Page 102 of Wild Love
“And you.” He cups my ass and takes my mouth, pressing a far softer kiss on my lips than his grip and words suggested. “You’re a rocket, and I just want to hold on tight and let the flames melt my face off.”
I laugh at his ridiculous words. He moves to the dining table and pulls a bottle of champagne out of a bucket of ice. “Do you want a drink before we go?”
I bite my lip. “Maybe we save it for after?”
His eyes darken. “You’re killing me.”
“I’ll make it up to you later,” I promise.
He doesn’t drop my hand all night. We play a few games, but mostly we drink and engage in public displays of affection that have been so limited in Minnesota. Being his date or girlfriend or whatever I am is fun—so much fun.
Having all of Johnny’s attention for the world to see is not something I think I’ll ever get enough of. I do have a niggling worry in the back of my mind that someone might recognize him and post a picture of us, but I push it away and just enjoy our time away.
Once we get back, I only have two weeks left of the internship, and then goodbye Wildcats and Maverick.
I’m happily drunk and enjoying his big hand splayed out on my lower back while we sit at the bar on the lobby level of our hotel.
“I feel like doing something crazy,” I say. “It must be the Vegas air.”
“I think it’s the alcohol. We should feed you.”
“I’m not hungry.” I drag my fingernails across the top of his thigh.
He groans and throws back the rest of his drink.
“Can I get you another?” The bartender is quick to take the empty glass.
“Two shots of Rumple Minze,” Johnny says.
“That’s my favorite shot,” I squeal.
“Almost like I ordered it on purpose.” He chuckles, and I realize I’m definitely drunk. My face is hot, and I feel so free and happy.
“Four shots!” I call out.
Johnny’s mouth twists into an amused smirk.
The bartender sets the four shots of the clear liquid in front of us. Johnny picks up one and hands it to me and then takes the other. His knees close my legs in on either side, and he leans forward.
“To getting to spend the day with you and touching you any time I want.” He places a kiss on my lips and then takes the shot. I do the same, enjoying the minty liquid on my tongue.
On the opposite side of the bar, a man with gray hair walks up, a girl on each arm. They are young and beautiful, and their combined age probably doesn’t equal his, but the three of them look perfectly content as he orders drinks, and the women hang on either arm like accessories.
“Look, it’s you in forty years,” I joke.
He laughs it off.
“What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done?”
He gets a deer in headlights look, like maybe he doesn’t want to tell me.
“Threesome? Foursome?”
“Three is plenty of people. After that, it starts to feel a little gang bang-y for me.” He juts his chin. “What about you? What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done?”
“I don’t know.” I’m a little embarrassed to tell him it’s probably one of the many times he’s gotten me off in public. My sexual experiences have been far less exciting than his. And for reasons I refuse to think about, I want him to think of me too when he thinks about all the crazy, fun times he’s had. I want to be his number one.
“I have an idea,” I say, heart racing before I’ve even told him.
