Page 12 of Notorious

“Did we get the same thing? Wanna try mine?” I hold it out to him.

He takes a sip of it and says, “They’re the same.”

I relax and down the drink, then tug on his hand when he’s finished with his. “C’mon. Let me get you another one.”

But as we head over to where he bought the drinks, I catch sight of a bar with men wearing G-strings dancing on the tabletops. Lady Gaga thumps loudly from the speakers, and rainbow flags fly on every possible surface. It’s gaudy as hell, but if it isn’t Vegas, I don’t know what is.

“Wanna go in there?” I whisper in Kurt’s ear, and he lets out a little breathy noise.

Lord, he’s responsive. He’d be fun to play with.

Sober.

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” he says. “Lead the way.”

We walk up to the bar and show our IDs to the bouncer, who tells us there’s a two-drink minimum. After paying and entering, we order our two drinks, and I go find the bathroom while Kurt locates a booth for us. When I come back, I cuddle in next to him, getting another hit of his delicious scent as waiters in half shirts and booty shorts swish by with trays laden with tons of drinks. It’s loud and fun … and distracting.

This night’s going very differently than I expected. Not sure what I think about that.

But for a moment, the violins are silent.

CHAPTER 5

Kurt

Tonight’s so fucking surreal. It started with me (badly) wooing donors for my political campaign, and now I’m curled up in a semicircular Naugahyde booth with my absolute favorite porn star.

Who’s so much more than that. He’s charming and sweet. While he has undeniable sex appeal—that face, that height, how muscular he is—that’s not what’s most attractive about him. Plenty of people are good-looking. He’s got something inside that pulls me to him like a magnet. I succumbed to his siren call when I watched him on-screen, but in person he’s irresistible and overwhelming.

He feels a little dangerous, too. He’s carrying a gun, but I’m not nervous about it. I think it’s just part of his cowboy persona—hat, boots, gun, drawl.

Velvet’s—er, Johnny’s—strong arm is flung over my shoulders, holding me securely to his side like he doesn’t want anyone here to think I’m available. Fine by me. A thrill passes through me at how easily he claims me.

I snuggle into him, noticing his thick thighs against mine, the bulge under his fly, his flat stomach. His left hand toys with a drink, while every once in a while the fingers of his right trace circles on my shoulder or bicep. His hat sits on the seat next to him, and when he talks, his lips brush my skin, making me flush.

My nerve endings are going wild, wanting more, more, more. It doesn’t help that we’re surrounded by sex—gyrating hot men, guys kissing in booths, some really seductive dancing off to the side. None of it compares to the big guy I’m plastered to.

I think he likes me, too. He’s leaning into me because this place is loud, but I love it. His tongue darts out to lick his lips, and it’s distracting. He’s holding me close, his touches lingering.

He’s not trying anything, though, which is a bummer.

But we’re sitting close to each other, and the solid warmth of his body feels like home on this cool night. Even though we’re inside, the doors are all open—which is a good thing, because it’d be stifling otherwise.

“You’re so damn hot,” I blurt. The latest drinks are getting to me.

He grins, squeezing me to him. “So are you, precious.”

I can’t seem to stop my mouth from drunkenly asking, “Do you want to fuck me?”

Johnny’s face gets serious, and he turns to face me more squarely. He runs a finger down my cheek. “Yeah.” His voice gets husky. “I really do, but I have rules, and that means not fucking you when you’re intoxicated.”

A thrill passes through me at his admission. “I’m not that drunk. Am I? Okay, that’s the alcohol talking, which probably proves your point. But you’re just so…” I shiver. “I want you so bad. What about a little bathroom blow job?” I whine.

“Nope.” He says it with a smile, but he’s firm. “Later, maybe. When the booze wears off.” His deep voice drops even lower. “I want you, too.”

“Fine,” I grumble. But then I return his smile. “I do have to take a leak, though. I’ll be just a sec.”

He nods as I get out of the booth. On my way to the bathroom, I look over my shoulder, and his eyes are tracking me. Like he’s got my back, even though I know he’s gotta be as drunk as I am—he was slurring his words when I first met him.

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