My fingers fell to his shoulders, digging into his skin as my tightly wound ball of need exploded into shards of color and light. "Oh God, Sebastian. Fuck me!"
Finally, he complied, easing his cock into me, eyes locked on mine as he slowly moved inside of me. His hands explored my body as I gripped him, nails sinking into muscle as our pace increased. When he lifted my legs onto his shoulders to deepen his reach, I cried out in pleasure and adjusted my hips to meet him. With frenetic energy, muscles flexing, he pounded me harder, so hard, so deep, I couldn't breathe or think or do anything accept meet his need with my own, taking him in until I felt as if he'd tear me apart and remake me all at once.
His name was on my lips as I came harder than I could ever remember, and my pussy gripping his cock sent him over the edge too.
After, as he lay on his stomach, head turned to face me, I curled up next to him and traced the tattoos on his back with my fingers. "What do these stars mean?"
He shifted positions and looked up at me. "They represent the battles I lost."
That's all he'd said, and I didn't press further.
Soon thirst and other needs forced us apart.
He smacked my ass playfully as I sauntered to the bathroom. "Hungry, darling?"
I considered. "Sure, I could eat."
And so we dressed and left the hotel room, where the night of drinking commenced.
***
Sebastian hangs up and turns to me. "Darling, I have to go. One of my patients, a six-year-old girl, went into cardiac arrest, and I have to scrub in for surgery."
Oh, God. Fuck me. This guy is too much. Sexy, delicious, and he saves kids for a living? I just can't even.
I suck in my breath. "Of course."
He stalks to me and pulls me into his arms, kissing me deeply as beads of water transfer from his skin to mine. His fingers bury themselves in my deep gold hair, holding my head as the kiss turns full-bodied.
We are both breathless when he pulls away. "I had an amazing night," he says, his eyes holding my gaze. "I hope, as you remember it, that you will feel the same."
He moves away, and my body feels the lack of him and wilts a little. He dresses quickly and then hands me a business card with a phone number scribbled on the back. "Here's my cell. Text me your address, and we'll figure this business out. I've ordered room service, so help yourself and stay as long as you'd like."
Another kiss on the head and he's gone, leaving me alone in the spacious room, still holding my one red shoe.
Chapter 3
What Happens in Vegas
I wander the room, a little lost and a lot hung-over, still looking for my other shoe, which appears to have disappeared entirely. When room service comes, I sign for it and then stare at a table of food meant for two. I don't want to eat, but I know I need something in my stomach to absorb the alcohol.
Copious amounts of carbs, coffee, and orange juice perk me up enough to finish getting ready. I decide a shower sounds nice, since I smell like sex, sweat, and alcohol.
I hate dressing in the clothes I wore all night, but I have no choice. I'm staring down at the marriage license, once again struck dumb by the body double who must have taken over last night, when my phone rings.
"Kacie!" My brother sounds chipper, damn him.
"Hey, Tate. I'll be coming home soon. How was your night?" Better to divert attention away from how my night went.
"Oh, you know, a fun fling I won't ever have to see again."
"Lucky you."
There must be something in my voice, because his tone becomes more serious. "You okay, sis? Did something happen with Mr. Hottie?"
"I'm fine. He was great." So great, I fucking married him. Ha!
He doesn't sound convinced. "Okay, well. I want details. It's about time you got out there and had some meaningless sex with the hottest guy in Vegas, besides me of course."
"Of course," I say with a smile.
"Get your ass home."
"Sure thing."
I hang up and look around once more. His overnight bag is at the foot of the bed, his suit from last night tossed over it. Taking my gold ring off, which is reluctant to leave my finger, I place it next to Sebastian's copy of the marriage certificate. He wanted a text, but that feels like it would open up too much communication between us. Instead, knowing he'd have to come back to get his stuff, I jot down my address and phone number, and leave—without my other shoe.
Exiting the hotel, the heat assaults me, bathing me in a sheen of sweat, choking me with the dry heat, and burning my bare feet with too-hot pavement. Nothing beats Vegas in the summer. I'd leave to spend the season elsewhere if it weren't the biggest moneymaking season of the year.
Tate, Vi and I took a cab here last night, knowing we'd all be too drunk to drive, so I hail one again and get home fifteen minutes later to the welcoming air conditioning of our three bedroom duplex. Tate is wearing a robe and boxer shorts, dark hair artfully messy and blue eyes showing no signs of over-drinking. My eyes, normally the same shade, are blood shot and still hurt.