Sweet Sinful Nights

*

The stars twinkled against the inky black night as the driver pulled off the highway, and headed to her condo. Time marched closer to the moment. To the telling. Her stomach executed a fresh series of nosedives as the town car neared her home. She reminded herself that everything would be fine. Well, maybe not fine at first. But it would be fine soon enough.

She’d tell him, and it would be hard for them both, but they’d comfort each other.

This was not the sort of news that could break them up. The loss was simply another part of the past, one she’d share now that they were finally back in the town they called home. Even though so much had gone wrong for her in Las Vegas, so much had gone right there, too. Las Vegas was the place where her grandma and her brothers lived, and it was the town where she and Brent had fallen in love again, against the neon lights, and the blinking billboards, and the spectacle of the Strip. From the fountains at the Bellagio, to the Shops at Caesars, to the darkened theater at the Luxe—this was their place, and the city of sin had given them a second chance at love.

And at truth.

That was why she wanted to tell him the story there. At home. Not in a hotel room. Not in an office. Not in a cab, or a car, or a plane. But in her house, where she could tell the story the way she needed to.

As the car wedged itself next to the curb, Brent paid and tipped the driver, then grabbed their bags.

“A sleepover at last,” he teased as they walked up the three flights, the sound of their footsteps echoing in the creaky silence of the building after midnight. She unlocked the door, both grateful and nervous that the moment had arrived. She spotted a lone spare key amidst the mail she’d tossed on her table in a rush when she’d left yesterday.

“Crap.”

Brent turned around, and shot her a curious stare.

She smacked her forehead with her hand. “My friend’s cat. She’s out of town, and I said since I was only gone for twenty-four hours that I could feed him.”

“He’s probably hungry.”

She snatched the key from the table. “Be right back. Sorry if the place is a mess. I left in a hurry.”

Racing upstairs, her heels clicking against the wood, she unlocked Ally’s condo to find the silver and black tabby meowing indignantly at her.

“Hey Nick,” she said to the feline.

Now, where was his cat food?

*

So this was her place. This was her home. He’d caught a glimpse of it on Saturday, but hadn’t taken it in. Her home had an open, airy feel, even at night. The couch and chairs were light shades of yellow and beige, with gold pillows tossed on the cushions, and billowy curtains by the windows.

Her house was hardly messy at all.

As he wandered through the kitchen, he spotted that frame again on the counter. The bright sunflowers. He peered more closely at it, and wondered again what the stone was by the flowers. Maybe a garden wall?

Wait.

She’d called him a sunflower, hadn’t she?

He snapped his fingers, remembering. On the phone the other night, she’d said he was her sunflower. Maybe this was her way of thinking about him when they weren’t together—with a picture of a sunflower. The corner of his lips twitched up. Fine, he wasn’t a flowery guy, but when the woman you love says you’re the sun in her life, you gladly take the compliment. He tapped the frame once, then set it back in place and strolled down the hallway. He stopped short at her bedroom door, opened wide. He couldn’t resist peeking. That was where she’d spent her nights. That bed, right there, with the orange and purple pattern on the cover.

That was where she wouldn’t be sleeping tonight. He could picture her perfectly, on all fours in the middle of the mattress, her back bowed, hands tied to the headboard. He’d take her like that. Fuck her hard on her hands and knees. Grip her hips and sink into her. Smack her ass as he made her cry out in a pleasure.

A barely audible groan escaped his throat as the reel played before his eyes of her naked, lithe body trembling. Ready for him. He strolled into her room and brushed a hand over the corner of her bed. A few more minutes, and he could have her like that. That was his plan. He turned around to leave, when a flash of yellow caught his eye once more. Something about it felt familiar. He walked to her nightstand. The drawer was open and a small book appeared to have fallen off the nightstand into the drawer.

Or been shoved in.