What Happens In Vegas. Rachel Bailey
he’d proposed to her and wanted to start a life together, she’d felt like a third wheel. Maybe she had been.
Through a strange turn of events, it seemed Amelia was going to be the woman in his life. Fortunately, she was the one woman with whom he knew it was possible to have it all. They had the friendship. The sexual compatibility was there. He hadn’t stopped wanting her since he’d allowed himself to think of her that way.
As for love, she just had to be open to loving him. He had twenty-six days left. If she loved him by then, that would be as good as it could possibly get. They would stay married, raise their child together... Tyler could be happy with that. He didn’t need or want love for himself. In the end, it just made things harder.
Tyler slowly lowered the volume on the television and turned it off. He picked up the empty bowl of popcorn and eased toward the end of the mattress, trying to slip out of bed without waking her. He failed.
“Stay,” she muttered into her pillow without opening her eyes. “This house is too big and I don’t want to be alone down here. Please.”
With a sigh, he put the bowl on the floor and switched off the lights before he climbed back into bed.
“Yay.” Amelia yawned, snuggling up next to him and immediately falling back asleep.
Tyler wished he was so lucky. The scent of her perfumed skin so close to him and the soft heat of her body pressed against his made sleep impossible. He shut his eyes and tugged her close. If he couldn’t sleep, he could at least lie contented with her in his arms.
It was going to be a very, very long night.
* * *
Amelia was burning up. She woke up in the middle of the night with an unfamiliar warmth pressed against her back and an arm draped over her. It took a full five to ten seconds for her to remember where she was and who was touching her.
Tyler. She’d asked him to stay with her tonight.
That she didn’t mind, but at the moment, his internal furnace was making her back perspire. It was like sleeping with a hot water bottle. Turning her head to look over her shoulder, she found him on his side, snoring softly near her ear.
She eased ever so gently away from him. The movement was enough for him to mumble and roll onto his back, liberating her. She sat up in bed, looking down on him as he slept. The poor guy was still wearing his clothes from today. Those jeans couldn’t be comfortable, but she knew he would rather be uncomfortable than get into bed without them and make her ill at ease.
Reclining onto her elbow, she looked down at him. His face was perfectly relaxed in sleep, something he never seemed to be anymore. There was no tension in his square jaw, no crinkles of thought around his eyes. Just peace. She wanted to reach out and touch his cheek to feel the rough stubble of his perpetual five-o’clock shadow. She wanted to feel his soft lips against hers again. But she wouldn’t. He’d worked hard today, and she wouldn’t wake him up for something so trivial.
As if he’d heard her, his eyes opened and he looked at her. There was no confusion or dreaminess in his gaze. Only a powerful need that hit her as surely as if she’d been punched in the stomach. Without hesitation, his palm went to her cheek. His touch was a match to a forest in drought. It started a pleasurable heat spreading like wildfire through her whole body.
“Amelia?” he asked, his voice gruff with sleep.
“Yes,” she replied to his unasked question.
He buried his fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck and tugged until her mouth met his. Neither his hands nor his mouth were gentle, and she didn’t mind. She liked the rough feel of his stubble against her cheeks and the sharp press of his fingertips into her flesh.
His tongue thrust into her mouth and slid along her own, making her core pulsate with the anticipation of more. She wanted to be closer to him, to touch him again. He had been right before—once they’d crossed that line there was no sense holding back any longer.
She threw one leg over his hips and straddled him. The move put her sensitive center in direct contact with the throbbing heat of his desire. The thin cotton of her pajama pants did little to dull the sensations that shot through her when they touched.
Amelia was desperate to liberate him from his jeans. Her palm slid along the hard muscles of his stomach, seeking out the button of his fly and stroking him through the denim.
Her fingers had barely brushed the button when in one swift move, Tyler rolled them across the bed. Amelia found herself with her back to the mattress and him between her thighs. His palms sought out her wrists, pinning them over her head. All through this, he never stopped kissing her.
When he finally let her mouth free, it was to taste her throat. Still holding her wrists with one hand, he used the other to gently tug her tank top up and over her head, leaving it tangled around her wrists with her breasts exposed. He didn’t hesitate to capture one hardened pink nipple in his mouth, drawing on it until Amelia cried out and bucked her hips against him. His teeth and tongue worked her flesh, sending pleasurable shock waves through her whole body.
“Let go of my hands,” she whispered.
“No,” he answered between flicks of his tongue across her sensitive skin.
What did he mean, no? “Please,” she begged. “I want to touch you.”
“I know,” he said, looking at her with a wicked smile curling his lips. “But if you do, it will be all over. I can’t take it.” His mouth returned to her breast, effectively ending the conversation.
All she could do was writhe beneath him, drawing her knees up and thrusting her hips forward to rub agonizingly against the hard ridge of his jeans.
He growled low against her sternum. “Two can play at that game.” He glided his palm over her hip and under the drawstring waistband of her pants. His insistent fingers easily found her moist center, stroking hard.
Amelia cried out, the sound echoing through the mostly empty bedroom. “Tyler!” she gasped as he rubbed her again and again. She felt herself start to come undone, but the more desperate she became, the more he eased back, leaving her teetering on the edge.
At last, he let go of her arms, but it was only to sit back on his knees. He whipped his T-shirt over his head and threw it to the ground. With the use of her hands back, she did the same. His hands gripped both sides of her pajama pants, tugging them and her panties down over her hips and to the floor.
Standing at the end of the bed, he stopped to look down at her. Only the moonlight from the nearby window lit the room, which made Amelia feel a little less self-conscious about being sprawled out in front of him like this. That, and the look on his face. It was as though he was in a museum admiring a piece of art. A piece of art he wanted to devour.
Without looking away from her, he unzipped his jeans and slipped out of the last of his clothes. Crawling back up the bed, he covered her body with his own. Without hesitation, he found her entrance and moved into her.
Amelia gasped, her body tightening around the sudden invasion. He filled her completely, leaving her biting her lip and pressing her fingers desperately into his shoulders.
“Amelia,” he groaned at her ear, slowly withdrawing and filling her again. “I never imagined...” he began, his voice drifting away. Shaking off a shudder that made his whole body tremble between her thighs, he started moving in earnest.
Rational thought slipped away as only the physical drive inside of her remained. Amelia wrapped her legs around his waist and tried to absorb every wave as it washed over her. “Yes” was all she could say. It was an encouraging plea, a desperate demand and an enthusiastic consent all rolled together at once.
And then it happened. The dam broke inside of her. A sudden rush of pleasure swept her up and carried her away. She cried out, bucked her hips against him, clung to him, all the while aware of his soft, encouraging words in her ear.
Her own release