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Nine years ago—Bellagio, Las Vegas
Our plane lands at around four in the morning. But as our limousine makes its way down the Las Vegas strip, there are people walking and partying everywhere I look, and dazzling lights shine into our ride. I’ve never been to Vegas and it’s everything I thought it was going to be. It’s loud, bright, and full of drunk party people, and I love it.
The limo stops in front of a beautiful hotel.
Someone opens the car door. “Where are we?” I ask.
Rone steps out, before offering his hand. I hop out of the car and see the entrance, my mouth drops as I take in the lights, marble, and all the fancy cars.
“We will take care of your bags, sir,” a guy in uniform says to Rone. He hands the man some cash. He puts his arm over my shoulder and together, we walk into the Bellagio.
“Rone, this is too much,” I say, staring up at the glass-blown flowers hanging from the ceiling.
We are greeted by a hotel employee. She gives him a big, bright smile, checking him out. I guess the bad-boy image has that effect on people.
“You are in the penthouse suite, Mister West.” She hands Navarone the pass, guiding us to our own separate elevator. “If you would follow my colleague, he will lead you to your personal entrance.”
Rone takes my hand and guides me along, while I look around, grinning from ear to ear.
He holds my hand the whole way up and after the concierge explains we have room service twenty-four-seven, and a butler on speed dial if we want, he leaves us alone to explore the suite.
There is a gigantic bath and I gaze at it with my mouth open. Squealing with anticipation, I turn the faucet until the scalding-hot water starts filling the tub. The tiny shower I share with the guys back home has nothing on this bathroom. It is about the same size as the whole of our apartment.
Rone comes to stand behind me. “Want to take a bath?” There is humor in his voice as his hands move over my arms.
Turning around, I lock my fingers behind his neck. “Hell yeah. This place looks like a palace,” I say before kissing him, trying to get my dress off as quickly as possible. “The zipper’s stuck,” I moan and he laughs against my lips, kissing the side of my upturned mouth. “Hold on,” I tell him, trying to get the dress over my head. “Damn it, this is not the view I wanted to see.”
His fingers travel over the curves of my body from my arms to my waist, before pulling me toward him, his big hands kneading my ass. “I’m enjoying the view just fine from right up here.” His voice is laced with want.
Giggling, with my hands still above my head, I say, “A little help please.”
Rone chuckles as he frees me. I stand there in my underwear. His hungry gaze roams over my body.
He pushes his hair back, taking me all in. “You’re ...” He pauses, his voice breaking as he scratches his stubble. I reach out to him, caressing his cheek. He closes his eyes when I kiss him, my hands disappearing into his hair.
Rone is still clothed and I love the way his shirt moves against my sensitive breasts. I come alive under his touch, my nipples hardening, and I guess he notices, judging by his intake of breath. He growls and pushes himself against me, holding me tight to his body.
He towers over me. His big calloused hand moves over my cheek while I look up into his eyes. Pushing his jean-clad thigh between my legs, he kisses my lips. He moves higher until his hard upper leg presses the spot of the throbbing ache I want him to disappear into. He gathers me up in his arms and holds me against his chest, my back hits the cold tiles, and I shiver. His hands grip my ass cheeks, and my eyes drift close, getting lost in his male scent. The fire inside me burns and he groans, pressing his forehead against mine.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says, his voice hoarse, twirling a stray lock of my hair between his fingers.
Kissing below my jawline, his tongue moves over my cheekbone before he takes possession of my mouth again, and my head falls. His stubble leaves a trail of fire under my skin, and reaching out with his right hand, he runs his knuckles over my chin.
“Damn, babe.” He rests his head against mine while we both try to catch our breath. He searches my face, caressing my cheek with his thumb. It makes me tremble; my back is still planted against the wall.
His eyes wander over my face down to my mouth before he stares at my parted lips. When I let my tongue dart out to wet them, he growls, placing his hands next to my head against the wall.
My whole body shivers, anticipating what he is going to do. He grabs my face between his big hands and keeps looking at me, searching my face with an intensity I haven’t seen before. He edges closer to me, while my heart pounds. I want to feel those lips on mine. I want to taste him, to pull on his hair until he comes with my name on his lips.
I shift restlessly against him. He smiles, his smoldering stare cutting right through me. He waits before his tongue slides into my mouth, and I taste his minty breath. I pant as his stubble brushes my swollen mouth. Fuck he smells good. Trembling fingers dance over my waist, and he chuckles grinding his hips into me. His hard length presses against my belly button, and I gasp.
The heat radiating through his jeans has my knees buckling but he holds me up. His tongue dips into my mouth, nibbling and teasing my lip. Moaning, he swirls his hips, the friction heaven and hell. I hike up my leg over his ass, opening myself to him. He smiles, still kissing me, and with a bad-boy grin, he slides his hand over the curve of my butt. Edging back he groans, devouring me with his eyes.
“Please,” I plead. I want to feel him there. I want him right here, and now.
“Babe.” His husky voice is thick, his mouth chasing me, wanting more. He flicks his head to the side, taking me in, his eyes half-closed like he is high on the sight of me. I love how his gaze darkens, like he is reveling in what is happening between us.
“Rone”—I swallow hard—“I want it to be you.”
