Page 18 of The Forever Experiment

But fuck, he is beautiful. He has a gruff exterior, tall, toned muscles that come from an active lifestyle but not necessarily a gym membership. I know Easton grew up surfing in the small Oregon town where he was raised. He snowboarded extensively through college and loved to hike on the weekends. He’d invited me numerous times, but I never took him up on the offer. His jaw is covered in a short beard—he always grew it out the same way, and sometimes, I swear, I can still remember the way it felt against my inner thighs. His thin lips are still pillow-like in softness against my skin, a contradiction to the roughness of his other features. Just like his eyes. They radiate kindness and care, even when he tries to hide it.

His hands are no different, and I watch them now as he lowers them to the table, reaching for the check. Thick veins run up the backs of them, his fingers long and wide. I’ve always had a thing for a man’s hands. I think you can tell a lot about someone by their hands. Their size, their roughness, their cleanliness—Easton Mason’s hands tell me they know exactly how to handle a woman.

“I’m going to fucking destroy you tonight, Maya baby.”

I’m still staring at his hands when those words echo right through my core, lighting sparks and setting fire inside me. I inhale swiftly, loud enough for him to pause, eyes bugging as he replays the words in his mind.

“I meant at air hockey.”

Unfortunately, I know.

I swallow, feeling my entire body flush with heat. Tension and time hang heavily between us, and I watch Easton’s eyes dilate as he studies the reaction in my body. I lick my lips while he bites his, nostrils flaring like he can sense the arousal pooling between my thighs.

“I think…maybe…”

“You want to go back now?”

I nod furiously.

“Yeah,” he agrees breathlessly. “Works for me.” He slips cash into the booklet before setting it on the edge of the table, standing and reaching a hand out. “Let’s get going, wifey.”

I slip my palm into his as he leads me out of the arcade and through the casino until we’re back on the Strip. It’s not quite dark yet, but the sun has set low enough that the lights of Vegas twinkle against the orange and pink shades of the sky above our heads, casting the world around us in a plethora of color.

Easton doesn’t let go of my hand as we stroll past the Bellagio fountains. Groups of people are beginning to congregate in front of them. I glance down at our joined fingers, liking the way they look together. The ring I know must’ve cost him a fortune blinks brightly back at me.

“We need to return these,” I say, nodding down at mine and then to where the one he wears rests on his left hand. I checked my bank statements earlier today, and I know damn well his didn’t cost as much as mine did, but I imagine wearing them outall day today didn’t do either of us any favors when it comes to returning them later. “Hopefully, they’ll still let us.”

“Is being married to me so bad?” he muses, slowing our pace to a leisurely walk.

“What do you mean?”

He pulls us into a small alcove off the sidewalk in front of the fountains, taking us away from the crowd and noise. Backing me against the wall separating us from the water, he cages me in, placing his hands on the concrete behind me. “You’ve been married to me for one full day. Is it the worst thing in the world?”

His eyes are soft, almost pleading. Blue pools of desperation beg for my approval. I don’t know why it means so much to him, whyImean so much to him, but I’m honest when I whisper, “No, not even a little.” He smiles in a way that has my heart leaping into my throat. “But this isn’t real life.”

Easton drops his head, nose nearly skimming mine. I watch his eyes fall shut as he murmurs against my mouth, “What if we pretended it was? Just for tonight?”

The question causes my own eyes to flutter closed, soaking in his warmth and voice and aura. I’m enveloped in all his senses, and I don’t want to let it go either.

“Like an experiment?” I ask, my voice coming out hoarse, strained from the struggle of holding my reaction to him at bay.

“Sure.” He laughs quietly.

The sound of it caresses my searing skin, and it’s instinct to arch my back, pressing myself into him. One of his hands comes off the wall and grasps my waist as his lips tickle my cheek.

“How do we do that?”

He pulls away, smiling down at me, and I’m suddenly relocating my senses. I’d become completely unaware of the environment around us—not the cool air or the night sky or the bright lights.

“Let’s say we’d gottenreal lifemarried and had a traditional reception.” He twirls one of the long braids framing my face around his pointer finger. “What song would we have danced to?”

I snort. “I have no idea.”

He leans back, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone. “There is a song, and the first time I heard it, every time I’ve listened to it since…” He opens his music app before snagging his AirPods from his pocket . “I’ve thought of you.” He places one in his ear, handing the other to me. “So, this is what I’d dance to.”

I tilt my head in curious amusement, popping the bud into my ear. The soft melody of ‘Pretty Boy’ by The Neighbourhood floats through the speaker, drowning out everything around us, sealing Easton and me firmly inside this bubble of easy bliss.

“I love this song.” I laugh.

---