reader’s touch screen.
Rebekah glanced out the window at Eric, who had apparently found a fan to talk to. She didn’t know if the Slayer-T-shirt-bedecked man knew he was chatting with the drummer of Sinners or if they’d bonded because Eric’s tattoos and rock star hair were apparent even in his Clyde outfit, but the pair were talking quite animatedly and laughing together. When the kindred spirits started playing air drums with each other, she figured the other guy must know exactly who Eric was.
“His past,” she said to the clerk. And she wasn’t sure if she should be bringing that past back into Eric’s life or not. He was happy with his present; did he really need the family he’d expected to be out of his life for good? Would they want to forge a relationship with him now that he was an adult? The meeting would probably be awkward, but her family meant the world to her. She couldn’t imagine how anyone wouldn’t want to claim Eric as their blood. He was amazing and funny and sweet and talented and…
The clerk cleared his throat, drawing her out of her haze of appreciation. Her cheeks went hot, and she scooped her sack of purchases into her arms.
“Thanks for your business,” the clerk said.
She nodded and pushed the door open with her back. Eric wrapped an arm around her as soon as she came within reach.
“This is my wife, Reb,” Eric introduced her to Slayer fan.
“Mrs. Eric mother-fucking Sticks!” the guy shouted. “Congrats on marrying the craziest mother-fucking drummer on the mother-fucking planet.”
“Nice to mother-fucking meet you,” Rebekah said.
“Ha!” the guy said.
He slapped her on the arm. She was glad he’d swung at her right one and not the sore left one.
“I like her.”
“She’s all right, I guess,” Eric said and shrugged.
Rebekah poked him in the ribs.
“Well we have to hit the road,” Eric said. “Need to get to the hotel so we can have lots of sex.”
“Oh ho!” Slayer fan said. “Mother-fucking get some, Sticks. Honk! Honk!” He made a motion with one arm as if he were pulling a string overhead.
“He might get lucky tonight,” Rebekah said. “I’m not too pleased with him at the moment. Did you see what he spray-painted on the back of my new minibus?”
“You knew what you were getting when you married me,” Eric said, his hand squeezing her waist.
“Graffiti and licorice-flavored scrambled eggs?”
He shrugged, completely unapologetic for his crimes. “Among other things.”
“I’m sure you’ll figure out a way to make it up to me.” She kissed his cheek before squirming out of his arms and circling the van to the passenger side.
“I’m sure you’ll mother-fucking get some tonight,” Slayer fan said. “It’s your mother-fucking honeymoon!”
The pair of new buddies exchanged arm slaps and several mother-fucking words of parting before Eric climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine.
“Why do the weird ones always flock to me?” Eric asked as he waved at the guy still watching them.
“You’re their king,” Rebekah said with a laugh.
“Guess that makes you their queen.”
“And proud of it.”
He turned onto the highway heading east once again before reaching over to take her hand. He brought it to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “Are you really mad at what I painted on the van?”
“I’m not happy about it,” she said with a scowl. “You could have hung a sign or something instead of using spray paint.”
“I just figured if this thing makes it all the way to Bangor, we’ll have it repainted anyway. The flowers are a little… uh…”
“Hippie?”
“I was going to say fucking lame, but yeah, okay, we’ll go with hippie.”
“That’s half of her charm,” Rebekah said. The minibus backfired, as if agreeing.
“I was thinking she’d look good in black cherry with white racing stripes.” Eric pointed at the nonexistent hood.
The engine sputtered, and the vehicle started to slow. “Why are you slowing down?” Rebekah asked.
“I’m not. I think something’s wrong with the engine, and shit, there’s no good place to pull over.”
Something wrong? Already? They weren’t even out of California yet. “I think you offended her by threatening to paint her to look like a race car,” Rebekah said.
“Fine, then,” Eric said. “We’ll keep the flowers.”
The engine backfired again, and then they began to pick up speed. Eric scowled at the dashboard gauges. “She seems fine now.”
“If you lose power again, pull over and I’ll take a look.”
But the van did fine the rest of the way to Vegas. Rebekah and Eric ate junk food and sang all the songs on the Bee Gees eight-track tape they’d found in the glove compartment, and they honked back at everyone who responded to the message on the back of their minibus.
“Where are we staying?” Eric asked when they turned onto the Vegas Strip.
“Guess.”
He scratched his jaw. “Twenty questions.”
“Twenty? I think you can guess in five.”
“Did Sed and Jessica have a sex tape recorded of them there?”
She laughed. “Nope.” But she did want to visit the replica Eiffel Tower at the Paris.
“Did Brian and Myrna spend their wedding night there?” Eric asked.
“I don’t know. Where did they stay?”
“The Venetian.”
“Nope.”
“Did you pack my pharaoh costume or my pirate one?”
“Both.”
“Excalibur!”
“Wait, how did you guess?”
“No, I meant there’s Excalibur,” he said as they approached the castle-shaped casino.
“So you should probably turn now.”
“We’re really staying at the Excalibur?”
“You don’t want to stay here?”
“It’s kind of juvenile for a honeymoon destination, don’t you think?”
She pressed her lips together and twisted them to one side.
“You’re right, you’re right,” he said, getting into the turn lane for valet parking. “It’s perfect for us.”
“I wanted to have fun. I’m not here for luxury.”
“Oh yeah,” he said. “That luxury stuff is highly overrated.”
“I know, right? But this place is a castle. I’ve always wanted to be a princess in a castle.”
“When we tour in Europe next summer, we’ll visit a real castle,” he said.
“Promise?”
At his nod, she asked, “And can I wear a real ball gown?”
“Of course.”
The line for valet parking moved exceedingly slow.
After inching forward another car length, Eric said, “I actually thought we’d stay off strip. At the Hard Rock.”
“Too obvious.”
The valet seemed excited to park their ride; unfortunately, the temperamental vehicle died on him and refused to budge until Eric was again behind the wheel.
“You go check in,” he said to Rebekah. “I’ll park it and hunt you down.”
“People have been known to get lost in these places for days!” Rebekah protested.
“I’ll find you,” he promised.
She checked in and had their luggage sent up to their suite, then waited for Eric near the elevator. She didn’t want to enter their first hotel room as a married couple alone—it seemed like bad luck. She sent him a text to inform him of her general whereabouts and people-watched while she waited. When the first set of tourists stopped to have their picture taken with her, she thought it was odd, but after the third, she was starting to get into her suspected role. Apparently, they all thought she was a character actress and part of some Vegas show. She played along, wishing Eric was there to make their photos even more memorable.
“There you are,” he said
as he jogged up to her. “I was searching around the other elevators for you. I was starting to think a dragon had snatched you and put you in a tower.”
“These places are so confusing,” she said.
“They build them this way on purpose so you’ll get lost in a maze of money-sucking slot machines.”
“Oh, honey, look,” said a woman wearing a Cleveland Browns T-shirt. “It’s Bonnie and Clyde. Can we get a picture with you?”
Eric glanced at Rebekah out of the corner of his eye. “Um…”
“Sure!” Rebekah said, used to the request.
She wrapped her arms around Eric’s long, lean body and lifted her thigh across his, making her we’re-a-sexy-couple face as the woman and her two female companions crammed in around them for a picture.
When she whispered, “Play along,” Eric’s arm went around her waist to tug her closer to his hip.
“Wow, they make a great Bonnie and Clyde,” the woman said to her friends as they walked away. “So passionate.
“Did Bonnie and Clyde have tattoos?” her friend asked.
“They would have in this day and age.”
“What was that?” Eric asked when the tourists were out of earshot.
“People think we’re an attraction,” Rebekah said. “I was approached at least a half-dozen times while I waited for you.”
He laughed. “I love Las Vegas. You know, if the rock star gig doesn’t work out, we could totally make a living here in Vegas just dressing up for fun.”
Rebekah doubted that would be much of a living. “But the rock star gig has already worked out,” she said, taking his hand and leading him to the elevator. Once inside, she kissed him deeply. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too.”
“I can’t wait to get you alone in our suite,” she said against his lips, her hands clenched into the fabric of his crisp white shirt.
“That sounds promising,” he said, deepening their kiss.
When they reached their floor and exited the elevator, she trailed after Eric, fidgeting excitedly. She figured their suite would make her feel like a princess in a castle guarded by a fire-breathing dragon. Her own handsome prince would rescue her so they could live happily ever. When her handsome prince opened the door, her fantasy bubble burst. She couldn’t deny that it was a nice room, but there weren’t tapestries on stone block walls. Instead of a copper tub, there was a jetted monstrosity. They even had a television. Ah, well. The best fantasies were the ones in her head anyway.
She crossed to the far side of the room and peered outside. Expecting to see the red and blue spires of the hotel, her eyes were confronted with an uninspiring parking garage roof.
“Check out this view!” she said, hoping to share a laugh with Eric.
“It’s great,” he said without looking. He pulled a long leather coat out of their suitcase of costumes. “Let’s go have some fun.”
“Wait,” she said. “Don’t you want to try out the bed?” She leaned over the mattress and slid her hands over the surface, licking her lips suggestively. It was the best part of the room, in that it had a broad horizontal surface.
“I have an idea,” he said, holding his hand out to her.
“And it doesn’t involve a bed?” She was frankly stunned. She knew he loved to play in Las Vegas; it was as if the city had been designed specifically for him. But they were on their honeymoon—shouldn’t there be more mooning of his honey going on? He looked fantastic in those tailored pants of his, but they needed to go.
“It will,” he promised. “I won’t keep you out too late, and then I’ll fuck you until the sun rises.”
She stood and turned toward the window to pretend her pride wasn’t stinging. Eric Sticks—the guy who was always ready for a roll in the sack, the man hornier than a ten-headed triceratops, the dude with a perpetual hard-on—wasn’t interested in nonstop sex on their honeymoon? Should she be worried? Offended? Angry? She wasn’t sure what she should be feeling, but the ache spreading through her chest was definitely hurt.
“You really don’t want to take in this great view of a parking garage?” she asked, her tone flat, her throat tight.
“You’re upset,” Eric said, dropping the leather coat on the floor and moving to stand behind her. He held her shoulders lightly between his palms, and she shivered slightly beneath his touch.
She lowered her gaze when he caught it in the window reflection. “I’m not.” So why were her lips quivering?
“First night of our honeymoon and I’ve already let you down.”
She shook her head. “My expectations and reality—”
“Should be perfectly aligned,” he interrupted. “We’ll just stay here in the room.”
She lifted her head to meet his gaze in the window. “I want you to have fun. That’s why I brought you here. And if fun doesn’t involve naked time, well then...” She shrugged.
A thrill raced down her spine when his fingers moved to the zipper at her back and slowly tugged it down.
“We probably should change first,” he said. “Unless you want a bunch of tourists harassing us for pictures.”
“You’re right,” she said. “We should get out of these clothes.”
Her dress dropped to her feet, and she stepped out of it, kicking it aside.
“There’s a man watching you,” Eric said. “He sees how sexy you are in your bra and panties.”
Excitement tingled over her nerve endings as she scanned the parking garage for signs of a spectator.
“Where?” she asked, breathless.
He unhooked her bra and slipped the straps from her shoulders, tossing the garment aside before cupping her suddenly achy breasts in both hands.
“He sees how perfect your tits are,” he said in her ear. “How hard your nipples are. He imagines his mouth on them as he unzips his pants and takes his stiff cock in his hand.”
She still didn’t see anyone watching them, but the fantasy was enough to ignite her lust. She reached behind her and unzipped Eric’s pants, taking his stiff cock in her hand. So he did still want her. Thank God.
Eric’s hands skimmed down her sides, and he hooked his thumbs in the waistband of her panties. Slowly he slid them down her hips, exposing her clean-shaven mound to their spectator—real or imagined.
“Seeing your pussy makes his balls ache,” Eric said, his voice low and hypnotic. “What he wouldn’t give to slide his fingers between your legs. To hear you moan as he gives you pleasure.”
Her panties dropped to her ankles, and she kicked them aside impatiently.
“He would give anything to see the hidden treasure between your legs.” Eric’s large, strong hand grasped her thigh and lifted her bent leg. She leaned against him for stability. “Show him your pretty pussy, baby.”
She slid a hand between her legs and spread her lips. If there was a man watching, he’d be able to see everything she had to offer, and just the thought of being observed had her gasping with excitement.
“He’s stroking his cock with his hand, imagining it buried inside you. Watching you finger yourself is driving him insane.”
Rebekah slipped a finger inside her slick, silky flesh, a strangled moan escaping her throat. Her head fell back against Eric’s shoulder as he continued to hold her leg with one hand and massage her throbbing breast with the other, plucking at her hard