by Frankie Love
But instead, he steps away.
Which is probably good because I have forgotten to breathe.
Surprising me yet again, he says, "I was hoping you'd make me another old-fashioned."
Chapter Three
Levi
She tells me she's a waitress, not a bartender and that if I'd like another drink, I would be best served to order at the bar.
"I didn't expect you to be so ornery," I tell her, a smile playing on my lips.
"This isn't ornery. This is tired. I've had two long days back to back," I explain, rubbing the base of my neck with my palm. "And I have all my tables cleared and am just dying to get off my feet."
I nod, hating the idea of Lucy working so damn hard. "I see. In that case, let's go somewhere quiet where you can kick off those heels and relax."
She frowns, crossing her arms. "Where would that be?"
My lips twitch. She may look like liquid sunshine, but she isn't trying to butter me up. Still, I have a feeling I could make her melt if given the chance.
I'll take that chance here and now. "My hotel room?"
She rolls her eyes. "I figured as much." She turns to walk away.
"Hey," I say, stepping closer. I admit it: I like that she isn't easy. Leaning down to her ear, my words roll off my tongue. "Do you have a better idea, little Lucy? We just met, and I have no idea where you like to unwind after work. You pick, I'll follow."
"The Sex in the City slot machine," she says without hesitation, spinning around to face me.
I lift a brow. "Say what?"
She shrugs, her pink lips twisting like she knows what she's playing at. "It's my favorite slot machine. You said I could pick." She smiles, surely knowing a man like me wouldn't want to play some frou-frou game that eats your quarters.
"You don't want to go to another bar?" I ask, hoping she'll bite.
She shakes her head. "Nope. I don't like bars and I don't go home with men. Ever. So, either we play my game, or we don't play at all."
I bite my bottom lip, turned on by her spunk. "In that case, lead the way."
Fifteen minutes later she's changed out of her LBD uniform and she's leading me to a corner of the casino floor. She's back in her skirt and sweater, and she's let down her long hair so it once again swishes as she walks. It looks like a fucking waterfall of seduction and I'm about to jump off the cliff. Dive in head first. Take the mother fucking plunge as soon as she lets me.
It's crowded, and I place my hand on the small of her back as we walk. I move closer to her, not wanting to be separated for a moment. She looks over her shoulder, so our eyes meet, and she slows her pace.
She wants me close to her as badly as I do.
"You know how badly I want you out of that skirt?" I whisper in her ear as we walk through the crowds surrounding a roulette table, past the blackjack tables where high rolling guests are hooting and hollering over their bets.
Side by side now, she looks over at me. "I don't usually let men talk to me that way."
"And why's that?" I ask, memorizing her profile.
"Because I'm a lady, that's why."
Her cute upturned nose, exposed collarbone, her ample cleavage -- it’s all too damn much. She's walking like she owns the place, and yet she has no damn clue that heads are turning as she moves. I keep my hand on her back, not letting go of this perfect little thing.
The top button on her sweater is undone and I'd like to unbutton the rest, see her pretty little tits exposed. I'd pull down the lacy cups of her bra and let those big globes fall out. I'd suck her hard little nipples until she was running her fingers through my hair, begging me for more. Oh, I'd give her more. In fact, I'd give her plenty.
Goddammit, I need to stop thinking this way or I'm gonna find myself in big trouble.
"We're here," she says, and I stop staring at her long enough to see where she's pointing. There are two big slot machines, a pair of chairs in front of massive screens claiming jackpots and big wins, but the only thing prize I want is her.
"That we are." I watch as she slips into a chair and reaches into her tote bag. She looks over at me, then pats the chair beside her, telling me to sit.
I do as she says, hoping like hell my brother and his crew don't see me sitting in front of a machine based on a show about some dating-advice columnist in NYC who wears fancy ass shit and sleeps around.
I pull out my wallet the same time she pulls out hers. I shake my head, slipping a crisp one-hundred-dollar bill into her machine.
"Thanks," she says. "But you're playing too, right?"
I groan. "Do I have to?"
She nods. "You have to."
Shaking my head, I add a hundred bones to my machine as a waitress swings by.
"A glass of champagne for me and an old-fashioned for him," Lucy orders for us as I put my wallet in my back pocket.
"Why this machine?" I ask as she explains what to bet and we both spin the wheel.
"It's silly right?" She kicks off her shoes and tucks her feet underneath her as she sits cross-legged on her chair. The skirt rides up her thighs and damn, I wanna run my hand under the fabric, feel her little cunt, make her squirm in this chair; make her pant in desire. I don't though; it's clear she wants to be treated like a lady and I don't think ladies like being fondled in public.
Besides, looking at her is enough to get me hard. She looks so damn adorable perched like that, looking at the screen in front of her, concentrating as if determination has anything to do with luck of the draw.
"But it's still fun," she tells me. "Sometimes you get to play bonus games. It's a thrill, waiting for those. And honestly, life is hard, might as well take a chance on something good happening for once."
"Lots of bad things happen to you, Lucy?"
"Eh, not as bad as other people, that's for sure." Lucy smiles as the waitress delivers our drinks and she slips a chip on the drink tray. "Cheers," she says, and we clink glasses. I hate the idea of her having been through any shit, but she isn't paying attention to that conversation anymore, she is clapping her hands, exclaiming that she got it. She got the bonus level or game or whatever it is that is making her light up.
Damn, just watching her smile like that is better than any bonus this machine might give.
"What happens now?" I ask, taking a drink of my cocktail.
"Now I choose which character to be and find out what I win."
"How do you decide?"
She looks at me like I'm crazy. "Well, I'm clearly a Charlotte."
"Right," I say, laughing. "I swear to God, I've never been so over my head on a date, you realize that, don't you?"
She spins her wheel, winning seven hundred and eighty bucks in one go. She is damn near hyperventilating as the tally keeps going up. She cashes out and tells me to do the same for good luck. We both stand, and Lucy is just brimming with excitement.
"Oh, my goodness, Levi!" She's squealing, all bright eyed and bushy tailed and looking so damn cute I'm wondering just where I oughta lock her up, so no other man gets any ideas. "I've never won that much. Ever. This is bananas!" She flings her arms around me, and I lift her off the floor. "Bananas!"
With her in my arms, I feel like I'm the real winner here, and I don't hesitate in letting her know. I lower my mouth to hers and kiss her nice and thoroughly. Damn, the bubbly champagne is still on her lips and I know I need to taste more where that came from. Parting my lips, I find her pink tongue, and I mouth fuck her then and there.
I kiss like this is a promise, and maybe it is. She isn't going anywhere anytime soon. With a mouth as sweet as hers, I can only imagine what her pussy tastes like. Heaven on a goddamn platter.
I know she loves the kiss because when I lift her ass in my hands she wraps her legs around me. Her tits are pressed against my chest and my cock is pressed against her belly. Damn these clothes, getting in the way of all our fun.
She knows I need it. Her. Now.
This may be in public, but it's Vegas -- anything goes. A
nd right now, I swear to God what I really want is her creamy cunt to sink down onto my solid cock.
I need to get her off this casino floor, and soon.
Before I can carry her off into the sunset though, she pulls from the kiss, pushes herself from my arms and plants her feet on the floor.
Then she slaps me across the face.
Hard.
Chapter Four
Lucy
Oh, my heart. This is too much. I kissed him and then I slapped him, then I started to cry.
Great. Exactly the kind of impression I wanted to make on this mountain man whose body managed to melt against mine in two seconds flat and simultaneously make me forget literally every single tenet I hold dear.
He presses his palm to his cheek and my own hand burns and oh my gosh I can't believe I slapped him.
"I'm so sorry," I say. "Don't know what came over me. I am such a..."
His eyebrows lift, his eyes meet mine. His head shakes. "Such a firecracker? A tease? A darling? Which one, sweetheart, because bitchslap or not, you've got my attention."
I close my eyes. He doesn't think I'm a raving lunatic. "Sorry. I just..." I drop my face into my hands. Then Levi steps closer and wraps those burly arms around me, and I inhale the scent of his shirt as my face is buried in it. He is all cedar and pine trees and whiskey with a cherry on top. If he was oxygen, I'd just keep on breathing him in. As it stands, I'm the one who just slapped him, yet I'm the one being consoled.
This is wrong on every level.
I pull back and wipe my eyes and dare to look up at him. In his arms, I feel so petite like I fit. With his chiseled arms around me, I feel like I'm not just the curvy girl who squeezes into sweaters, always finding them one size too tight. I feel like Levi would rather I didn't wear a sweater at all.
I swallow. These thoughts are what nearly got me into trouble only moments ago. What led me to wrap my body around his, feeling his hard length pressed my ass, his tongue devouring me like I was the best thing he had ever tasted. I am certain he is the best thing I have ever, ever had in my mouth.
Oh Lordy, I'm hot all over again and I step away. I don’t trust myself when I'm in his embrace.
"So, are you gonna tell me why you slapped me?" he asks, running a hand over his thick beard. That beard is trouble. I close my eyes, trying to push away images of him kneeling before me, spreading my thighs, and ticking my most tender places with that beard.
Trying to collect myself, I inhale, deep. Then I open my eyes and tell him the truth. "I just... I don't kiss on the first date."
He smirks. "That a rule of yours?"
I nod. "Yep."
"What happens now that you broke it?"
I bite my bottom lip. "I guess. I... I... honestly, this is unchartered territory. I've never done that. Ever."
"Done what?"
I lean in toward him, very aware of my bright red face. Am I the only one here burning up like I'm standing outside in the Vegas heat?
Whispering, I say, "Kissed a man I didn't know."
He looks at me like he knows every last thing about me. "But you have kissed a man before?"
"Okay. Not technically. So..." I wave my hand in the air, flailing. Or grasping for something. Straws maybe?
"So technically, I'm your first kiss, is that what you're saying?" He's grinning like I'm standing in front of him in my birthday suit.
I nod. "Yes. Usually, dates end before we get to that part." I exhale, reaching for my still half-full glass of champagne next to the slot machine. I take a sip, avoiding his gaze.
"And why do dates usually end so soon, Lucy? From where I'm standing you're the whole package. Endearing. Funny. Hard working. Beautiful."
"I just have a few rules is all," I say, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "And most men aren't interested in playing by them."
"Is one of the rules dropping nickels into that slot machine?" he asks, nodding to the game that just paid out more than my weekly paycheck.
"Oh, speaking of, here." I hand him the ticket, but he won't take it. "No, seriously it was your money. It's your prize."
"I don't want that, Lucy."
"Why not?"
"Because the only thing I want to win over is you."
I shake my head. "You haven't even heard my rules."
"Try me. I'm a burly-ass man and don't scare easy."
"Okay, well." I lick my lips. "Besides no kissing on the first date... um, I plan to be a virgin until my wedding night."
A flicker of desire lights up his green eyes. "Of course, you're a virgin. You've never even been kissed."
"Does that make you want to run away?"
He laughs. "Run? Baby, I don't mind the chase."
"Don't say that," I say, more sharply than I intended. "Listen, I'm not joking. This isn't some game. It's my heart. I'm saving myself for marriage. And when I marry, I plan to do it once. I'm not some bachelor weekend conquest."
He narrows his brows. "You're serious, then?"
I nod. "Completely."
"So, you're as wholesome as they come?"
I nod.
He grins. "A nice old-fashioned girl who plays a Sex and the City slot machine?"
I frown. "I may be old-fashioned, but I'm still a woman. I still have... interests."
Levi steps closer to me again, his hand on my back. "Then why'd you jump from my arms so fast the moment you got all hot and bothered?"
I exhale slowly. "I didn't trust myself."
"With me?" He uses the crook of his finger to lift my chin.
"With you," I agree shakily.
"And why did you slap me, Lucy?" he asks, looking at me intently. His mouth is nearing mine again and I want to both lean in and run away.
"Because I got scared," I admit.
"Scared of what?" His lips are so close to mine, his hot breath flooding my senses.
"That I'd give in," I murmur. "And that I would regret it for the rest of my life."
At that, he pulls back, stepping away and my body cools down about fifteen degrees.
"I would never want you to change your ideals for me," he says. "God knows, I wouldn't change mine for anyone."
I smile tightly, both relieved and let down. I press the slot machine ticket into his hand and refuse to take it back.
"Thanks for helping me unwind," I say, stepping away and reaching for my heels from where I kicked them off earlier. Stepping into them, I pull my tote bag onto my shoulder and give Levi a smile. "See you around, okay?"
He nods tightly. "Good night, Lucy."
And then he walks away.
I watch him go, staring at his ass in those snug jeans, mesmerized by his broad shoulders, and utterly deflated that I let him go.
Chapter Five
Levi
Going to bed is torture. How the fuck am I supposed to sleep when all I can think about is Lucy?
A virgin.
And I was her first goddamn kiss.
Is it so absolutely insane that I also want to be her last?
Now that I understand the extent of her innocence, I wonder if she could handle a man like me.
I don't share. I don't play nice. And I'm sure as hell not like other men.
I live in the middle of nowhere, with no interest in being all neighborly. I'd rather everyone mind their own business and let me mind mine. I am pretty much the opposite of my brother in every way. That guy loves to be the life of the party.
Finally, I fall asleep, dreaming of the way Lucy's tits pressed against my chest when we kissed. Of her legs wrapped around my waist and her pink untapped pussy close enough to touch. Damn, I want to dip my fingers in her tight, creamy cunt.
I wake up with a massive hard-on, and I push down my boxers, take hold of my cock. I stroke myself up and down, picturing Lucy grinding her curvy ass against me. It wouldn't take long to get her nice and slick, ready to slide down my length and pop that sweetheart's cherry. She'd fucking scream my name as I took her innocence, begging for more af
ter she began to understand what a real man's cock can offer.
Fuck, my cock throbs as I fist it, pumping hard as my milky seed comes to a head. God, it feels good to get off with images of her filling my mind, but I need to find a way to make that more than a fucking fantasy. Because she is my dream come true.
I shower, dress, and head downstairs, texting my brother to find out where everyone is. Turns out they are just now rolling into bed. Apparently, they were out at the club all hours of the night. I tell him I'll catch him later and tell him to sleep it off.
Already wide awake, considering it's nine a.m., I grab a cup of black coffee and start walking outside. But it's June in Vegas and already hot as hell out here. It isn't long before I'm sweating bullets. Besides, walking the Strip isn't exactly my kind of thing. Flyers for strip clubs line the concrete sidewalk and postcards advertising all kinds of call girls for hire. Right now, the only stripping I want to see is Lucy getting down to her birthday suit. God knows I'd light a candle to her pussy and make a motherfucking wish.
I find some breakfast at some fancy-ass French cafe. The waitress leads me to an outside table, pointing out that the massive water fountains across the street are some sort of Vegas specialty.
She asks if I'd like the crepe of the day. I scowl and order eggs, scrambled. Toast, white. Ask 'em to throw in some breakfast potatoes with a side of ketchup. No need to class this act up. I'm a man, straight up, and as I roll up my flannel shirtsleeves and dig in to the breakfast, I'm reminded that bending my ideals for anyone isn't something that'll likely ever happen.
"What are you smiling about?" a woman sitting alone at the table beside me asks. She uncrosses her legs suggestively, pulls back her shoulders so her fake tits are on display, and I just shake my head.
No thanks.
"The toast is good," I say, slathering on some butter and jelly. The whole time I'm thinking about spreading Lucy’s knees and licking her sweet jam.