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And she’s about to fail miserably.
I won’t let fate or technicalities or even common sense have the final say.
After I’ve had mine, by the end of the night, Delia will be the best fuck of my life I’ll never regret.
* * *
“Come on,lady, hurry up and pick a place before I starve. Let’s eat.” I’m dragging her down the Vegas Strip, stopping to read every other menu plastered on the windows or our phone screens, wandering toward the edgier part of town.
“Oh, hold up, look at this!” Delia points at this goofy-looking comedy club off the street.
“Nah, that’s not food, brat. We need grub, not amateurs looking for desperate laughs,” I say.
My stomach grinds like a sawmill.
I know she must be hungry too, even if she’s too drunk to know it.
We need something solid in our bellies before I have her for dessert.
The girl can’t keep up as we stroll on. She falls behind me, wowed by Vegas in its flashing nighttime glory.
I have to stop and search behind me three times. The first few times, I find her gawking at some touristy sight and have to march backwards to take her hand and lead her along.
This time, I’lldragher if I have to.
We’re getting farther away from the lights and the main Strip now in our random wandering.
Stone-faced men sulk in the shadows, a contrast to the bright, drunken college kids prowling around and the tipsy, rich girls lost in the city of lights.
I won’t let the one walking with me and laughing become one more.
That sense that we were being eyeballed earlier crawls under my skin, mingling with my lust.
This isn’t just about playing protector.
I have needs.
And Ineedto be inside her tonight. Every second we waste gallivanting around only delays me from her sweetness.
A couple big men arguing up ahead, shoving each other, grabs my attention. I cross the street to avoid their scrap, only noticing then how distant Delia’s heels sound.
“What now, princess? You keeping up? Or do you need me to carry you around in those heels—”
No reply.
I turn around and do a double take.
The drummingclick-click-clickof heels isn’t Delia’s, but some random lady dressed like a prostitute.
Delia’s gone.
Oh, shit.
I whip around in a circle, my eyes darting everywhere.
Nothing.
I scramble across the street again, running up and down the block for any inkling of where she might’ve gone.
