“Extremely.” He grins. “Now, finish off that last bite of cake before we get chocolate all over these fancy sheets.”
I frown at the small remainder of cake up for grabs. “Um, no, that’s yours. I had the first bite, so you should get the last.”
He shakes his head. “No way. You’re willingly spending our last night in Vegas with me in this ridiculous honeymoon suite. The least I can do is give you the last bite of cake.”
I spoon up the final bite and hold it out to him expectantly. “It’s not that big of a sacrifice, you know.”
“I disagree. I think sacrificing the last bite of dessert is a very noble thing to do.”
“Not that,” I say with a laugh. “I mean spending the evening with you. It’s not exactly a chore to sit here and eat expensive food in a fancy suite with a hot guy.”
Landon lifts one brow. “So you think I’m hot?”
“I told you, you passed inspection,” I remind him playfully, then lift the spoonful of cake to his lips again.
Giving in, he leans forward, parting his lips for the spoon while maintaining eye contact with me. It’s strangely seductive. I can feel his low, rumbling hum buzzing through me as the chocolate hits his taste buds, his eyes sinking closed as he pulls back and chews, savoring the taste. The tingly feeling in my fingertips returns, but this time it’s accompanied by a flash of heat that makes my heart race. I can’t stop the sudden thought that I’d like to see him make that kind of delicious, low hum between my thighs.
“You, um . . .” I stammer, gesturing to my own mouth while looking at Landon’s. “You’ve got some chocolate sauce right here.”
His brow creases as one hand moves to his lips, wiping everywhere except where the offending chocolate is. “Where?”
“Right there . . . no, to the left . . . oh . . . may I?”
I know what I’m doing is dangerous, maybe even stupid, but I shift closer to him, sweeping my thumb over the chocolate on his lower lip.
“There,” I whisper. “All better.”
His blue eyes deepen to the color of a twilight sky, and the anticipation hanging in the air is borderline unbearable. His gaze flickers from my eyes to my mouth, and just when it’s almost more than I can take, he grabs the hem of my T-shirt and gives it a firm tug.
“Get over here,” he growls, and in one swift motion, his arms wrap around my waist and lift me into his lap.
The second his full lips crash into mine, I know all this small talk, this splitting of room service and arguing about age differences, has been a complete waste of time. This right here is what we should have been doing all night.
Our tongues flirt with each other, hesitant and careful. He tastes like red wine and bad decisions, and although I haven’t had a sip of alcohol since last night, one taste of him and I feel instantly drunk. We move slowly at first, exploring each other for the first time without the interference of alcohol, but soon our pulses begin to race. And he becomes more reckless, kissing me deeper and deeper until he’s devouring me with the hunger of a man who hasn’t eaten in weeks.
The stiffness in his shorts presses against the juncture of my thighs, and I can’t resist grinding against him, rolling my hips so I can feel his length through the cotton of my pajama pants. Shuddering at how good that feels, I grip his shoulders, digging my nails into his muscles, which makes him groan against my mouth. It’s a huge turn-on to know I can get such a visceral reaction out of him.
The hand that isn’t pressed against the small of my back floats to one breast and finds my stiff nipple, circling it until I give him a moan in return. The sensation is so all-consuming that I toss my head back, and he takes full advantage, running his lips down the column of my throat.
“You’re fucking gorgeous.” He groans the words into the curve of my neck, then trails his lips along my collarbone, leaving a trail of goose bumps behind.
“I want you, Landon,” I whisper desperately against his ear, looping a thumb into his waistband. But as I tug, urging him to let his erection spring free, he pulls back, his twilight-blue eyes suddenly serious.
He shifts, inhaling deeply. “There’s something I want to tell you first before we go any further.”
Confused, I climb off of him, a lump building in my throat. “Is everything okay? Did I hurt you?” Maybe I was being too rough again.
“No, no. Not at all.” He grins and nods toward the erection tenting his athletic shorts. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m, uh, having a great time.”
“Yeah, I kinda noticed.”
Testing my luck, I reach out and give his impressive length a delicate stroke through his shorts. He inhales sharply, his eyes fluttering closed, but then his fingers wrap around my wrist, moving my hand away.
“There’s something you should probably know first,” he mutters. “It’s not a big deal. Or maybe it is—hell, I don’t know. It’s just that I . . .”
When he pauses, my mind runs rampant with possibilities. Maybe it’s something silly, like he has to run to the bathroom first. Or maybe it’s something serious, like an STI. I hold my breath, waiting for him to finish his sentence.
“I haven’t done that before.”
I flinch. That definitely wasn’t what I was expecting. I scan his eyes for signs of sarcasm but come up blank. Maybe I misheard him. “Done what?”
“I’m a virgin,” he says, meeting my gaze.
I blink at him, the cogs in my head turning. “Like, a born-again virgin, right? There’s no way you’re an actual virgin.” He’s hot as fuck, and he’s a pro athlete. That’s just not possible, right?
A rosy color creeps up his angular jaw and across his cheeks.
Shit. Why the hell did I say that? I should have kept my mouth shut. His response says it all.
How stupid am I? I need to get out of here and put this poor man out of his misery.
“You know what? I’m sorry. It’s late. I should probably get back to my room anyway.” It’s not much of an elegant exit line, but it’s all I’ve got.
I scramble off the bed, tightening the drawstring on my pajama pants as I head for the door. My stomach twists as I bolt out, not even looking back when I rattle off a hurried, “Have a good night!”
Once the door clicks closed, I lean against it, trying to will my head to stop spinning.
Five minutes ago, I was making out with the hot-as-sin man who is legally my husband. And now I’m outside his room, trying to digest a piece of information about him that changes absolutely everything.
It feels like I just stumbled off a carnival ride. I’m hot and dizzy and confused. But I have a feeling this roller coaster ride is far from over.
• • •
Compared to the hungover hell that was Saturday morning, waking up on Sunday is a breeze.
No headache. No queasy stomach. No life-changing decisions made last night. I even managed to complete my entire skin-care routine before crawling into bed. Go, me.
All things considered, I should be feeling as fresh as a daisy. But here I am, using the hotel pillow to try to block the sunlight seeping through the curtains.
What should have been a good night’s sleep was spent tossing and turning, thinking about what Landon shared with me last night and how poorly I reacted. He was so vulnerable and honest, telling me something that, if I were to guess, even his teammates probably don’t know. And what did I do? I ran away.