“Yeah, I do,” I say and then stand. I reach out my hand, and she takes it.
“You know, no one is here. You don’t have to hold my hand,” she says.
“I’m afraid I might lose you to the wine if I let go.”
She nods. “Good point.”
After tripping over a few stairs, we make our way to the main lobby, then head out to the manicured lawns, past the pool—don’t need any nighttime swims in our clothes.
“It’s so beautiful here,” she says. “Look at the moon. It’s huge.”
“So big, it feels like you can touch it.” As I attempt to lift my hand, I stumble over a rock and plaster myself to the ground. I end up rolling down a short hill while Myla laughs her ass off the entire time.
She peeks down the hill and says, “You okay?”
Lying on my back, I stare up at her and say, “I fell.”
She laughs some more. “I noticed.”
I hold my arms out. “Baby, I need your help. I think . . . I think I fell on a rock, and I’m bleeding. I feel something moist on my back.”
“Hold on, there are stairs right here.” She walks down the stairs and carefully comes closer, balancing on her heels the whole time. When she reaches me, she reaches into my pocket.
“Oh yeah, a little to the left, babe.”
She playfully swats my chest. “I’m looking for your phone.” She pulls it from my pocket and then turns on the flashlight.
“I really think I got jabbed. I might need stitches,” I say.
“You’re ridiculous. You can get hit in the elbow by a ninety-five-mile-per-hour baseball and not even flinch, but a rock to the back has you crying for medical care.”
“I have my strengths and weaknesses.”
She shines the light on my back and then gasps before chuckling. “Oh . . . you landed on grapes. For a second, I thought it was blood.”
“Are you sure?” I ask her.
“Positive.”
I exhale. “Thank God, no stitches.” And then I lie back on the grapes again and stare up at the night sky.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“Enjoying the view.”
She looks up at the sky and then back at me. “Aren’t I the view?”
“If you were topless, yeah.”
“Pervert,” she mutters, causing me to laugh. And then I do something I probably shouldn’t do, but hey, I’m drunk, so who cares? I lift her and pull her on top of me, placing her directly on my lap.
“My dear sir, what do you think you’re doing?”
“Using you as a blanket. I’m chilly.”
“Aw, you poor baby,” she says as she pats my chest. “Let me see if your nipples are hard.” She runs her hands over my pecs and glances to the side. “Hmm, can’t quite tell. I’m going to need a closer look.” She untucks my shirt from my pants and slips her hand against my warm skin. Her palm lights me up as her fingers caress my erect nipples. “Oh, look at that. They are hard.”
“Yeah, something else is going to be hard in a second if you don’t stop playing with my nipples.”
She grins. “You always loved getting your nipples touched, licked . . . flicked.”
I place my hands behind my head to prop myself up a bit more. “Yeah, what else did I like?”
“What didn’t you like?” She rolls her eyes dramatically, the moon casting sufficient light so I can discern her facial expressions. “You were a champion of all things in the bed. You even let me strap that vibrator on you that one time.” She leans forward and whispers, “Remember you came so hard, you got cum in your eye?”
“Yeah, and remember when I said that was to never be repeated again?”
She shrugs. “It’s best you know that I’ve told Nichole that story at least three times.”
“Is that why she calls me a pirate?”
Myla lets out a roar of a laugh and nods. “Yes.” When I don’t laugh with her, she drags her fingernails over my chest—another thing she knows I like. “Please, as if you’ve never told Banner anything embarrassing about me.”
“Never,” I reply.
“You’re such a liar.” Her nail passes over my nipple, and I let out a short hiss.
“Myla, I’m drunk, but not drunk enough to get hard, so stop it.”
She chuckles again and then gets off my lap. She stands above me and holds her hand out, so I take it, and she helps me to my feet.
“Your shirt is all disheveled,” she says.
“Want to tuck it back in for me?” I waggle my eyebrows at her.
“I’m okay. Thanks for the offer, though.” She takes my hand, and we walk back up the hill, me supporting her as she does it in heels. When we reach the top, she says, “I need to get out of this romper and this strapless bra, or I might die.”
“Want me to take it off for you right now?” I ask. “I don’t mind.”
“I’m sure you don’t,” she says from over her shoulder as she walks away, pulling my hand with her.
I really would.
So fucking bad.
I would also like to peel that romper off.
Find out what kind of underwear she’s wearing only to peel that off as well.
“You’re quiet,” she says as we make it back to the hotel and the elevators. “Have you lost your voice?”
“Not even a little,” I say. “Just thinking inappropriate things.”
“Oh, are those things about me?”
“Always, babe,” I answer, squeezing her hand.
“Such a charmer.” She presses the up button and then twirls into me, her hand to my chest. “When we get in our room, I’m ripping these clothes off, so I hope you’re ready.”
“You are?” I ask, eyebrows up to my hairline. “What, uh, what do you plan on doing after you take your clothes off?”
“Snuggling into my pillow and passing out of course. What did you think I was going to do?” The elevator dings, and she pulls me in with her.
“I don’t know. I mean, if you need a massage or anything, just let me know. I’m your guy.”
“I’m sure you are.”
When we reach our floor, she drags me down the hall to our room where I drape my arm over her shoulder as she unlocks it. Once we’re in our room, door shut, she reaches behind her and undoes her romper, letting it fall to the ground, just like she said, leaving her in a thong and a strapless bra.
Hell.
In a haze, I kick my shoes and socks off, then pull my shirt up and over my head and drop that on the floor as I work my way to the bathroom, where I find Myla completely naked.
“Myla,” I groan as I turn back around. “Come on.”
“What?” she asks through toothpaste gathered in her mouth. “You’ve seen me naked.”
“Yeah, but you’re hot as fuck, and I’m already struggling to keep my hands to myself, so you naked is not helping.”
“Toss me one of your shirts then.”
I grab one of my Bobbies shirts from my suitcase, then toss it into the bathroom.
“Thank you,” she calls out. After a moment, I hear, “Okay, I’m decent.”