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With his hands on my hips, he pulls my body into his. His cheek brushes against mine. His breath warms my ear.
Fuck, that feels good.
I want him. Badly.
But I'm still not sure about this. I rise to my tiptoes so I can whisper in his ear. "I might get cold feet."
He laughs.
"What?"
His eyes light up as they meet mine. "You might get cold feet?"
"About the sex."
His smile spreads to his cheeks.
"It's an implicit agreement, the one-night stand thing."
"I'm not laughing 'cause you're wrong."
"Then why?"
"You're different than the women who usually approach me."
"You approached me."
"Even so." He presses his palm against my lower back. His eyes fix on mine. "I meant the whole I like you thing. I want you to have a good time tonight. I'm more than happy to fuck you, but that isn't my main goal."
"It's not?"
He brushes a stray hair from my eyes. "Don't get me wrong. I want to make you come." He drags his fingertips down my neck. Over my shoulder.
I cringe as his fingertips hit my upper arm. I try to shake it off, but he's not buying that.
He pulls his hand back to his side.
"No. Don't. I mean, keep going." I look up at him. "Please."
He stares back at me. His voice is heavy with desire, but it's even too. "I want you screaming my name loud enough to wake everyone on The Strip."
I swallow hard.
"But only if that's what you want."
"What if you do that… then I don't?"
Again, his smile spreads to his cheeks. "I want to make you come. It's for me." His hand goes back to my forearm. Then it's the light brush of his fingers.
The soft, affectionate touch sends desire racing through me.
My eyelids flutter closed. There's some response forming in my brain, but it already seems less important than his hands on my skin.
This is why I flew to Vegas.
I press my cheek against his as I bring my mouth to his ear. "Is that really for you?"
"Fuck yes." He presses his palm against my lower back, pressing my body against his.
