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Christ, those lips.
They’re dangerous competitors with her ass, ripe strawberries begging for teeth.
Every part of her that makes it damnably hard to pick favorites.
She makes me see screaming red sex in broad daylight.
In my daydreams, I’ve got her hair in my fist and her mouth on mine, owning her soft little tongue.
I want to blow her down.
To watch her intently as she feels me detonate inside her.
To caress every last curve, to hear the music I know she makes from the beautiful way she came undone on my fingers. And I can take her apart a hundred more ways.
For now, I’ll just have to content myself with deep breaths and subtle brushes.
As we grab our carry-ons and march off the plane, I try to forget where we are.
Becausewhat happens in Vegas, stays in Vegasdoesn’t feel like a rule. Not with her.
It’s a hellish invitation I can’t accept.
* * *
Half an hour later,we’ve picked up our rental vehicle and we’re heading down the main strip.
It’s been a couple years since my last time here, but I remember this city like the back of my hand.
It’s always been a natural getaway for rowdy enlisted men looking for a break from bloodshed overseas or just sheer boredom on bases. I used to hit this town whenever I’d come home, knowing it was one fun reason to put more distance between myself and Ma.
I’m not blind to the weird shit Vegas has a bad habit of dredging up, either.
Surprise, surprise—I lied my ass off to Delia when she caught me napping.
There was nothing fake about my little trip down memory lane. I know I’ve had a problem talking in my sleep that’s been getting worse the last couple years, but I didn’t know it was this serious.
Hearing me wounded, vulnerable, whatever the fuck I said about that raid, I’m not having it.
It’s too raw.
She might as well have seen me stark naked—and that would’ve been a lot more fun than showing off my psychological nudity. Especially when I know she’s soaking in everything I say, wanting to crack my head open and look inside for her paper.
If Delia wants a lab rat, she’s not getting shit.
I may not mind helping her with mundane details about what I do, but when it comes to specifics, fuck no.
Brushing that raid on St. John off as a joke was hard enough.
Then again, when you’ve relived a marathon through the devil’s lair too many times to count, making a mockery of it is all you’ve got left.
The mind clings to humor because there are times when truth is fucking death.
“Oh, wow, is that it?” Delia grabs my arm as I drive, staring up in awe at the huge white Tuscan-like hotel towering over the Vegas skyline.
“The one and only,” I tell her.
I can’t help grinning like a fool.
