Текст книги "Sinful Longing"
Автор книги: Lauren Blakely
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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 16 страниц)
“I will consider it as I lock up my office,” she said, and those words—lock up—flipped the switch on an idea.
He jumped to a new topic. “Hey, would it be okay if I increased my firm’s donation to the center?”
She shook her head playfully. “No. God no. Anything but that,” she said, waving it off. She rolled her eyes. “Obviously. But why, may I ask?”
“Thought it would be smart to get some additional security while the revitalization is going on,” he said, gesturing to the court and main building. “Lots of people coming and going. Construction crews. My donation already went to some of that already. Just a little more for some extra manpower.”
“Anything I should worry about?” she asked, arching an eyebrow. “Well, more than usual. I know this isn’t the best section of town, but it’s getting better.”
“It is absolutely getting better. Let’s keep it that way. I happen to know some guys in security,” he said, since Ryan and Michael ran a security firm.
“Let’s do it.”
“Three of my favorite words from you,” he said, as they walked off the court. He pointed to his car parked down the block. “I’m going to go shower and walk the dog. I’ll see you at six.”
She fanned herself. “Now I have a nice image of you naked and wet in the shower.”
“And that’s my cue to go.”
He brushed his lips against hers, leaving her a quick, hot kiss to think about.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Elle stared at the crowds along the Fremont Street Canopy seventy-seven feet below her.
Deep breath.
She wasn’t afraid of heights, but she was afraid of, well, of dying. Or, more precisely, dying stupidly. Like jumping into a lake and cutting her head on a rock. Like parachuting. Like crashing from a zip line. That kind of death.
Logically, she knew a zip line wasn’t a dangerous activity in the spectrum of dangerous things. But her rapidly beating heart, which seemed to be fighting its way out of her chest, begged to disagree. Her skin prickled with nerves—the kind she hadn’t felt since she was younger and danced with danger. Now, as an adult, she tried to keep her risks manageable.
You can do this, she told the portion of her brain that had zero interest in skydiving and bungee jumping. Just a zip line. It’s exceedingly safe, and ridiculously fun.
Plus, Colin waited patiently on the other side, hovering in his seat. The parallel zip lines ran down the length of the covered Fremont Street that was the epicenter of downtown Las Vegas—old Vegas, with the Golden Nugget, and slots that still relied on coins rather than tickets. It was Vegas before mega resorts broke ground on the Strip.
Everyone rode the line here on Fremont Street. It was part of the experience. Besides, cruising along a zip line was a perfectly manageable risk. Man-made, controllable. The kind she could handle.
“I’m ready,” she said to the attendant. In a rush, so she wouldn’t back down, she let go and stepped off the platform, zipping off in her seat harness. She unleashed a rollercoaster shout of excitement. Adrenaline surged through her veins as she soared above the specks of miniature people, and a sense of wild glee engulfed her as she sped, faster and faster. She glanced briefly to the left, where Colin sailed above the crowds on his downhill flight along the canopy.
Screw fear. This was a pure rush, as the summer breeze whooshed past her, reminding her of the thrill she felt when roller-skating, the high-speed chase around the rink. The charge that raced through her overpowered her primal worries. She rode several blocks in the sky.
She flew the final feet to the end of the line. The guy on the platform helped unhook her. “How was it?” he asked.
She gave him a thumbs up, her heart still pumping wildly.
Minutes later, she climbed down from the platform and met Colin on the street. He wrapped his arms around her. “Admit it. You loved it,” he said with a gleam in his eyes.
“Loved it,” she said breathlessly, her pulse pounding in her veins. “Absolutely loved it.”
“Excellent. Tomorrow morning you’ll join me for kayaking at the crack of dawn at Black Canyon,” he said.
She shuddered. “Kayaking? Like in a lake?”
“That’s generally where one kayaks.”
“That comes with a chance of flipping over and cracking your head on a rock. Pretty sure this zip line is all you’re getting out of me when it comes to crazy sports.”
“Kayaking in flat water? Chance of flipping over is slim to nil. So low risk it’s beyond low risk.”
She patted his chest. “In that case, I have somewhere to be at the crack of dawn tomorrow. Hmm. Where could it be? Oh right,” she said, snapping her fingers. “Sound asleep in my bed.”
“Mmm. Bed. Another potential extreme sport.”
“Now that I might be up for,” she said, then lingered in his embrace, inhaling his freshly showered scent—clean, and sexy. She didn’t hold back. She pressed her lips to his neck and kissed him, letting herself savor this part, this permission she’d given herself to enjoy the sexy times with Colin.
He drew a sharp inhalation, and asked, “Payback for the other night?”
She nodded and roped her arms tightly around his waist, playfully gripping him, keeping the focus squarely on what they were—friends with benefits. Nothing more. “And now I shall take you to a secret location and smother your neck in kisses that make you turn to putty in my hands. See if it works as well on you as it does on me.”
He leaned his head back and laughed deeply. “That’s a viable option for tonight. Or I could take you to the Mob Museum and we can find a dark corner there.”
“The Mob Museum?”
“Ever been?”
She shook her head. “No, but I’ve been wanting to go ever since it opened a few years ago. I keep meaning to go, especially considering how much I love gangster movies.”
He nudged her with his elbow. “Let’s go.”
She nudged him in return. “You’re holding out on me tonight. The zip line, the Mob Museum. Everything’s above the belt,” she said, and though those all distinctly felt like the elements of a date, they were also things you’d do with a friend. She wasn’t crossing lines. She wasn’t breaking promises. This was good, old-fashioned hanging out with someone whose company she enjoyed.
Plain and simple.
* * *
The answer was yes.
He was absolutely holding out on her. He wanted her, but he wanted her to see that they could have amazing sex and an amazing time. They wandered through the crowds, soaking in the neon and lights, the exuberance of the summertime atmosphere, and not once did he feel a lick of envy for the twenty-somethings bobbing around with long, tall plastic glasses full of liquor in their hands. Nope, he was a happy son-of-a-bitch as they walked through old-time Vegas, then up the steps of the museum that documented the history of the mob.
“We’re closing in thirty minutes,” the ticket taker said in a monotone at the entrance.
“We’ll be speedy,” Colin said, and they walked inside the stone building, and strolled first through exhibits on famous “made men,” both in the mob and popular culture, perusing photos of some of the most notorious Mafiosi over the last one hundred years, like John Gotti. Next, they checked out an installation of movie posters.
“Is there anything better than a mob movie?” he asked, and Elle nodded in perfect agreement.
“Love them. Casino. Epic. The Departed. Fantastic. Road to Perdition. Chilling.”
“Eight Men Out. Proof that the mob had its hands in everything. Even fixing the World Series.”
“Everything,” she said, enunciating each syllable as she echoed his sentiment. They stopped at a huge framed poster of Ray Liotta, Robert DeNiro, and Joe Pesci. She pointed. “Goodfellas. Best mob movie ever.”
“Best closing lines ever, too,” he added, and they turned to each other, speaking in unison. “I’m an average nobody. I get to live the rest of my life like a schnook.”
He raised his hand and they knocked fists.
“Isn’t it amazing,” she began, “how being a regular Joe was Ray Liotta’s worst nightmare? He dreaded not being a gangster, and somehow you felt for him when it happened. You sympathized with his plight as a regular schnook,” she said, her voice rising in excitement.
He gestured to the poster for The Godfather. “I don’t even know what it is about the mob. They do horrible things and live a life of crime, and yet sometimes we root for them in movies. It makes no logical sense.”
“Look!”
She grabbed his arm and tugged him to a series of sepia-tinted photographs from Vegas through the years, highlighting famous moments in the city’s history and the role of the mob in each milestone.
“It’s just crazy to think how much of this town was built on crime,” she said in awe, as they stared at a photo of the Flamingo Hotel when it opened in 1946. “‘Operated by noted mobster Bugsey Siegel,’” she said, reading the plaque.
He tapped the wall next to an image of The Sands Casino in the 60s, a home base for Frank Sinatra and his Rat Pack that was owned by a New York mob man. “And it spread far and wide. Some of the biggest hotels in the city were owned and operated by this wild combination of Mormon businessmen and the mob, so they could have a legitimate appearance on the outside, and money laundering and street muscle on the inside.”
“The whole notion that there is the underbelly of crime everywhere, all around us, blows my mind,” she said, pressing her fingertips to her forehead and miming an explosion.
Colin nodded in agreement. “Handouts, corrupt cops, men on the take, informants, and the guys in suits circulating around town every day, weaving in and out of casinos. Looking like me, or like one of my brothers, or just anybody.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Is this your way of telling me you’re in the mob?”
He affected a wise guy smirk. “Doll face, it’s time you knew the truth. You’re sleeping with a made man. You want to know who I really am? I’ll tell you, sweet cheeks.” He pointed to an interactive screen on the far wall that read “Mob Nickname Generator.”
“Oooh, I’m finally gonna learn my honey baby’s real name.” She rubbed her palms together as they reached the screen.
He tapped it, and they chuckled at the rubric the screen asked them to fill in: name your racket, with options like money laundering, casino skimming, and blackmail; what’s your role, such as capo, soldier, business associate, corrupt judge; and what is your mob era, with choices like prohibition, the swinging 60s, and the modern era.
Elle went first, entering her picks, then reading her status report. “Ooh, I’m a mob girlfriend. Men buy me things and who am I to turn them down? They parade me around town and take me to dinner, and my name is ‘Elle ‘Moneybags’ Mariano.’” She snorted. “Ha. I wish.”
“My turn,” Colin said, and together they decided he’d be a corrupt politician, and he read the result aloud. “I just take what’s offered to me, okay? Nothin’ wrong with that. The mob slips me a few things now and then—some cash, a free meal, a bottle of my favorite bootlegged whiskey. What’s the big deal? I’m Colin ‘Scotty’ Sloan.”
She dragged her nails through his hair. “Colin Scotty Sloan, you are one handsome fella,” she said, in an over-the-top floozy accent. It was jokey, but it still turned him on. Or maybe it was just that her proximity was making an instant impression on certain parts of his anatomy. Because that part was standing at attention now, announcing its intention to have her, and to have her soon.
“I’m gonna take you out for that fancy meal you deserve, sweet thing,” he said, snaking his hand down her back and squeezing her ass. “Show you off as mine.”
“Oh, I like that, Scotty Sloan. I like it very much.” She slid her body close to his, rubbing her sexy frame against him, making contact with his erection. She arched an eyebrow and gazed south. “Seems you like the idea, too, don’t you?” She lowered her voice to a sexy purr, dropping the mob girlfriend accent and returning to pure, dirty Elle.
“You think so? What makes you say that?” he asked, egging her on.
She pressed harder against his dick and started circling her hips. No one was in this exhibit room but them, with the eyes of generations of made men watching. “This,” she said in his ear, then dropped her hand to his jeans, grabbing him through the denim as she palmed the outline of his cock. He groaned from her touch. “This fantastic hard-on makes me say you like the idea of parading me around town.”
He jerked her even closer. “No, this hard-on says I like doing much more than parading you around, Elle Moneybags Mariano.” He grabbed her hand, walked her to the exit sign, pressed hard on the heavy door below it, and entered a stairwell.
Ah, stairwells. The perfect locations for a little something.
Her eyes blazed with mischief as he spun her around and backed her against the wall. “Like I said, I’ll do more than parade you around. Since that’s what you want,” he said, cupping her face with his hands and gazing at her. He drank in her absolute fucking beauty with his eyes, savoring the way she looked. The lusty expression, the parted lips, the racing breath.
She was so sexual, so raw in her needs, and he loved it. Loved it so damn much. He lifted his thumb to her mouth, brushing it against her lips. “Do you realize I’ve never gone down on you?” he asked. “What the fuck is up with that?”
“I know,” she said, breathily. “I want it so badly.”
“Why has this not happened yet?” he asked as he stroked her bottom lip softly with the pad of his thumb.
She shook her head. “Because we’re always screwing? Because we go straight to the main attraction?”
“Maybe.”
“Or because we’ve never been someplace private enough?”
“Maybe that’s it. Because when I go down on you, I want you without a stitch of clothes on. I want to spread you out, worship your sexy body, and take my time licking and kissing and sucking you all over. I want to taste every inch of your skin before I bury my face between your legs,” he said, dropping his hand to her jeans and cupping her. She moaned as he felt how hot she was through her clothes.
“Are you going to do it here?” she asked, and she sounded so damn desperate and hungry and horny that he was dying to strip her jeans to her ankles, kneel before her, and taste her heat. But no. He had patience. He was going to have her when he had time to feast.
“No,” he whispered. “But when I do, it’ll be like this.” He angled her head slightly, then flicked his tongue gently over her parted lips. She gasped, shuddering as he lightly brushed his lips over hers. He ran the tip of his tongue over the seam of her mouth, as if he were tasting her sweetness. The possibility of lapping up her sweet pussy electrified him, sending heat roaring through his blood as he licked her as if he was going down on her. She trembled in his arms as he showed her precisely how he intended to lavish attention on her, how he’d kiss and suck and then devour her. God, he wanted her. He wanted her so badly. On his mouth, flooding his tongue, all over his lips, drenching his chin. He kissed her like that. Like a man consumed. Like a man who had to have her, taste her, touch her. His hands clutched her cheeks, his lips fused to hers, and his mind raced with images, sensations, and fantasies about how she’d taste with her legs wrapped around his neck, writhing and bucking as she grabbed his hair and came hard on his tongue.
Fuck.
He couldn’t take it anymore. In a mad fury, he unzipped her jeans, and dipped his hand inside her panties. Oh hell. This was wetness. This was lush, delicious heat. He stroked her and in seconds his fingers were coated.
“Look at you,” he said, breaking the kiss. “Look at how fucking wet you are.” He pulled his hand out of her panties and brought his fingers to his mouth. His eyes rolled shut as he tasted her—like sex. She tasted like sex and lust. He opened his eyes to find her staring at him hungrily, jaw agape.
“Don’t tease me,” she said, gripping his shoulders.
“I’m not going to tease you. I just needed a taste,” he said, then returned his hand to her panties, sliding his fingers in the delicious crease between her legs. The stairwell was dark and echo-y and every sound, every moan bounced on the heavy walls as he stroked her.
“I want you to taste me soon. I want you to eat me. I fantasize about it all the time,” she said on a sexy groan as he rubbed her clit, a hard little diamond—swollen, wet and begging for his touch. He slipped a finger inside her heat, thrilling at the instant reaction it elicited from her. She clasped a hand over her mouth, capturing her own moan. Her knees buckled, and he used his free hand to steady her. Gripping her hip, he moved his mouth to her ear. “Fuck my hand,” he told her.
She rolled her hips, riding his fingers as he thrust inside her tight channel. “You fantasize about me a lot? About me eating you?”
“Yes,” she moaned as she rode his fingers. “God yes. Every night.”
“You think about me fucking you?”
“Fucking your hand. Fucking your face. Fucking your dick. I picture it all,” she said, her voice broken and breathy as she rocked into his touch.
“God, I love how much you want to fuck me,” he said, in a ragged voice. His dick was so hard it was practically staging a mutiny in his jeans. It was ready to bust out and take over. To sink in and spend the whole night inside her.
But he wanted her pleasure more. Her release. Her bliss. And he knew how to find it. He knew the way around her body because he’d never wanted anyone with this kind of raging intensity. He crooked his finger, hitting that magic spot that sent her flying. She curled her fingernails into his shoulders, digging in, holding on, as her mouth formed a perfect O. He sealed his lips to hers, swallowing her cries of pleasure as she came hard on his fingers in the stairwell.
“The Mob Museum is closing in ten minutes. Attention, museum-goers. The Mob Museum is closing in ten minutes. If you don’t wish to spend the evening with the ghost of Bugsey Siegel, we strongly suggest you wrap up your visit. Don’t say we didn’t warn you,” the voice on the loudspeaker said in a Jersey accent.
Elle’s shoulders shook, whether from laughter or the aftershocks of her orgasm or both—it was hard to tell. But deciphering the finer meanings of her reaction took on less importance than his need to be inside her.
Now.
CHAPTER NINE
“Come with me,” he said, quickly zipping her jeans, straightening her top, and guiding her in her woozy, buzzy state back into the exhibit hall, where a security guard dressed in black barked, “Closing time in ten minutes.”
Colin saluted him. “Yes, sir.”
Elle kept her head down, her hair forming a curtain around her face as he led her through the made men room, down a hall, and to the bathroom. He pulled the door open, locked it behind them, and grabbed her waist.
“Put your hands on the sink now.”
Obeying, she slammed her palms against the marble counter.
“Look at me in the mirror,” he said, and she met his gaze in the reflection as he yanked her jeans down her legs. “These jeans are so fucking tight,” he muttered as he kneeled, tugging them to her knees, then just below. He stood back up, and tapped her ankle with his foot. “Spread wider.”
She obliged as he unzipped his own jeans and rolled on a condom.
She bent her back and lifted her ass, and he smacked it once with his palm. “Can’t resist,” he said playfully. “Too tempting.”
“Don’t resist.”
“Never,” he said, and slid the head of his dick against her heat. “So wet. Did I do all this to you?” he asked, as if he didn’t know the answer.
“I’m pretty sure this is the eighty-seventh pair of panties you’ve melted right off me,” she said with a sexy glint as he rubbed himself against her. His dick was pointing its way home, begging to be deep in her, but oh, did he love just savoring the slickness before he sank inside. He fucking loved coating his dick in her slippery heat before he felt her clench around him.
“Eighty-seventh? That’s it? I need to work harder.”
“Speaking of hard—”
Her words were silenced as he buried himself in her. “Oh fuck, Elle,” he said on a groan, as he savored that intense moment when he was first inside the woman he craved. He picked up the pace, meeting her eyes in the mirror. Her amber eyes were glossy and full of lust, and her cheeks were rosy from the glow of her first orgasm. “I love looking at you as I make you come. I want to watch you fall apart again as I fuck you,” he said, low and husky in her ear.
“I want that too. So badly.”
Setting a fevered rhythm, the second hand ticking in their ears, he stroked into her. She moaned on each thrust, panting as he filled her. “You tasted so damn good on my fingers,” he said huskily. “I can’t wait to have you. When I do, I’m going to show you exactly why you came so many times alone at night thinking of me.”
“I did, Colin. I did,” she said, swiveling her hips as he pumped into her. “I thought about fucking your face all the time.”
Oh hell. Those words were like a straight shot of lust through his bloodstream. They set him on fire. They flipped switches all over. He groaned deeply. “I bet you were saying all sorts of filthy things to me in your head. I bet as you fucked yourself alone in bed you were saying Oh Colin, fuck me with your tongue. I want to ride your face. Did you say that?”
Her body answered with an epic shudder, a wild tightening against his dick, which was so damn hard inside her. Her slick walls gripped him as he slammed in and out of her, pulling back so only the tip was in her. He paused momentarily, then whispered in a low, dirty growl in her ear, “Colin, I’m going to come all over your face. I’m going to come so fucking hard on your face,” he said to her, and her eyes glazed over, and her body trembled, and everything, everything, everything in her reaction told him he was not only right, but she was there, finding her way to a second coming. He let go of her hip, and glided his finger across her clit. “Say it,” he commanded, as he fucked her deep and rubbed her clit.
“I’m going to come so fucking hard,” she said, her voice falling to pieces as she came on him. She started to cry out in ecstasy, but he clamped his palm over her mouth. He fucked her furiously, holding in all her screams, keeping her quiet as his balls tightened and his own orgasm tore through his body, consuming him like a torrential storm ripping across the coastline.
He cursed as he came hard.
He wanted to collapse onto her, to wrap his arms around her and just exist in this sated, blissful state. He looped his hands around her sexy waist, holding her close. He brushed his lips against her collarbone, and she shivered then flashed him a small smile.
“Attention, the doors are closing in two minutes. Thank you for visiting the mob museum. Bugsey is not alone tonight. We have just received word that Al Capone is haunting the premises.”
“Al Capone!” Elle said in a stage whisper. “Oh no!”
Quickly, Colin pulled out and disposed of the condom. They straightened up, and a minute later, walked to the exit, thanking the ticket taker and the security guard who locked the door behind them.
On the front steps of the museum, Elle grabbed his hand. “Let’s play some poker, Colin Scotty Sloan.”
He wished he didn’t like it so much when she kept her fingers locked through his as they spent the next hour wandering through Fremont Street, playing slots, then a round at the five dollar tables.
When it was time for her to go, he walked her to her car. “I had a really great time,” she said, but before he could say “me, too,” she brushed her hands together, as if she were wiping the evening away. The night was over. It had a before and an after. “That’s that. Now I’m off to be a mom.”
Her voice changed. Her tone shifted. Her whole demeanor transformed. She was moving from Elle the sexy, wanton woman who was dirty and bold and who liked to fuck hard, to the other Elle.
The one who had no room in her life for him. The one who erected walls and ramparts to keep him out. His heart sagged, knowing he might never be able to knock those down. They might simply be unscalable because of how he’d lived and who he’d been before her.
Choices had consequences. Every single one. He’d made some terrible choices when he was younger, and even though those days were far in the rearview mirror, he was feeling the repercussions as he walked her to her car and said good night before she drove off to her real life.
* * *
Fun.
That was good, plain fun.
That was basically the best night she’d had in ages.
She shook her head in amazement as she slowed her car at a red light on her way to pick up Alex.
“Fun,” she said out loud, as if the word was a new concept.
In many ways, it was to her. Elle hadn’t had that sort of evening in…well…in many years. Sure, she always had a blast doing roller derby, but that was more of a necessary outlet, her own therapy to handle living with an addict, since she’d started on the team when she was with Sam then continued when she kicked him out. And, yes, she and her son had gobs of fun playing zombie games, going bowling, and challenging each other in Pac-Man at the roller rink after her matches.
But adult fun? Date fun? Fun as a woman?
That had been eons ago. Like, maybe the Paleolithic period. Getting knocked up as a teenager didn’t give you many opportunities for fun.
Tonight though, from the zip line to the museum visit to hand holding along Fremont Street…every single second was lovely, and a small part of her heart already longed for another night like it.
She never thought she’d have a bad time with Colin, but she hadn’t imagined they’d have such a good one. It made perfect sense that they’d gel, she reasoned, as the light changed and she hit the gas. The two of them had clicked from day one. They’d chatted easily when they first met, sharing a similar view on the value of community service, the importance of being role models for youth, and the benefit of giving kids a chance to have fun, too. But tonight she learned they had even more in common, little things, like their shared affection for mob movies and their fondness for the stories of Vegas.
Then there was the sex. Oh, the toe-curling, sheet-grabbing, mind-blowing sex. As she turned onto the street where Alex’s friend lived, her chest tingled with the memories of how he’d taken her against the sink after sending her over the edge in the stairwell. He was direct and dirty, and he seemed to embrace that she was, too. He was also commanding and intense, and relished telling her exactly what he wanted from her.
She wanted all the same things.
And admittedly, a quiet part of her wanted more of him. A part she rarely acknowledged. Try as she might to keep him in the friend zone, being friends with him only made him more appealing. But she had to stay strong. Had to maintain the boundaries. That was the only way to protect her son, and to keep her promises to herself. Colin was a great friend and an amazing lover, and surely she could have him as both for some time. No need for complications.
She pulled into the driveway, cut the engine, and walked to the door. Her girlfriend Janine answered, greeting her with “You all set for the match next week? Friday evening.”
Janine was the jammer on the Fishnet Brigade, their roller derby team.
“Absolutely. Gotta block for my Cool Hand Bette,” Elle said, using Janine’s skate name.
“Excellent. I’ll pick you up and drive?”
“It’s a plan.”
Minutes later, she was driving Alex home.
“How was the movie?”
“Awesome,” he said, then proceeded to tell her about how intensely realistic the velociraptor attack had seemed. Elle smiled and laughed, all the while thinking she could so do this.
Nothing was going to stop Elle “Moneybags” Mariano from having her cake and eating it too.
Not a damn thing.
Not even the crack of dawn.
Because that piece of her that had longed for more woke her up early the next day. It tugged at some untended spot within her, like a small child grabbing her mother’s shirt, asking for another cookie. She didn’t entirely know what her heart wanted. She wasn’t even in tune with the language it was speaking. But something compelled her to go.
As she peeked out the window, the sky turned the shade of dark blue that comes before the sun rises.
She pulled on shorts, a tank top, and a pair of her white roller skating socks with the row of red skulls around the knee, left a message for her snoozing son, and took off to surprise Colin.
