We’re going to look ridiculous, but we don’t care.
We’re just about to walk out the door when room service arrives with a bottle of Veuve Clicquot champagne, compliments of Alex Wilder, of course. Stella opens the bottle and pours us each a glass of bubbly.
“To Caroline.” Stella raises her glass and we all follow suit. “We’re so happy for you, and so grateful we can celebrate you in style this weekend. You’re marrying a great guy but never forget—his is the last penis you will ever have.” She lifts her glass even higher. “Cheers!”
We all laugh and clink glasses, and I’m hit with an overwhelming sensation of love and happiness as I stand among my friends, drinking expensive champagne and feeling the bubbles tickle as they slide down my throat. I even start to get teary-eyed, and I do my best to discreetly wipe at my face as I turn away from the group.
“Are you actually crying?” Caroline asks me, sounding horrified.
Candice makes a tsking noise and rushes toward me, wrapping me up in her arms. “If you don’t stop, I’m going to start crying too.”
A watery laugh escapes me as I cling to my friend. “I’m just so happy, you guys. I can’t believe we’re here, staying in this fabulous suite and drinking expensive champagne while we celebrate Caroline’s upcoming wedding.”
“All thanks to Alex,” Caroline says as she joins me and Candice. So we’re all three wrapped around each other.
“I’m feeling left out,” Stella says as she walks over to our trio. Sarah and Kelsey follow after her, and then we’re all wrapped around each other in a six-person group hug.
“Enough with the sappiness,” Stella says after about thirty seconds of hugging. “I want more champagne. And I’m hungry. Let’s get this party started!”
Caroline grabs Stella’s arm, stopping her from draining her glass. “Tell me we’re not going to a strip club.”
Stella’s expression is solemn. “We’re not going to a strip club,” she repeats.
“Are you just saying that?” Caroline’s expression is full of doubt.
“Yes. I’m just saying that,” Stella says just before she drinks the last of her champagne. “Now let’s go!”
I know for a fact Stella arranged for a couple of strippers to show up at our suite. Not sure what time that’s going to happen, but it is definitely happening.
It’s definitely going to be an interesting night.
Grabbing my bar purse, I pull my phone out to see I have a text from Mitch. Having fun?
Smiling, I type out a response and send it. Yes. We just drank champagne and now we’re going to dinner. I got my hair and makeup done. I look fabulous.
A giggle takes over, and I stifle it with my fingers. Normally I would never tell a man I look fabulous.
You can’t say that and not send me a photo to prove it.
Hmm. I glance around, consider taking a selfie in front of the window wall, but then I decide to ask someone to take a photo of me. So I can get in a full body shot and really drive him wild.
Ha! Clearly, I’m already feeling naughty. He brings it out in me, I swear.
“Stel, would you take a photo of me, please?” I ask.
She lifts her brows as I hand her my phone. “Is this for your new man?”
Nodding, I start walking toward the windows. “Where I should we take it?”
“How about with you leaning against the pool table?” Stella suggests.
I almost laugh. No way can I tell her what happened on that pool table last night. But I bet Mitch would appreciate it so I say, “Good idea.”
My dress is so freaking cute. It’s black. Long-sleeved. High neck. Extra short, flouncy skirt. I’m all legs in it, and while it gives you the illusion of covering everything up, as you get closer, you can see the fabric is kind of sheer. Which means it’s kind of see-through. As in, my black bra is on open display beneath the dress.
I don’t care. I’m in Vegas, right? We’re living it up tonight.
Stella directs me like some sort of fashion photographer and I pose for endless photos. Leg up, leg down. Hair tossed back, hair in front of my chest, covering the bra. Stand to the side, glance over my shoulder, full frontal with my hands on my hips. I’m grateful she’s taking so many photos. It’ll be nice to have the documentation for later.
“He texted,” Stella says as she hands me my phone back. “Something about you taking too long.”
“So impatient,” I murmur under my breath as I scroll through the endless photos. I don’t know which one is my favorite, so I decide to send him three photos.
He responds rather quickly. What do you have on under that skirt?
Of course that’s the first thing he says.
Pressing my lips together, I answer with the truth. Black panties.
He responds: Take ’em off.
Should I? He can be rather demanding. And what’s funny is that when he makes this demand, I immediately want to do it.
“Hold on. I almost forgot something,” I call as I make my way to the stairs. I run up them as fast as I can, which isn’t very fast thanks to the high-heeled shoes I’m wearing, and I dash into my room, throwing the door closed.
I slip the scrap of lace down my hips and thighs, kicking off my undies and tossing them into my still-open suitcase before I slam it closed. Tugging my skirt back into place, I stand there, contemplating spending the evening sans underwear.
The cool breeze from the air conditioner makes me shiver. I’m going to feel every draft between my legs tonight, that’s for sure. I’ve never done this before.
I haven’t done a lot of things before Mitch.
They’re off, I text him.
Prove it.
Uhhh.
My phone starts ringing. He’s FaceTiming me.
“What are you doing?” I whisper after I answer.
“Show me,” he says with a flick of his chin.
I stare at his face. His hair is damp and his skin is ruddy, like maybe he just got out of the shower? We took one together, but that was a few hours ago and it’s hot in Las Vegas. Lots hotter than where I’m from, and that much easier to work yourself into a major sweat.
“What do you want me to show you?” I ask, talking slow, like I’m having trouble comprehending.
A smile spreads across his face. “You know what I want to see.”
Oh God, I do.
Turning to the side, I hold my phone at hip level, then grab the hem of my skirt with my free hand and flip it up for a brief moment. “See? No panties.”
“Show me your pussy,” he demands, and my entire body catches on fire. It’s just like whoosh, I’m going up in flames, thanks to the dark tone of his voice, the thunderous expression on his face.
“Mitch,” I start, but he shakes his head.
“Come on. Show me. Touch yourself.”
Oh shit.
Sitting on the bed, I prop myself against the pillows and bend my knees, the spike heels of my sandals looking ready to puncture the snowy white duvet cover.
“You look beautiful in that dress,” he tells me, making me pause. Making me smile.
“You like it?”
“Yeah. I like everything about you.”
Oh, he says the best things.
I readjust my position on the bed, my skirt flipped up, my lower body on complete display. The bed cover is cool and smooth against my bare butt cheeks, and while it’s not particularly easy to get my whole body in the shot along with my—ahem—pussy, I manage to make it happen.