What Happened in Vegas

By: Sylvia Day

It was 115 degrees in Las Vegas, but Paul Laurens could have sworn the temperature dropped from the chill in his former lover’s gaze.

Robin Turner entered the Mondego Hotel’s ground-floor lounge like a gust of arctic air. Her long blonde hair was restrained in a sleek chignon and her lush body was encased in a pale blue dress that wrapped around her curves and tied at the waist. Nude-colored heels gave the impression that she was barefoot, while a chunky aquamarine necklace circled her throat like ice cubes.

Paul’s grip on his beer bottle tightened and his dick thickened in his jeans. How they’d ended up in bed together was still a mystery to him. One minute they were riding the same elevator and the next he was riding her, the attraction so fierce and immediate he couldn’t remember how they reached his room or even shed their clothes.

Taking a long pull on his beer, his gaze followed Robin’s progress across the barroom. She approached a booth where a guy in a suit stood to greet her. The man kissed each of her cheeks before they sat. Paul knew he couldn’t stay in the same room with her and not have her, so he gestured for the bartender and ordered a martini extra-dirty to be sent to her table.

“Your brews are popular,” one of the cocktail waitresses said as she collected the drink and placed it on her tray. Her smile was an invitation. The way she looked him over made sure he got the message.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he replied, breaking eye contact to convey his lack of interest. Convincing the Mondego to carry his microbrews had been his first toehold in Vegas. The resort’s contract funded his biweekly trips to pitch his product to other establishments in the area, which in turn had allowed him to have Robin for a year. His weekends with her had been the most valuable and treasured blocks of time in his life.

Until four months ago, when he’d fucked up and lost her.

Tossing some bills on the bar, Paul vacated his barstool and carried his beer out to the elevators. He’d left flowers for Robin with the front desk, along with his room number in a note. Although he knew she must have checked in yesterday, she hadn’t contacted him. He’d tried to convince himself that she was busy getting ready for the jewelry trade show that opened today in the hotel, but that look she’d just shot him proved the lie. His only consolation was that she wasn’t indifferent to him. He could only hope that meant she wasn’t totally over him. He’d take whatever he could get from her right now—an argument, a slap to the face, anything at all. As long as it gave him the opportunity to say what needed to be said.

He was stepping into the elevator when he smelled her. Inhaling deeply, Paul pulled the fragrance of vanilla and something flowery deep into his lungs. Awareness sizzled down his spine and fisted his balls, his dormant sexual needs stirring after months without her. He hit the button for his floor, then moved to the back of the car and turned around. As Robin took up a position beside him, anticipation thrummed through his veins. He briefly wondered what excuses she’d made to her companion, then he pushed the thought aside. He didn’t give a shit. The only thing that mattered was that she’d followed.

An elderly couple and three suit-clad gentlemen entered the car and faced the doors. As the elevator began its ascent, Robin balanced on one stiletto, drawing Paul’s gaze. He watched as she pushed her underwear down, pulling one leg free and then the other.

Jesus. His dick throbbed with eagerness and fantasies of stepping behind her, lifting her dress, and pushing into her right there filled his mind.

A soft ding signaled the first stop. The businessmen got off and four teenagers in bathing suits got on. Training his gaze straight ahead, Paul reached over and slipped his hand between the overlapping front of Robin’s dress. She sidestepped closer, putting him slightly in front of her, inviting his touch. He cupped her baby-soft hairless pussy, his fingers curling between her legs and finding her hot and damp. His dick swelled further and he finished his beer to hide a telling groan.

The car stopped again and the elderly couple exited. As the teenagers moved out of their way, the lone girl in the group glanced at Paul. Interest flared in her kohl-rimmed dark eyes. She checked him out, reading his brewery’s logo on his T-shirt and eyeing the tattoo that peeked out from beneath the sleeve. She was following the line of his arm down to where he was parting the lips of Robin’s cunt when the two boys with her spread out in the absence of the couple and cut off her view.

Robin sucked in a sharp breath when he pushed his middle finger inside her. Her tight, plush sex sucked at him greedily, and his eyes grew heavy-lidded, lust riding him hard. Pressing his heel to her clit, he massaged her, getting her ready for the pounding drives of his cock. He’d meant to talk with her first, but she was hot for it and God knew he was hot to give it to her. Stumbling through his life without her had been torture. At times, he thought he’d go insane from the need to hear her voice and feel her body against his.

The kids stepped off at the next stop. The car continued its ascent to the forty-fifth floor with only the two of them on board.

“I’ve missed you,” he said gruffly.

In answer, she thrust her desire-slick pussy into his hand. “You’ve missed this.”

Her cool voice sliced into him, but her body betrayed her. She was scorching hot and delectably wet. As he finger-fucked her juicy cunt, soft sucking noises filled the car. Her composure lost, she gripped the brass handrail and moaned, shamelessly widening her stance.

The moment the car reached his floor, Paul pulled his fingers free and caught her up, tossing her over his shoulder and dropping his empty bottle in the trash can conveniently placed just outside the elevator. He had a condom between his teeth and his keycard in hand before he reached his suite. Kicking the door open, he propped Robin against the inside of the stationary half of the double-door entrance. His button fly was open before the latch clicked shut.

His jeans dropped to the entryway’s tile, the weight of his chained wallet hitting the floor with a thud. A moment later, her lacy underwear fell from her fingers and fluttered down. As he sheathed his cock in latex, Robin pulled her dress up to take him. Paul paused to look at her, his chest tightening. She was unruffled elegance above the waist and a walking wet dream below it. Her legs were long and lithe, her sex pouty and glistening.

He’d been dead when she came into his life, frozen in grief over the death of his son and the subsequent dissolution of his already-broken marriage. That first elevator ride with Robin had been like a flipped switch, jolting him out of his coma. She’d forced the air back into his lungs and the blood back through his veins. He had begun to live for the weekends he spent with her, craving her laughter and smiles, her touch and her scent.