“It’s the only thing that can explain why we’re in bed and still dressed. If I’d had my wits about me last night, we would be waking up naked.”
“I was just thinking the same thing.”
“Were you now?” His lips continued to trail kisses along my neck. “How do you feel about sleepy, slow sex in the morning?”
“I feel pretty good about it.” Already, my body was flushed in anticipation. My nipples were hard and my pussy quivered, knowing the pleasure Max could bring.
He tugged the zipper of my dress down and pushed it from my shoulders. With him still spooned behind me, I shimmied out of my dress. He unclasped my bra, and I tossed that aside. Last, I divested myself of my panties.
He tugged me to him, his slacks-covered dick pressing against my ass as his hand slid over my belly and then down into my nest of curls.
“You’re not going to join me?” I sighed against him.
His lips were on my neck again. “I will. But first, you.” His fingers found my clit, gently rubbing it. I closed my eyes and sank into his touch, into the warmth of his firm body.
It didn’t take long for my orgasm to wash over me. Only then did he undress. Naked, he spooned around me again, lifting my leg to make room for him. He slid inside me, and even though I’d just come, my body responded, my blood heating again.
Like he’d promised, he moved slowly and languidly. His lips kissed my neck and shoulder as he rocked in and out of me. It was sweet and lovely, and a part of me would miss him when he left. I’d never met a man like him. Oh, sure, there were plenty of good-looking, rich guys in Las Vegas. But Max was more than that. There was a down-to-earth feel about him that made me think he grew up in a good family, unlike mine. He wasn’t necessarily open about his feelings, but that reservedness gave him a shy factor that was sweet. He was smart and interesting. And he knew how to have a good time.
He groaned against me. “I’m close.” His whisper tickled along my neck. He reached over my body, pinching my nipple as he picked up the pace.
“Oh!” I cried out as my orgasm flowed through me, just like he’d described, sleepy and slow.
He thrust again, emptied, and then held me spooned against him as the last waves of pleasure flowed through us.
When our heart rates settled, he gave me one last kiss on the neck and rolled onto his back. I turned onto my back as well.
He slid his hands over his face as if he was still feeling foggy from last night. A flash of light from his hand caught my eye. A ring on his left hand.
In an instant, the languid warmth of my orgasm was gone, replaced by shock and anger. I scrambled out of the bed, grabbing the sheet and tugging it to cover my body as I stood next to the bed.
He brought his hands away from his face and looked at me with concern.
“You’re married.”
His expression morphed into confusion. “No, I’m not.”
“You’re wearing a wedding ring.” How was it that I didn’t notice that before? I wasn’t against an occasional hookup with somebody from out of town, but I drew the line at married men.
He frowned and looked at his hand, the confusion remaining on his face. He looked over at me, his eyes squinting, hovering near where I clutched the sheet around my breasts.
I was about to take offense at his ogling me when his gaze returned to my eyes. “So are you.”
“What?”
“You’ve got a ring too.”
My head jerked down, looking at my left hand, and sure enough, there was a gold band around my finger. My brain ceased to function. It didn’t make any sense. And then it did.
“Oh, my God.” I turned and sank onto the bed. How did this happen?
“Care to fill me in?” Max’s tone had gone from confused to suspicious.
I shook my head, still not believing I could’ve done something so stupid. “I’ve become a Las Vegas cliché.”
The bed shifted, and I glanced back to see Max getting out of bed, finding his boxers and his pants and slipping them on. “What does that mean?”
“We must have gotten drunk-married last night.”