“Vik.” She whimpers my name, making that one word into a plea. Yeah. I’ll give her what she wants. I’m all hers.
“Step two. Gonna owe you some new panties. Take you shopping tomorrow if you want.”
I don’t wait for her nod—the cream slicking my fingers is all the permission I need. I tear that tiny tease of a panty off her and drop it onto the floor. We don’t need anything between us. I circle her clit.
And then she loses it, which has to be the fucking dirtiest, most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. She arches against me, bucking and grinding against my dick because now she’s taking what she wants, and I can come along for the ride or not. I want to fuck her on the floor, on the back of my bike, down on the Strip in the fountain in full view of the entire world because this woman...
Harper.
She’s everything to me.
Just for right now, just for tonight because fuck buddies don’t last, but she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen and she makes me feel like she sees me the same way I do her. I push a finger into her hard, and she takes it. She takes the next one, too, both of us leaning apart so we can see where we’re joined together, my fingers stretching her obscenely wide.
Christ, she’s tiny. It’s gonna be a rough, hard ride.
She’s close. Her pussy tightens on my fingers, squeezing hard, and I need to get my dick in her now. I’ll give her all the orgasms in the world later tonight, but I have to be inside her this first time. Just to be certain, though, I press the pad of my finger against her G-spot. Her face scrunches up in an almost-frown, her body stilling.
“Vik—”
Gotta love the way she moans my name. I know lots of women believe the G-spot’s either a myth or an optional accessory not all of you come with, but I’m a master hunter and I find what I’m looking for. I curl my fingers like I’m trying to stroke her from the inside out, and she loses it. She starts babbling something about seeing stars and she’s not even looking at the goddamned sky.
She’s looking at me.
I unbuckle and unbutton, shoving my jeans down just enough to get free and get a condom out, pressing Harper against the window with one hand and my weight. As if she’d go anywhere now. As if I could let her go. I don’t care if the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse come down from heaven promising orgasms and a million bucks, I’m not stepping aside. Not now.
“Ask me.” I know my voice sounds hard and mean but I need her to give me this much. “Tell me to give it to you, Harper. Tell me you want this.”
“I want you,” she pants out as I roll on the condom.
Thank fuck.
I lift her up, bring her down and give it to her good.
CHAPTER TEN
Harper
THE RETURN TO consciousness is slow. In fact, if it wasn’t for the cold glass pressed against my naked butt, I’d stay happily comatose for the next century or so. Unless, you know, Vik has plans for a repeat. I could probably, maybe bestir myself for another epic orgasm.
I bury my face in his neck and zone out for a blissful moment. He mutters something creatively obscene, and then he lifts me off his fantastic dick, cradling me against his chest. My back hits the mattress, but I hang on tighter to my man pillow. As awesome as the Bellagio’s four-hundred-count sheets are, Vik’s chest is better.
“Should I go? Or can I have ten more minutes?” The mattress dips as Vik follows me down. Not that I’m giving the man much choice—I’m attached tighter than a monkey to a banana.
“Can’t,” I mumble. “Need some time to recuperate, ’kay?”
He chuckles, a dirty sound that rumbles through my cheek (because I’m still pressed against him) and then down lower. I’m humming and thrumming all over, but particularly in my lady parts. Who knew I could come so hard? Checking the time is low down on my priority list, but I have a sneaking suspicion the man didn’t even need the full nine minutes to make fireworks go off in my body.
“Can I recuperate with you?” He rolls us over smoothly, tucking a pillow beneath my cheek. My back’s pressed against his front, his arm wrapped around my waist. I spare half a second to wonder where our clothes and the used condom went and then decide I don’t care.
“Be my guest,” I wriggle backward, getting comfortable. He groans, and things start getting interesting. Too bad for him that he wore me out with his super dick. My last conscious thought is that booty calls rock.
* * *
Vik slips away sometime between giving me an epic orgasm and sunrise. Not only does he feed Bing on his way out, but he draws me a note on the pet food receipt—a stick man with an enormous penis waving goodbye. So when he texts me later that morning, I answer. And then he replies, and somehow we fall into a routine of texting.
And it’s not just sexy talk, although that part’s great. Two mornings after our magnificent bang fest, I ask him what he’s working on. I’m up to my eyeballs in client folders, juggling numbers, and I need a break. He takes so long to answer that I decide I’ve scared him off. Maybe dicks and the activities of said dicks are the only acceptable topics of conversation in the Vik-verse, but it seems weird to me. And then he responds. With a picture. A dozen blackbirds fly free from the tip of a black feather that’s all thick, dark lines and shadows. “Take flight, my brother” is sketched beneath the
