Page 7 of A Vegas Crush Collection #3

fly as hell

Devon

I trace my fingers across Grant’s muscular chest and then trail down farther to rest my hand low on his belly. He’s stroking gently along the length of my arm. I’m boneless, totally unable to think or speak or move after what was, undoubtedly, the best sexual experience of my life.

The room is quiet but for the distant sounds of cars honking on the street below. I listen to the steady thump of his heartbeat for a long time, until the sound of my rumbling stomach jolts me back to the present. I guess I never really ate dinner.

“Hungry?” Grant asks.

“Famished, actually,” I admit. “I ate some finger foods at that reception down in the bar but nothing of substance.”

“Well,” he grunts, extricating his thigh from beneath my leg bent on top of it, “let me clean up and then I’ll order us a snack, yeah?”

“That sounds good.”

I have to fight to keep my eyes open; the war between hunger and sleep in a raging battle inside of me. I check the bedside clock, and it’s nearly one in the morning. I need to get up and do a quick workout before breakfast. Maybe I should thank him and just say good night?

This new war rages in my head for what seems like a really long time.

I’m not a one-night stand kind of person.

I date, but not often. I have sex, but even less often, and definitely not with men I’ve just met in a bar.

But something about Grant felt right to me.

The chemistry was there when we first started talking, and the sex was hotter than hot.

But should I tell him to go? Should I just end it here, send him on his way, and enjoy it for what it is?

If he stays longer, it’s likely I’ll learn more about him.

Perhaps I’ll be sad to see him leave. Or perhaps he’ll say something I hate and make me regret the whole thing.

I know I’m overanalyzing, and I can literally hear Gia’s voice in my head, telling me to cut it out, to just go with the flow. Speaking of which, I should probably text her…

Tell him good night. End it here. Leave it casual and light. No need to make it more than it is. I can wait until breakfast to eat, and I’ll be able to get a little more sleep for the conference.

My stomach grumbles angrily in response, and when Grant emerges, naked and cut like a stone statue, I forget all about my plan and my tiredness and my overanalyzing brain for a moment.

It’s suddenly important to me that I take in every inch of the sight of this man and commit it to memory.

He is, by all accounts, the most beautiful man I have ever seen naked.

This night and gorgeous Grant will be vibrator inspiration for a long time to come, I think. I know.

Grant looks at me for a moment, and there’s something strange about his expression.

He looks…conflicted, for lack of a better word.

I hope I didn’t break him. Before I can ask if everything is okay, he picks up the hotel phone and orders room service.

When he turns back to me, the strange expression is gone.

He pokes around at the various clothing items strewn about and finds his boxer briefs, slipping them on before sliding onto the bed next to me.

“You ordered a lot of fried nonsense there, friend,” I say jovially.

“Post-alcohol food, Devon. Bad habit from my college days. Whisky does a thing to my taste buds. Makes me want junk.”

“Blame it on the whisky, okay.” I wink at him. “I don’t usually eat stuff like that.”

“Oh.” He cringes. “Should I order something else?”

“No, no. It won’t kill me to eat it one night. Live a little, and all. I’ll work it off at the gym in the morning.”

Grant peers at the bedside clock. “It is morning, kind of.” His fingers trail along my still-bare body, dipping in between my legs and setting me instantly on fire. “And we could work it off now, ahead of time.”

We kiss again, and he dips his fingers deeper inside me, stroking deep, while his thumb strums at my clit.

I grasp his hardening cock beneath his boxers and we get right to work bringing each other to climax once again.

We are so in sync it’s like we’ve done this before…

or something. Like the whole experience of being intimate together didn’t require the usual groundwork before getting us to this point. It’s strange, but yet, not unexpected…

Grant laughs as he rolls to his back. “I feel like a horny teenager. What are you doing to me, woman?”

A knock at the door startles us both, and now I’m the one laughing as he runs to the bathroom, wraps himself in a bath towel, and answers the door.

He returns with a platter of food, placing the whole thing on top of the bed.

I find my sweater within arm’s reach and pull it over my head as Grant switches on the bedside lamp, filling the room with soft light.

“So you like to work out?” he asks, picking up a mozzarella stick and shoving it into his mouth. He makes a face as he chews and then says, “Shit. Hot.”

I giggle and opt for a carrot and some hummus. “I do. I do the gym maybe twice a week and I run maybe three days a week. Nothing crazy. I’m not like one of those CrossFit junkies or anything.”

“How do you know someone does CrossFit?” Grant asks.

“They tell you,” I finish.

We both laugh, and he says, “Though serious runners like to talk running, too. And cyclists. They can talk cycling all damn day.”

“True stories, all of those. I’ve been known to wax poetic about race prep, so I really can’t talk.”

“I run, also. Not as much since I hurt my knee, but I always enjoyed it. Good stress reliever. I mostly do gym work now. I like to box a little sometimes, too.”

“I’ve got the upper body strength of an infant,” I joke. “No boxing for me.”

“I’ll bet that’s not true,” he says, reaching out and feeling my arm for muscles. He whistles as I flex. “See? Totally ripped. You’re not eating pancakes for breakfast, I’d guess.”

“Okay, there’s a question…to continue our earlier streak. How do you like your pancakes, Grant?”

He cocks his head at me adorably and answers, “Why, Devon, I enjoy them best with butter and drenched in syrup, with a side of bacon, and some black coffee. Perfection.” He rubs his stomach, which is so washboard tight, that I know he doesn’t eat such things on a regular basis. “You?”

“I’m a chocolate-chip kind of girl,” I answer. “Though you’re right, I don’t eat them often.”

“Knew it.”

I lift a shoulder and grin at him. “Okay. Your turn.”

He ponders this as he takes a bite of fried pickle. “If you could drive any car in the world, what would you drive?”

“Hmm. I’d drive a Ford F150.”

“What?” Grant exclaims, his face and tone a mix of doubt and surprise. “No way.”

“Yep. Silver. I’d have a big-ass truck, and I’d live on a big ranch out in, like Wyoming or Montana. I’d be like the Pioneer Woman.”

Grant chuckles at this, his smile devastating in a way that goes straight to my core. What in the heck is this crazy thing between us?

“We like the same things, I swear,” he says. “I do love me a big truck. I like speed, too, so I might also have like a Ducati in the bed of the truck, too, just for those days when I feel like flying.”

“Ah, nothing sexier than a Ducati,” I agree, nodding furiously. “Okay, my turn. Have you ever broken a limb?”

“A?” he asks with a laugh. “Let’s see…I broke my ankle when I was fourteen and decided to try to ski off my parents’ roof into a snowbank. I broke three fingers fighting some kid who insulted my girlfriend when I was sixteen. I’ve broken several ribs and my nose has been broken twice.”

My eyes are wide. “That it?”

He shrugs. “Took me a while to find my Zen.”

I snort at this. “That’s funny. I’ve never broken any bones, thankfully. I got a couple of concussions playing soccer in middle school but that’s about it.”

“Yep, had a couple of those in my youth, as well.”

“Shocking,” I say with a grin.

“Let’s see, my turn?” I nod, and he pops a snack into his mouth while he thinks of a question. Finally, he asks, “Would you ever climb Mount Everest?”

Tilting my head to one side, I think about it for a few moments.

“Um, maybe? That’s not an answer, I suppose.

I’m just not sure. On the one hand, I think it would be thrilling in many ways.

It would take every ounce of strength you had, not just physically, but mentally and emotionally as well.

Spiritually, too, I suppose. And to see the world from that angle? What a trip it must be.”

“But?” Grant asks.

“But people die out there. Often. And it’s kind of gross.

There’s tons of trash and the bodies of the dead just left up on that mountain where they will stay, and that’s kind of disturbing to me.

Plus, it’s expensive. I can think of lots of charities that could use that kind of money, if I had it, you know? ”

“I can see that,” Grant says, nodding. “I guess I can also see the drive behind why people do it, though. Like, pushing yourself and your body beyond the limits of what should be possible. Doing something only a few people will ever do successfully? It feels like it would be such an achievement.”

“Agreed,” I say. “That’s why I’m not sure. I mean, I won’t do it. It’s not on my bucket list or anything. Talking theoretically though? I’m not sure.”

“What is on your bucket list?” Grant asks softly.

“Oh, no, no, sir. My turn. You don’t get two questions in a row.”

“My bad.” Grant grins before muttering, “Rule follower.”

I’m a rule follower to the letter, that’s true.

I have always been uncomfortable with the idea of being in trouble or working outside of established rules or laws.

Trouble is just not in my DNA. Gia would say that’s reason number five-hundred-seventy-six proving I’m a boring introvert, but oh well, we are what we are.

And the “oh well” speaks for itself when I just shrug in response to Grant’s comment before switching the subject and asking, “What’s the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to you?”