The Virgin Replay by Lauren Blakely
Chance
That’s what this adventure is all about—fun.
Letting go.
Saying yes.
Sierra and I make a fast exit for the car line at the front of the hotel. This is the best idea ever. It’s so good it’s bad, because I’m not a good guy. I’m a bad one.
I’ve had enough of codes, enough of coloring within the lines.
I’m done with them for tonight. I want to throw out the good guy rules in spectacular style.
We step out into the Nevada night, and I shout, “Screw the code.” Even in Vegas, I’m noticeably loud. People spin and stare, eyes roaming over us.
I bring my finger to my lips. “Oops.” I say, then tiptoe over-dramatically to the car service I ordered, Sierra laughing as we go.
We slide into the vehicle holding each other up, holding our sides. But the laughing stops once we leave the hotel. We make out the whole way to the Las Vegas Marriage License office.
* * *
Two hours later, we stumble through our hotel lobby, holding hands, wearing our Just Married sashes and matching rings glinting on our fingers. We pass crowds of guests, including the friendly woman from last night.
“Bianca! We’re married,” I call out to her as she wanders past an Avengers slot machine.
Sierra waggles the flowers as evidence. “Mr. and Mrs!”
“Eeek! Yay! I love weddings! Congrats,” the brunette says, then throws her arms around both of us and hugs hard.
We say goodbye and make our way up the elevator then down our hall. I scoop Sierra up, carry her over the threshold and kick the door closed.
The lust that’s been running hot all night hits a new level.
I bring her to the bed and drop her onto the mattress, ready to have her. Seconds later, we’re stripped down to nothing.
I push her knees wide open and bury my face in the paradise between her thighs, kissing and licking and working her over till she’s begging for me inside her.
“Please, Chance. Now.”
I rise and grab a condom, suiting up. “Get those sexy legs over my shoulders because I want to fuck my wife hard on the bed.”
She does as I ask, and soon, I’m sliding home. Once I’m there, I’m sure coming to Vegas with her was the craziest decision I’ve made, at least recently, but maybe the best one too.
I lower my chest to hers, and we find just the right rhythm.
She moans and I groan, and we move in tandem. Her fingers play with my hair. “God, it’s so good with you. Everything feels so good with you,” she murmurs.
Those words—all of them—hook into my heart. They dig into my mind. They make me feel incredible.
And I want to feel connected too.
No—even more connected. I slow down, look into her eyes, and the enormity of the moment crashes over me.
I’m sleeping with my wife.
And everything feels right.
I wrap my arms under and around her shoulders.
“Chance,” she whispers. It sounds full of all sorts of beauty and wonder. “I’m falling for you.”
A dam breaks somewhere inside me. I’m so relieved she said it first. So glad I can say it too.
“Oh, Sierra, I’m already there,” I reply, and then I bury my face in her neck as we come together, all limbs and sweat and promises made in the city of sin after midnight.
