Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 110458 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 442(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110458 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 442(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
I can’t resist a little ribbing. “Is it or isn’t it?” I smirk, lifting one brow before taking my towel off and rub it over my hair. I watch V’s gaze drop to where I want it.
As my dick stiffens again, I study his face. He doesn't look too tired. Looks like he could go another round of marathon sex.
I laugh as a crazy idea hits me. "Okay, V… I'm about to ask you something. If it's not what you want, I need you to tell me 'no.' No hesitation. I won’t mind if you don’t want to. This is just an idea."
13
Luke
Rayne frowns, looking so gorgeous it makes my chest ache. That man’s mine. He’s mine forever.
I grin, stepping closer. "Will you go to the airport with me, Vanny? And will you wear a suit?"
He laughs, his whole face lit up with shock. "You gonna Vegas this shit, preacher?"
I close the distance in between us, hugging him hard. I kiss his jaw then catch him by the nape and brush my lips over his warm ones.
"I want to do it right now,” I whisper near his cheek. “We could be at Vegas fast.” My stomach flips as I pull back so I can analyze his face. “I know it’s kind of out there, so we don’t have to do it this way. I just want to be your legal husband."
Vance is grinning, and it’s soft and sweet, so I already know what he thinks in the second before he says, "That sounds perfect. Let's get married in a chapel on the Strip and eat a funnel cake and then fly back. You can sleep on the plane. I'll hold you and feed you melatonin like an all-star husband."
That makes me laugh. "I don't even know if I'll need it."
We dress in the closet together, laughing, grinning. Kissing. Vance wears navy dress pants and a light blue button-up, the sleeves rolled up in his casual style, and I wear a gray suit with a pink button-up—sans tie.
"Let's take a selfie in the mirror over the bathroom sink." There’s something on his face that makes me ask, "How come?"
"Just this fantasy I had when you were at my place in Chelsea that day. The day I flew to you and you had the bad hangover?"
We stand side-by-side for the shot, and we're cheesing so hard.
I'm so nervous, I forget my wallet on the dresser. Vance jogs back to the bedroom to grab it, and I just stand there, watching him move. This has never felt so real, so solid, to me before. Like, after this, it’s not going to slip away.
When V gets back into the living area with my wallet, he takes one look at me and makes me have a shot of whiskey.
"Do you want a honeymoon?” I ask after I toss it back.
"We already took one," he laughs. His hand moves through my hair, and after that, he takes my hand in his and leads me toward the garage. "I'm driving to the airport, McD. I think you would wreck us."
Vance
He’s so nervous. I can tell because his eyes are wide as he stares out the passenger’s side window, and he keeps smoothing his palms over the knees of his pants as if they’re sweaty.
"Luke, we did this on the yacht, remember?” I elbow him lightly, and then wave my left hand. “We're wearing rings."
"I know." He laughs, but it sounds choked.
"Are you scared about the press? We don't have to do it in Vegas."
"No, I want to. If you do?" Again, with those wide, hazel eyes.
I brake for a light and lean over to brush my lips over his cheek. "I do, Sky. I do and I do and I do."
"I need this.” He blows out a breath that he’s probably been holding.
"Vegas is a very gay place."
I waggle my brows, and Luke grins. It might the first time I’ve observed him looking proud to be gay.
"You might need some sequins or a rainbow top hat," I tease.
"Maybe I do."
He relaxes, leaning back against the Tesla’s passenger seat and puffing out another long breath.
“Good?” I ask a few miles later.
“Great.” He takes my hand. He plays with his phone as I drive us the rest of the way to the airport, looking up at times to smile or wink. But I can tell he’s pretty nervous. Looking at his phone makes him feel car-sick, but he does it at times when he’s having anxiety.
We park at the airport, and again, I say, “You okay?”
He laughs, and this time it sounds more real. “I’m good to go, Rayne. Are you?” He quirks a brow up, and I say, “Abso-fucking-lutely.”
We walk to the plane holding hands. As soon as we both buckle in, he's yawning.
"Was this really why you couldn't sleep?" I ask as we taxi down the runway.