Free Well Hung by Lauren Blakely Page B

and over and over, but it’s more than enough for me to blast off, too. My balls tighten, my neck goes tense, and I groan. I’m louder than I want to be, but I can’t control the rumble that falls from my lips. “Gonna come,” I warn, and those words turn into grunts and curses as I drive deep one last time, coming hard inside her on a pinball machine somewhere in the storage room at an arcade in a Vegas hotel.
    I pant and breathe out hard. She loops her arms around my neck. The after-effects of epic pleasure hum in my bones. Damn, this is a fucking awesome night. And it’s only just begun.
    “You’re a loud one,” she says, smiling at me.
    I shrug. “Loud is good.”
    She nods. “It is.” She sighs contentedly and plays with the ends of my hair. “We’re good together,” she says softly, and her words take root deep inside me. They feel right. They feel true.
    “Yeah, we are,” I whisper. “And there’s more where that came from tonight.”
    “Well, I certainly hope so,” she says, then her lips curve up. “What’s next on the agenda of Wyatt and Natalie’s Excellent Adventure in Vegas?”
    I stroke my chin, thinking. Then it comes to me. “I’ve got just the thing to show you.”

11
    W e top off on the way out of the hotel. A double round of shots for both of us keeps the night shimmering in a fine coat of a it-just-gets-better-and-better buzz.
    Though, it’s not just the smooth taste of Casa Noble going down that makes me feel so damn good. It’s Natalie’s hand in my back pocket as we leave New York-New York. It’s the way she squeezes my ass as we walk along the Strip. It’s how she runs her other hand through my hair while we chat.
    She can’t stop touching me, and it’s fantastic. “You’re quite the frisky mittens,” I tell her as we stop at a crowded crosswalk, waiting in the throngs of tourists taking in the city of sin.
    Running her fingers across the front of my T-shirt, she says, “And I get the impression you like me so . . . hands on.”
    “Guilty as charged.” I cover her fingers with mine and drag them down my abs as far as the top of my jeans.
    By the time we reach the fountains at the Bellagio, I’ve surpassed all ordinary levels of turned-on to the point that I’m mildly grateful we have something to do besides touch. If she keeps up at this rate, I’m not sure how I won’t be arrested for public fornication in a few minutes.
    Public decency is so overrated.
    I gesture grandly to the lake. “I believe this was on your Vegas Sites to See list.”
    She parks her palms on the railing, bouncing on her toes as she waits for the aqua extravaganza to begin. “I’ve wanted to see the water show here ever since I read a book that has a scene where the hero gets the heroine off in front of the railing.”
    Well, that’s not helping my situation south of the border. “Is that your way of telling me something, Frisky Mittens?”
    She laughs louder than usual and holds up two fingers. “I’ve got two in the bag already. I’ll take my third a little later.” She seems lost in thought for a moment. “Come to think of it, this writer has a bunch of books with scenes set here.”
    “Maybe she has a thing for the Bellagio fountains,” I say as the lights splash across the placid surface and the lake begins its nighttime ballet.
    Natalie gazes at the show as sprays of water dance up in the air. She sighs happily and stares at the scene before her with the contentment that only liquor can add to a night. “I can see why she likes it.” She turns to me, and her tone is flirty and curious. “What do you really like?”
    “Like enough to write about in a few books?”
    “Sure.”
    “Burgers. Beer. Spicy food. But you knew all that,” I say, as I pinch her ass, just because I can. She wiggles an eyebrow, and I continue, “I like sports and watching the Yankees. I like walking dogs for the rescue, helping them find homes. I enjoy random facts about the world. And I