig is over. Then all bets are off.
The day drags on as I watch every drunk asshole in Vegas hit on her. She handles herself well, blowing off their advances. I stay close to her and give each and every one of them a warning glare. I should be out schmoozing other casino owners, but I’m not leaving her alone. If they’re interested in the Baxter brand, they can come to me. Hell, we’re already in most of them anyway. I still don’t understand why Gramps signed up for this. He claimed it was as a favor, but was it really? Too bad his grumpy ass isn’t talking to me, I might have been able to get the real story. When we get back, I’m having it out with him. Life is too short for us to go on like this.
“People love it,” Saylor says, holding up a bottle of Baxter’s X2; it’s our most recent, eighty proof.
“I think it has more to do with who’s serving than the whiskey,” I tell her.
“That is why you brought me after all, right? To look pretty pouring drinks?”
“No. I asked Jake to come and he shut me down.”
“Right. So I was your second choice,” she says, losing some of her spark.
There’s a lull in the crowd, so I take the opportunity to pull her close, snaking my arm around her waist. Her head rests on my chest. I expected a fight, but she came willingly. “Never settle for second choice, Saylor. You’re so much better than that.” I want to tell her she’s my first choice. That she’s all I think about; she’s the only woman I see. This trip has proven that. There are women barely dressed everywhere, a few even trying to drum up conversation as they stop at our table. Not once was I tempted. They can’t hold a candle to Saylor. I just need to figure out how to break through those walls she has built around her.
“Would you like a sample?” she asks a group of four who stop at our table.
Reluctantly, I release her from my hold, missing the feel of her in my arms. “Thirty more minutes,” I tell her once the group has moved on. “What do you want to do tonight?”
“Anything.” She looks up at me, eyes shining. “Maybe we can walk the strip again. I’d kind of like to see the light show at the fountain again. Fifteen minutes wasn’t enough.”
“We can make that happen. We’ll grab dinner, and then we’ll just start walking. You tell me if you see something you want to do. Deal?” I ask, holding my hand out for her to shake. Not because I need her to shake on this deal, but because I need to feel her skin against mine. Any little morsel of contact I can get from her I’m taking.
She reaches out and takes my hand. “Deal.” After we shake, she hands me a shot, keeping one for herself. “To firsts,” she says.
I hold my small plastic shot glass up to hers and then toss back my shot. Little did we know that toast was all too fitting for the night ahead.
The Vegas sun peeking through the windows of the suite is scorching. I’m hot, too damn warm. Prying my eyes open, I blink away the sun. My head is pounding, a sure sign I drank too much last night. I knew I would regret it today, but we were having such a good time. Besides, this could be the last time I’m ever in Vegas, and they say what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. However, this headache will be going on the plane with me for sure.
I need to pee. Groaning, I try to move and a hand clamps down on my hip. I start to panic, and then he speaks. “Stop trying to leave, baby. We’re sleeping in,” he mumbles, burying his face in my hair.
“I have to pee,” I moan, because I seriously need to relieve my bladder.
“Fine, but come back to bed,” he says, kissing my neck and releasing his hold on me. Sliding from underneath the covers, I discover I’m naked. Flashes of last night slowly filter through my mind. Me on top, Rhett hovering over me. Shaking off the memory, I run to the bathroom in all my naked glory to take care of business. Stopping at the sink to wash my hands and brush my teeth, I gasp when I see a diamond band on my ring finger. What. The. Fuck. “Rhett!” I yell.
I hear his fee
t thump as they hit the floor and his heavy footsteps, and then the bathroom door flies open. “What is it? What’s wrong? Are you okay?” He fires off questions, running his hands through his hair.
“This!” I hold up my left hand.
“Okay, it’s a ring.” He shrugs.
“A ring,” I scoff. “This was not here last night when we went out.”
He scrunches up his forehead, as if he’s thinking. “So we bought it last night,” he says, still not getting what I’m saying.
“Rhett!” I stomp my foot and cringe at my own voice. “Give me your hand.” I hold mine out, palm up. He places his hand in mine. “The other one,” I say, holding my breath. Maybe I did just buy a ring. Although it looks real, so he would have had to of bought it for me. Hope starts to rise until he gives me his left hand and my suspicion is confirmed. “No, no, no, no,” I chant, dropping his hand and rushing past him. I survey the room and see nothing out of place. Hurrying out to the living area, I scan until I see a white envelope on the counter. Rushing to it, I flip it over, and sure enough, the logo for “The Little White Wedding Chapel” adorns the font. “Fuck,” I say, defeated.
“We’re married,” he says from behind me.
I nod. “Yeah,” I confirm.
He sits on the couch and rests his elbows on his knees, burying his hands in his hair. “I remember bits and pieces of last night. That couple at the fountain, they were headed to the chapel and invited us along.”
I plop down on the couch beside him and close my eyes. “Yeah,” I agree as the nights starts coming back to me. “They were so excited; their enthusiasm was contagious.”
“We’re married,” he says again.
“How do we fix this?” I ask him, opening my eyes to see him still hunched over, elbows on his knees.
He raises his head and looks at me. “Why do we have to fix it?”
“Rhett, come on. We got married. We’re not even dating.”