- Shopping Bag ( 0 items )
Brian took the stairs to the second floor two at a time. It wouldn't take long to throw together a bag. He'd become an expert at packing the last several years, always living out of a suitcase or on the tour bus. He'd go to Vegas, explain things face to face...
Indecision weighed him down. He couldn't just show up on Lexy's doorstep. Not only was it rude as hell, the paparazzi would be staking out the place, waiting to capture a reunion and all the drama that went with it. But a phone call felt cold and impersonal.
He stared at Howie's notes. Lexy's street address, where she worked--Convention Services for the Galaxy Hotel and Casino--and both phone numbers. There was no easy way to do this. Maybe it was better for all concerned to let the lawyers handle it.
Yeah ... that's not cold and impersonal.
He fingered the paper and wondered if he'd recognize her. His memory held an image of brown hair and eyes that sparkled with life. A killer body that molded perfectly to his. And three days of crazy hot sex that had yet to be duplicated in all these years.
Great. Now he had a killer of an erection to deal with. He palmed his cock and adjusted the length against his fly. Other images flashed through his head--Lexy on her knees before him, nimble fingers unzipping his jeans, her hot mouth surrounding him.
Call first. Definitely call.
Brian picked up the cordless and punched in her work number ... and just as quickly disconnected. What if someone else answered? Word would spread like wildlife that Brian Tristan had called her. They'd be inundated before either of them had a chance to breathe.
Who was he kidding? Paparazzi lay in waitalready as he debated the best course of action. And how the hell was he supposed to think straight with a telephone pole swelling his trousers?
He tossed the phone to the bed and hot-footed it to his bathroom, unzipping and stripping as he walked. His dick felt desert-hot as he wrapped his fist around it. He remembered the tangle of white sheets, her silky hair shifting through his fingers, how damn tight and wet her pussy felt when he plunged into her. Brian had thought of her so many times over the years. How could anyone forget such a perfect weekend? If only they hadn't been so impulsive. If only they'd been in different stages of their lives. Yeah ... he'd thought about it a lot. Day and night, especially at night, when he was wrapped in the arms of a pale substitute for Lexy, lost in the fantasy it was her.
He shoved his trousers to his ankles and fondled his tight balls, while his other hand flashed over his cock. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this hard, this desperate to come. Through lids half-closed he watched pre-cum ooze from the tip. The image of full lips, a sensuous smile, and a talented tongue washed over him. Lexy could suck cock like nobody's business, make him wait until he thought he'd die, then suck him dry until his balls collapsed.
Brian shot his load into the green towel dangling on the bar, then braced himself with one palm against the cool tile wall while he tried to catch his breath. Reporters and photographers were going to hound them no matter what. Maybe a phone call would settle everything without them ever seeing each other, but it felt like the coward's way out. He'd man-up and go to her, make it all right, and explain to her husband or boyfriend--a woman like Lexy Claremont would have been snagged long ago. And at that moment Brian regretted again that man wasn't him.
Lexy was his favorite mistake, but the mistake hadn't been in marrying her. The mistake had been letting her slip away, and it wasn't a favorite anything. Dumb, stupid, impulsive.