Getting Some (7 page)

“I need your cock,” I murmur against his mouth. “Right now. Inside me.” I hastily brush my panties aside and spread my lips with my fingers. “Touch me, baby. See how much I want you.”

Dominic groans when he slides a finger over my opening. Then his fingers enter me, stretch me, move in and out of me with hurried thrusts. Dominic pulls his fingers out and licks at them greedily, and the sight of that makes my nub tremble.

I gasp when Dominic moves upward in one fast motion, lifting me off my feet as he does. He carries me to the kitchen counter and perches my ass on it. Then he spreads my legs, making it clear that this is where he wants to fuck me.

I lift my right foot onto the counter so I can better balance myself. Dominic helps me with my left leg. The next instant, Dominic moves my panties out of the way and fingers my pussy until I’m whimpering.

“Please fuck me,” I beg. “Put that big cock inside me—”

My plea dies on a moan when Dominic’s mouth covers my pussy. Holding my legs apart, he flicks his hot tongue all over my clitoris before fully taking it into his mouth and suckling it until I’m screaming his name.

Then finally, blissfully, Dominic thrusts his magnificent cock deep inside me.

I cry out and grip Dominic’s shoulders. He pulls out, then drives his cock into me again, deeper this time, eliciting a long, raspy moan from me. He withdraws and thrusts, again and again, gaining momentum with each stroke. Soon, he’s ramming my pussy mercilessly, hitting my G-spot every time, making me heady and breathless.

My fingers dig into Dominic’s shoulders through his shirt as I hold on for the ride. “Oh, baby.” My words float on a moan. “I’m gonna…gonna
co-o-o-ome!
”

At my words Dominic picks up speed, pounding me furiously until he forces my orgasm. It thunders through me, electrifying every nerve ending in my body.

As my body trembles with my release, Dominic’s groans grow louder. I tighten my vaginal walls around him, determined to steal his orgasm the way he did mine.

Dominic pulls out, pumps his cock as he spills semen onto my belly. I mewl softly as he does, a subtle sign of my disappointment.

When it comes to sex, I want all of him.

Our mouths meet for a tender kiss, the kind that speaks of our love for each other.

I want to ask Dom why he pulled out, especially since he knows I’m on the Pill.

But I don’t.

I’ll admit, the fact that Dom pulled out when he normally comes inside me has had me a tad bit insecure. But on Thursday I’m not thinking about that as our plane touches down in Las Vegas at 2:02 p.m. Sitting in the tenth row with my sister, I’m simply excited about being in Sin City. Samera and I both stretch our necks to gaze out the window. In the distance, I can see the high-rise hotels on the strip, and I marvel at how different the city looks from the last time I was here, just five years ago.

“You excited?” I ask Samera.

She glances at me and smiles. “Yeah.”

The moment the
Fasten Seat Belt
sign turns off, accompanied by the traditional pinging sound, everyone on the plane collectively throws open their buckles. I ease my body upward and turn to look at Lishelle and Claudia, who are a couple rows behind us on the opposite side. Lishelle shakes her head in mock chagrin as she stares back at me, then her face erupts in a grin. I’ve known her long enough to understand that the first look wasn’t entirely false, and I know what it’s about. When she got into the limo and found my sister there, her eyes registered total surprise. She doesn’t know my sister, and Lishelle’s the kind of person who doesn’t like to let loose with acquaintances. She’s probably a little perturbed that I decided to bring my sister on this trip.

Well, she’s just going to have to get used to it. To paraphrase Rodney King—we’re all going to have to get along.

Minutes later we’re all off the plane, commenting on the extreme heat as we head toward the baggage claim. I notice that Samera stays on my left side, away from Lishelle and Claudia, who are on my right. This remains our formation even as we get our luggage, then head outside to catch a taxi.

I decide not to worry about this. At least not yet. They’re kind of like kids in a playground on the first day of school—cautious yet curious. But by the end of the day, I’m sure everyone will be chatting and laughing over a round of margaritas. Bonding as we ogle hot, naked men.

“Whoo, and I thought Atlanta was hot.” Claudia fans herself with her ticket envelope as we stroll outside. “Where’s a taxi?”

“Costa Rica wasn’t even this hot,” Samera comments, the only thing she’s said by way of conversation. The weather—always a safe topic.

“This is the desert,” I say. “And humidity or not, 120 degrees is hot. Period.”

“I need to get in a taxi before I melt.” Lishelle looks from left to right. She starts dragging her luggage to the right. “Thank God, there’s the taxi stand.”

By the time we get a taxi, which can’t be more than two minutes after we’ve stepped outside, we all sigh loudly with relief.

“Where to?” the taxi driver, who appears to be East Indian, asks.

“The Venetian,” I reply and climb into the backseat, followed by Claudia. Samera enters the backseat from the car’s opposite side, which leaves me sandwiched in the middle. Lishelle sits in the front.

“The Venetian?” Samera asks me. “Why did I think we were staying at Bellagio?”

Shrugging, I face her. “I don’t know. I did consider Bellagio, but decided against it.”

“You staying a couple weeks?” the driver asks.

“Four days,” Lishelle answers.

“Four days!” the cabdriver exclaims, mirth in his voice. “And so much luggage!”

That gets a chuckle from all of us. “Hey, we’re women,” is my simple explanation as to why, between us, we have filled his trunk to capacity with eight pieces of luggage, not including our large handbags.

“I go away with my wife for a weekend, she packs like we’re staying a year.” The cabbie shakes his head as he smiles. “I don’t understand.”

We make small talk during the short drive to The Venetian, but mostly we gawk at the impressive, gold-colored high-rises. We get a taste of New York and Egypt and Paris—all in one drive down the Vegas strip. When the driver pulls up to the Venetian, with its bridges and waterways that already make me think we’re in Italy, we all gasp in awe. The building is majestic, stunning. Pale in color, it also boasts the gold-tinted windows that are popular on the strip. Seeing the pictures of the place online is nothing like seeing the hotel in person.

Once the cabdriver helps us get our bags out of the trunk, Samera says to me, “This place is gorgeous. How much is this costing?”

“Yeah, I’d love to know that, as well,” Lishelle adds.

“None of your business,” I answer flippantly. I head toward the driver to pay him, but Claudia is already giving him cash.

A bellhop appears and begins piling our bags onto a trolley. He follows us inside, where I lead the way to the front desk. A red-haired clerk who looks far too pale to be living under the Nevada sun smiles warmly at me.

“I’m checking in,” I say, and give her my name.

Claudia, Lishelle and Samera all crowd around me, listening as the woman behind the counter asks the standard questions, and then for my credit card.

When the woman turns her back, Claudia says, “Wait a second. Did I hear her say
three
rooms?”

I wave a hand to shush her. This is part of my surprise. When I booked this, I went all out. Booked three lavish suites, but I got them at a forty percent discount.

“Here’s your credit card, Mrs. Crawford.” I cringe slightly at the clerk’s words. They imply I’m a happily married woman, not one on the brink of divorce.

Her gaze floats over all four of us. “Now, all three suites are on the thirty-fifth floor. One is the Venetian Prima, which is slightly larger than the two others, the Piazza suites. Who will be staying in which suite, and how many keys do you want?”

I shrug. Behind me, Claudia and Lishelle start to whisper.

“Are the rooms connected?” I ask.

“They’re not connected, but the two Venetian Piazza suites are side by side, and the Venetian Prima suite is directly across the hall.”

More whispering behind me. I make out “I can’t believe she did this.”

I say to the clerk, “Why don’t we get two keys per room for the Piazza suites, four for the Prima, and we’ll sort out who’s sleeping where when we get upstairs.”

“Certainly.” The clerk complies, her smile never leaving her face. She hands me the keys and points the way toward the bank of elevators before wishing us a grand day.

I start for the elevators, and the questions start.

“You booked three rooms?” Samera asks.

“No, not rooms. The clerk said
suites,
” Lishelle clarifies.

“Annelise, we know you wanted us to have a good time,” Claudia says, “but there was no need to spend a fortune.”

I face them all when we get to the elevators. “What’s done is done. And remember, I wanted to do it. Because I love you all, okay? So no worrying that I spent too much. No fussing over anything, all right?” My eyes volley back and forth between my friends as I wait for them to answer.

“All right,” Lishelle agrees after a moment. “We just hope you didn’t go overboard.”

Their worry that I’ve spent too much is confirmed when we get to the thirty-fifth floor. I head to the left, in the direction of the suites. I stop at the Prima suite, which is on the right side of the hallway, and open the door.

There are more gasps, then stunned silence, and we haven’t even stepped beyond the massive foyer which boasts marble floors.

Samera is the first to venture forward, around the slight corner into the room beyond. “Holy shit,” she calls out. “How the fuck are you affording this?”

I lower my purse to the floor, then head into the suite. I have to admit, I gape at its beauty. The colors are warm—the carpet beige, and the walls a pale peach. The wood detail on the walls provides a sophisticated touch. There is a large bar area to the immediate left with a black marble counter, complete with a sink, three bar stools, and what appears to be a bottle of champagne chilling in a carafe.

Samera turns to face me. “Sis, how much did you spend on this?”

“None of your concern,” I respond.

“Seriously,” Lishelle says. “This suite is fucking gorgeous.” She pokes her head into the bedroom, then whistles. “And you got
three
of them?”

“This only has one bed,” I point out.

“The sofa’s got to be a pull-out,” Claudia comments. “You and Samera could have shared one bed, and Lishelle and I could share the pull-out. There’s definitely enough room for all of us in here.”

“Yes, but…” I pause for effect. “We might need some privacy.”

Lishelle’s eyebrow shoots up.

“Dom showing up?” Samera asks, but I can tell the question isn’t sincere.

“This isn’t about Dom. It’s about you. All of you. And the possibilities of Vegas.”

Claudia crosses her arms over her chest. “So you’ve put a small fortune into renting three rooms so we…so we can…”

“Get lucky?” I smile. That’s exactly what I was thinking. “I already told you, I’m about to get a ton of cash from the sale of my house.”

“Which you should be putting into your business,” Lishelle pipes in, ever matter-of-fact. “Not spending it on a lavish trip.”

I sigh softly as I face each of them in turn. “Look, this is an investment. An investment in the people who matter the most to me. You already agreed not to get upset over how much I’ve spent. So, please, no more arguments.”

Claudia snakes an arm around my waist. “I can’t argue with that. And, girl, I love you for caring.”

I press my cheek against hers.

Lishelle makes her way to the bar’s counter and the bottle of champagne chilling in a silver bucket. “Cristal. Very nice. You really are in the mood to celebrate.”

“That really is champagne?” I ask. “Not a prop? Because I didn’t order any.”

“It’s the real deal,” Lishelle answers.

“When you pay for three suites, you get the VIP treatment,” Claudia explains.

“Not only is it a nice touch,” I begin, “but it’s absolutely perfect. We’re all fabulous women. We deserve to celebrate that—and the fact that we are no longer tied to scumbag men.”

“Here, here,” Samera says.

“And this trip is also about getting your groove back,” I explain. “Because quite frankly, I miss all our talks about sex—which have been totally lacking since you guys stopped getting any.”

Samera howls at that. “Who’d have thought it—
you
talking so frankly about sex. And I used to think you were a prude.”

“I was a prude. But I’ve seen the light.”

Claudia shakes her head. “You, a prude? You never heard your sister during our weekly brunches. I wouldn’t call her a—”

“Okay, ladies.”

I turn to see Lishelle wrestling with the cork on the champagne bottle. It pops open with a bang, and a plume of bubbly smoke spews out of the bottle.