Lauren Dane - What Happens In Vegas...

Hearing her enter the apartment, I popped the lid on the olives and tucked the jar between her dresser and bed. She appeared in the doorway of the bedroom seconds later. Any fear I might have had about looking guilty faded the instant I saw she hadn’t changed out of her cocktailing outfit.

I hated the scanty getup as a uniform. But I loved it as a vice to get me hard on sighting

Tonight, the uniform looked naughtier than ever. At some point during her double shift, she’d added black stockings to the ensemble. Seductively sheer nylon hugged her shapely legs, ending in a lace band a few inches shy of the miniskirt’s hem.

My cock pressed rigidly against my jeans as I rushed to the door and tugged Carinna into my arms. If I was in the mood for tact, I would have taken the time for a long, hot welcome-home kiss. Between having a bad run of luck in the tournament today, dropping me to eighth place, the way Ryan’s warning Carinna would have a new fuck buddy by the end of the month kept eating at me, and now those damned sexy nylons, I wasn’t in the mood for tact. I was in the mood to fuck the beauty in my arms, show her exactly how much we belonged together, so I turned her around, grabbed her around the waist and hurried her to the bed.

With a touch of my hand at the small of her back, she bent over the side of the mattress, splayed her fingers on the baby-blue blanket and wiggled her round ass in my face.

Little tease. She knew good and well the throbbing effect that wiggle had on my cock.

I gave in to my fingers’ restless urges for a moment, caressing the backs of her smooth legs, from thigh to calf, then journeyed my hands up to her inner thighs, teasing the soft, naked flesh for seconds before her body ignited with shivers and my need became too great to bear.

Tossing up the tiny hem of her skirt, I fisted the rear of her thong, until my fingers and thumb met at the hot divide of her buttocks. Then I jerked the thin cotton from her body with a twist of my wrist.

My shaft jumped with the primal sound of shredding cotton. Carinna jerked on the bed, her breath catching. “So much for the massage and martini.”

Her appreciation for my feral behavior rose from between her thighs to color the air with the hot, musky scent of her arousal. Cream dripped from her sex, seeping down her toned inner legs to catch in the lace band of her stockings. My fingers were restless again, and I couldn’t resist coating one with her juices and sucking it between my lips.

Fuck, she tasted so sweet. I could barely stand the thought of pushing an olive into her plump pussy and eating it back out dripping in her cum. “I didn’t forget the olives.”

If she thought the comment odd, she didn’t say so. Then again, it could be she was too busy gasping as I yanked my zipper down and rammed into her from behind.

Carinna dug her nails into the blanket, her knuckles going white in stark contrast to her naturally golden-tan skin. “You could warn a girl,” she panted out, already rearing back to meet the second thrust of my glistening cock.

I laughed thickly as I lifted her hips higher and stroked into her deep. My eyes all but rolled back into my head with the feel of her hot pussy pulling me deeper yet. “Like you want the warning. You like the surprise. You like it dirty.”

“You don’t know me that well, Jack.”

If she’d meant to sound convincing, she’d failed. She was holding out hope I didn’t know her as well as I did, and that meant she was beginning to understand what I wanted from us was more than a sexual friendship. That also meant she didn’t want anything to do with that particular want of mine.

She would.

There would be no new fuck buddies for Carinna. We were it, meant to go the distance. If she couldn’t see that truth in how suited our bodies were, then somehow I would convince her of it in words, prove to her we were worth risking a relationship. That somehow eluded me right now, so I concentrated on the moment, on pumping into her delectable pussy and losing myself in each moist, hungry grip until I could feel her orgasm clenching tightly around me, drenching my cock in her juices, and finally I gave in to my own climax.

Jack didn’t forget the olives. He’d told me as much twenty minutes ago, before he’d given me one of the fastest, hardest, most incredible fucks I’d had since our first time together.

I’d been too caught up in pleasure, as well as concern over his continued need to point out how well he knew me and what exactly that said about his state of mind where our friendship was concerned, to get his meaning until two seconds ago—when he’d pushed my thighs wide and buried a pimento-free, green olive in my slit.

The ends of his carnal grin disappeared into his mustache as he bent his dark head, used his thumbs to pull my slick pussy lips so wide they burned with wicked pleasure and skewered the center of the olive with his tongue.

My fingers pushed savagely into his hair. Sizzling heat pooled in my blood and shot from my center to my freed, bouncing breasts. Keeping my hips from thrusting against his face was an impossible feat. I could feel the push of the olive inside me, mini-fucking me with each of his forceful strokes, but even more arousing, I could see it.

The closet at the foot of my bed was finished with mirrored doors and Jack had been careful to position me at an angle where I could view his every sinful move.

My hips bucked on the bed and my blood pumped wildly as I watched his expert tongue work in and out of my hot, wet body, licking at the slippery folds of my pussy and the cream-coated olive, then go racing toward my clit.

The bastard never touched my clit.

He just kept teasing, both with his tongue and the slow circling of his fingertips along my swollen labia. Always coming so close. Making me ache so badly I hurt with my need.

It was the sweetest of slow, sensual treats and, given he’d already supplied me one fast orgasm, it should be the last thing I wanted. But I did want it, wanted it to go on all night long. Only, the increased tempo of his tongue and the way he turned his teeth on the olive, attacking its tender, tart meat in seconds to expose my dripping sex, told me it was about to turn into a fast orgasm, after all.

Hell, at this rate, I would be lucky to last a minute.

Keeping the exquisite pressure of his thumbs on my spread lips, he cupped my ass with his fingertips, lifted my center more fully to his mouth and twisted his tongue, French-kissing my pussy. My nipples stabbed with throbbing sensation. My toes curled. Sweat gathered between my breasts.

“Is it nine already?” I sang out as orgasm approached in a dizzying rush that had me forgetting the erotic sight in the mirror to release Jack’s hair, fall back on the bed and dig my nails into the blanket.

His tongue kept up its tender assault, licking, twisting, lapping at the walls of my sex until climax took me over, and then he pulled from my body to devour my juices.

I came back down from a happy little orgasm cloud to find him sitting at my feet, his lips glistening and his grin huge. “Eight-thirty,” he finally responded to my question. “And I didn’t forget the gin either.” He winked one of those devilish blue-green eyes. “Just wait till nine. We’re going to play a round of The Disappearing Bottleneck.”

I laughed hard and long, while my pussy gave an eager flutter and exploded with a fresh burst of arousal.

Despite my claim to the contrary, Jack had been right. I did love my dirty sex and he knew exactly how to provide it. It was just one of the many reasons I loved him.

I loved him.

My laughter stopped short. I dragged in a steadying breath. Why did I keep coming back to those damned words? Could I actually love Jack beyond friendship the way I was coming to think he might love me? And what did it matter if I did? I didn’t do relationships. I knew too well how they ended in ruins and heartache.