With her back to my chest, she lays her head against my shoulder and excels a soft sigh as I cup her breasts and rub them gently. Her nipples pucker under my touch and Jesus, I love how responsive she is, always so open and eager.
“That’s so nice, Cason,” she murmurs.
I stroke her lightly. “Headache easing?” I ask as I slide one hand lower to part her damp lips.
“Yeah…” she says.
“Are you too sore for me?”
“Probably,” she says, “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you again.”
“I want you, too,” I say, and she wiggles against my thick cock.
“I can tell.”
“Today is our last full day in Vegas,” I say, and I’m not sure why I’m reminding her of that. Is it because I want her to know when we leave, it’s over, or is it because I want her to tell me that it doesn’t have to be over?
Shit, I can’t go there with her. She’s my good friend, and I don’t want to hurt her, the way I always seem to hurt every woman I’m with. I’m emotionally closed off, can never say the right thing at the right time. Kins is the last woman I ever want to hurt.
“Yeah, life goes back to normal,” she says, reminding me she’s sticking to the timeline we set out, which is a good thing. Then why do I feel like I’ve been hit in the gut with a runaway puck? “Well, sort of normal.”
I lightly stroke her clit and she moans. “What does sort of normal mean?”
I run my hand over her wet pussy, petting her softly, soothing the soreness of last night and she relaxes even more in my arms.
“I’m looking to open a restaurant. It’s my dream, actually.”
“That’s great, Kins. I never knew that.”
“Yeah,” she says but it holds a measure of sadness.
I put both hands on her shoulder and turn her until she’s facing me. There is so much uncertainty in her eyes, it momentarily catches me off guard. “What?” I ask.
“Nothing,” she says, brushing off my question as her hands go to my chest for a slow exploration. She touches me lightly, tracing my nipple before moving on to the grooves in my stomach.
“I love your abs,” she murmurs.
I laugh. “Good, now tell me what’s wrong.”
She shrugs. “It’s just…I can’t get a loan, and my trust fund is being held captive by my father.”
“You have a trust fund?”
She cringes like that makes her a bad person. “Yeah. Left to me by my grandfather. That sounds awful doesn’t it?”
“Kinsley, there’s nothing wrong with a trust fund. I set one up for my sister ages ago. Sometimes we need a little help.”
“The thing is though, Cason, I didn’t follow in my family’s footsteps, and they sort of disowned me. Everyone except my grandmother.”
Anger rips through me, and my body tightens. “That’s pretty fucking shitty.”
Her head jerks up at the harshness in my words.
“You think so?”
“Yeah, I think so. You’re their goddamn daughter. They should be happy for you. Cooking is your passion. Anyone can see that. Why would they want you to spend the rest of your life doing something you don’t want to do? You only get one shot at this life, you know. You should be doing what makes you happy.”
She smiles at me, so bright and startling, so full of gratitude, it seeps under my skin, and my throat tightens.