I look up at him. "After I come on your hand."
He leans down to kiss me hard.
Then his fingers are slipping inside me. His thumb is circling my clit.
And I feel so good I can barely stand.
It takes every bit of attention I have to keep my body upright.
To keep from screaming loud enough to alert security.
Everything blurs together—the loud remix, the chatter behind us, his touch, his kiss, the movements of our hips—into this mix of music and pleasure.
My entire world is music and pleasure.
And that buzz of intoxication.
I press my body against his as he works me. Pleasure builds to a crescendo, then I'm there, groaning into his mouth as I come on his hand.
Fuck.
That feels so good.
He drags his lips to my ear as he pulls his hand away. "Next time you're screaming my name as you come."
3
Bella
Six hours later…
My eyelids flutter open.
The room is lit only by the neon of Las Vegas Boulevard.
Not a room. A suite.
But I don't give a fuck about anything but the bed.
About anything but my flesh against Joel's.
His body is on top of mine.
His cock is driving into me.
I look up at him, staring into his green eyes. He smiles. Not the smile of a one-night stand, but more.
This intimacy.
This connection.
My heartbeat picks up.
My stomach flutters.
I rake my nails across his back.
My left hand is heavy. Something catches on his skin. Some memory knocks at my consciousness.