What Happened in Vegas (Page 2)

What Happened in Vegas(2)
Author: Sylvia Day

“Hurry,” she hissed.

Before he could rein himself in, her hands gripped his ass and yanked him into her. The unexpected thrust sent him tunneling deep. His palms hit the door on either side of her head and a curse burst from his lips.

“Robin, baby,” he growled. “Give me a damn minute.”

But she was already coming. With her head thrown back against the door and a purely erotic moan of pleasure, her cunt tightened around his aching dick like a tender fist. When the delicate muscles began milking his length in incredible ripples, he lost it.

“Ah, shit,” he gasped, feeling his balls tighten and sem*n rush to the tip of his cock. Gripping her ass in the palms of his hands, Paul f**ked her convulsing p**sy like a mad man, banging her with hammering strokes. The violent orgasm was the rawest of his life, the pleasure so pure and hot he couldn’t stop the growls that tore from his throat. Or the words. “Robin… fuck… I love you, baby. Love you…”

Dripping with sweat and shaking, he sagged into her as the white-hot ecstasy eased, his h*ps grinding mindlessly as he emptied himself inside her.

She shuddered in his arms and a soft sob escaped her. “God… You’re an ass, Paul. You know that?”

Fucking brilliant. He finally told her how he felt and it lacked all grace or romance. She’d walked away thinking he just wanted to get laid, and he’d hardly redeemed himself by cursing out his feelings in the middle of a full-throttle, no-preliminaries screw that had probably been heard by every guest on the floor.

His forehead touched hers.

Her arms fell to her sides, her exhales gusting over the perspiration-damp skin of his throat. “I have to go.”

Paul’s gut knotted. He couldn’t let her walk out again. He wouldn’t survive it a second time. Gripping her behind the thighs, he hefted her up and kicked free of his boots and wide-legged jeans. In just his socks and shirt, with his dick still hard and buried in the sweetest p**sy in the world, he carried her to the bedroom on shaky legs. “Not until you hear me out.”

“I heard you loud and clear the last time.”

Gritting his teeth, he pulled free of her and dropped her on the bed. Before she could scramble away, he caught her ankles and lifted her legs high and spread them wide. He looked down at her succulent pink p**sy, the plump folds glistening with her desire. “I wasn’t done. I’m not done.”

“I’m done.”

He licked his lips, hungry for the taste of her. “We’ll see about that.”

Recognizing the intent in Paul’s hazel eyes, Robin struggled to back away before he destroyed her again. She loved a man who was damaged. She could work with that if Paul wanted to heal, but he didn’t. The look on his face when she’d suggested they rendezvous in his hometown of Portland had told her all she needed to know—she was his biweekly screw, his hot piece in Vegas. And everyone knew what happened in Vegas stayed in Vegas.

She’d walked out of his hotel room that night with the intention of not looking back. She had told herself Paul Laurens was just a brief spate of madness in her life. But watching him leave the bar just now had been too much for her. She’d left her brother at the table without a word, chasing a man she couldn’t recover from.

One last screw, she’d told herself. And then it would be over.

Idiot. She craved him like a junky, and one fix was never enough.

Paul sank to his knees between her legs, and her womb clenched greedily. Her p**sy trembled with its eagerness to have his mouth on her; her cl*t throbbed with the need to feel his tongue stroking over it. He held her open with his hands on the backs of her thighs, his gaze riveted to her intimate flesh.

“I’ve been dying to eat you,” he said gruffly. “I’ve jacked off a dozen times thinking about it. Get comfortable, baby. We’ll be here awhile.”

“I have meetings to attend!” she protested. “I can’t—oh, god!”

The first stroke of his tongue stole her wits. It was a soft, slow lick that fired every sensitive nerve ending. The next pass was more deliberate, working her cl*t with the ball of his barbell piercing. His groan vibrated against her, making her p**sy spasm in want of his c*ck to fill it.

Her hands fisted the comforter.

“You’re so sweet,” he praised hoarsely, his hands sliding down to her inner thighs. “Your cunt is so soft.”

A soft noise escaped her.

His mouth sealed over her cl*t in a heated circle, his pierced tongue fluttering over the hard knot with devastating strokes. Her h*ps moved without her volition, thrusting and rocking as she chased another orgasm. In her past, she’d been lucky to come once with a partner. With Paul, the more he touched her, the more sensitized she became. Each cli**x came quicker than the one before it until she was coming in rolling waves that seemed to have no end or beginning.

“Fuck me with your tongue,” she gasped, draping one leg over his powerful shoulder to urge him closer. Her back arched as he obliged her, teasing her quivering slit with shallow thrusts. Gripping his overlong hair, she rode his mouth, shameless in the extremity of her need.

She’d watched people dismiss Paul out of hand because of his appearance. Those who clung to stereotypes saw mobile homes and biker gangs when they looked him. They couldn’t see past the stubble-shadowed jaw and visible tattoos. But beneath the body jewelry, ink, and shaggy hair was a gorgeous face that was classical in its lines and features. Paul could have graced an ancient coin or inspired a statue in a temple, and he was far wealthier than people would ascertain from his laid-back style.

Cupping her buttocks, he lifted her h*ps and tilted his head. His tongue pushed deeper, and her p**sy clutched helplessly around the rhythmic impalement.

Robin squeezed her aching br**sts inside her bra, pinching her n**ples to ease their tightness. Her h*ps churning restlessly, she begged, “Make me come.”

Latching on, he kissed her p**sy, drawing softly with gentle suction while he rubbed her cl*t with his tongue. She cried out and fell apart beneath his avid and tender mouth, her body melting into a boneless, breathless, teary puddle on his bed.

“I love you.” He pushed to his feet and tossed the condom in the trash.

“You love f**king me,” she whispered, knowing that when the passion was sated and reality intruded, he would withdraw again as he’d done before.

Paul leaned over her, pressing his hands into the mattress on either side of her waist. “I’m in this for the long haul.”

“You think same time, same place, two weeks from now is a commitment?” She hated the tinge of bitterness in her voice. He’d never made her promises, never alluded to more than what they had during their Vegas liaisons. It wasn’t fair that she was angry at him for not giving her more, but she couldn’t help how she felt.

“That’s not enough for me.” Straightening, he yanked his T-shirt over his head. Her eyes swept hungrily over his torso, admiring the tight lacing of abdominal muscles that flexed as he moved. He was so virile. Truly breathtaking. Tattoos covered both of his arms from shoulder to elbow in gorgeous half-sleeves. His chest was broad, golden, and bare… except for her name, which crossed the pectoral over his heart. “It was never going to be enough.”

Robin sucked in a tremulous breath, stunned by the sight of ink that hadn’t been there previously. Her gaze rested on the new tattoo, her vision blurring with tears. “Paul…”