Yes.
I rotate my hips over his crotch, but he stills me in place. “There are cameras in here.”
“What?” I look up at the ceiling and spot a small camera. “Damn it. Why did they do that?”
“Probably because they didn’t want drunk people fucking in their pods where families enjoy the sights and views of the Las Vegas Strip.”
“Lame.” I pout. “God, I’m so hard up right now. Look at my nipples, hard as stone.”
His eyes fall to my breasts, and to my surprise, his right hand lifts and he passes his thumb over one of my nipples. A hiss escapes me.
“Don’t you dare tease me.”
He shakes his head. “I wouldn’t. Just seeing if you were lying.”
“You can see my nipples against the fabric.”
“Wanted to make sure they were actually nipples.”
“As opposed to what?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Marbles.”
“Why would I keep marbles attached to my boobs?”
“I don’t know. Why did you think I knew Jax Teller?”
“Because I’m drunk off my ass.”
He nods. “Precisely.”
“Okay, so we’re admitting to being not just drunk, but very drunk.”
“I believe so,” he answers.
“And we’re also admitting to wanting each other.”
He nods again. “Yes. I want you.”
“And we’re in agreement that fucking in this pod would not be a good idea.”
“Terrible,” he says as his hands fall to my ass again.
“And we also believe our brothers are wet blankets.”
“That’s an actual fact.”
“So . . . does that mean . . . we should do something to spite them?”
“Not seeing the correlation.”
“Me neither, but don’t you think we should do something wild? We’re in Vegas, after all. A family-friendly Ferris wheel isn’t really living our best Vegas life.”
“So, you want crazy?”
A smile spreads across my face. “Oh yeah. Let’s do something we’ll never forget.”
The hot wind blows against my face, pushing my hair behind me as I sit on a stiff bench, arms folded across my chest.
“Any guesses?”
“Two tons,” Pike guesses, looking far too enthused.
“Oh, good guess,” the Sky Bus tour guide, William, says. “But we’d have to more than quadruple that. The actual consumption of shellfish in Las Vegas is over sixty thousand pounds.”
“Not even fucking close,” Pike mumbles as he pulls a pretzel from my purse and plops it in his mouth.
Leaning toward him, I say, “You know, this isn’t what I was thinking when I said ‘let’s do something crazy.’”
He turns to me. “Are you not having fun?”
“Umm . . . I might be drunk, but this does not classify as fun for me. The only thing fun about this tour is how I’m secretly wearing nipple tassels under my dress because we were afraid I was going to have a nip slip.”
After we got off the Ferris wheel, Pike knew exactly what we were going to do. We stopped by a store, loaded up on more pretzels and little bottles of booze—more Fireball, of course, because we know once I start, I can’t stop—and then bought some nipple tassels because Pike said I might want to be cautious with my dress for our next stop.
An activity with a possible nip slip? Now that sounds like a good time.
You can’t imagine how excited I was. I slipped into a public restroom, plastered those tassels on—wishing it had been Pike putting them on me—and then let Pike take me to our next chapter of fun, a place where the wind might be so strong that I might expose my nipples.
You can imagine the disappointment when we hopped on a sightseeing bus tour.
He’d been right about the tassels, though, the wind is stronger on top of the bus. It would’ve been risky.
Pike glances down at my chest and then back up at me. “Good thing we got those.”
“Ugh, Pike. You’re supposed to be a bad boy. How is this the activity you picked?” I gesture toward the bus. “This is something a dad would choose to do because, secretly, he’s excited about the fun facts he’ll learn. This isn’t memorable, this is going to put me to sleep.”
“I’ve enjoyed the fun facts,” he says, draping his arm over the back of our seat.
Staring idly at him, I ask, “Is this your answer to foreplay?”
“Is it working?” He shows off a very lopsided grin.