The Connection(3)

By: Adriana Locke



“How do you two ride with him all the time? I’d kill him!” Kari opens her door and hops out.

“Oh, Jada likes to ride more often than not. She can give you details if you’re really curious,” Cane says, getting out and stretching his arms overhead. “But that might not be good for Max’s ego.”

Cane opens my door, leaning against the frame and smiling. I start to undo my seatbelt, but my hands freeze. The way he looks at me, the way his gaze sees through every defense mechanism and bores into my soul, will never get old. With a single look, he makes me feel like I’ve always wanted . . . like I’m the only girl in the world.

“Are you ready for Vegas, beautiful girl?” he reaches out and touches my cheek.

“I am. I’m ready to put all this Simon stuff behind us and just start fresh.” I unbuckle my belt and lean forward, pressing a kiss against his chest. “I have a feeling this will be the start to the rest of our lives.”

“I have a feeling you’re right. I have a feeling you are so right.”





CANE

The city shines at my feet like a chick across the bar. It looks good until you get up close and see it was a 50 foot paint job.

I’ve never particularly liked this city. I had a few good nights here when I was younger and dumber. Everyone you meet on the Strip is a shark playing their own game and that shit gets old. I can find people wanting to use me at home; I don’t have to come to Vegas to get it.

There’s no way Jada was coming here without me. Damn Kari for even suggesting it in the first place. Although, I think after my initial reaction, Kari kept bringing it up to watch me squirm. So I took this fucked up idea and do what I always do—bend it to suit me.

And suit me it will.

I hope.

Nah, it will. Cause I’m me.

I take a sip of water and wait for my girl. We chilled by the pool all day and have reservations for dinner shortly. She wanted to go for pizza, but I want to spoil her a little bit. So she’s in the shower doing the girly stuff she likes to do. I love when she makes the extra effort for my benefit, but she looks just as beautiful when she rolls out of bed in the morning, pissy because she didn’t get enough sleep. Calm or riled up, made up or in my t-shirt, she’s gorgeous.

And she’s mine.

I feel her walk in the room behind me. The air gets hot and the hair on the back of my neck alerts me to her presence. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she had a magnet inside of her that draws me.

As she comes closer, I can see her reflection in the glass. She has her hair up and is in a red dress that hugs her curves. I breathe in deeply, yet quietly, searching for her scent. A blend of her perfume and her natural essence washes over me and brings everything into focus. She’s the calm in my chaos.

Her scent races through my senses and my nerves awaken. I need my hands on her. Now.

I set the bottle of water on the windowsill and turn to face her.

She smiles at me, twirling her ring on her finger. She smoothes her dress down and my eyes go with the motion: down her voluptuous chest, around the sweet curve of her hip, and trail down the legs that seem to go forever in her heels.

Sexy. As. Fuck.

“You ready, babe?” Her voice is quiet. It makes me grin. She’s different than any woman I’ve ever met in my life. She’s beautiful and elegant, approachable yet sophisticated. She’s the complete fucking package and, to top it off, I’m more attracted to her than I’ve ever been to anyone. Because that’s the thing; regardless of how beautiful or sexy a woman is, it doesn’t necessarily translate into chemistry or desire for more than a night or two. But with Jada, I want her. I fucking need her every single day and night.

“I’m ready to take that dress off of you.”

She laughs softly, her cheeks blushing. “Not yet, Mr. Alexander. We have to have dinner first.”

I make my way across the room, the plush carpet sinking with each step. My fingers itch to touch her skin; I want to feel her move beneath my touch. “All of that is irritating,” I grumble, pulling her into me. I bury my face in the crook of her neck, kissing her lightly.

“All of what?”

“That I can’t have my dessert first . . . and that I can’t call you Mrs. Alexander.”

“Ah, well, you will soon. You’re just going to have to be patient.”

“We’ve been over that,” I say, leaving a trail of kisses from behind her ear to her mouth.

I capture her lips with mine. She sighs into my mouth. She runs her fingers through my hair like it’s hers to do with what she wants. I love it. I’m ready to call off dinner whether she likes it or not. She’s saved by a knock on the door.

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