Page 31 of Ride By Your Side

“Is this okay?” I manage to ask. Given the way she’s pressing her body into mine, I assume I know the answer, but I still need to be sure. I may be drunk, but I haven't forgotten how to be a gentleman.

“You know what they say,” she murmurs, leaning in on her tiptoes to brush her lips against my ear. “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”

Okay, so maybe that’s not exactly an answer, but I know exactly what she means. We both know that this would never happen in real life—nor will it ever happen again.

That right there is all the reason I need to be the adult I always claim to be and pull away, but instead, I close the final distance between us, sliding my knee between her legs and press it into her warm core.

She seems just as desperate for this closeness as I am. She places her hands on my chest and moves her body—not just tothe rhythm of the music, but brushes herself more desperately against my thigh.

I watch in complete awe as she closes her eyes, her lips parting in pleasure as she rides my leg in this crowded nightclub. Sure, nobody is watching or paying attention to us, but it’s hard not to get lost—and so fucking turned on—as I watch her get off on the pressure and pleasure my body is providing her.

More than anything I wish I could slip my hand between us and feel the wetness I know has to be pooling there, but instead, I continue to guide my knee, letting her ride it out as my hand slides down the small of her back, over the curve of her ass, and finally brushes the bare skin of her thigh.

My hands yearn to explore every inch of her body, and it seems she wants the exact same thing, judging by the way her mouth falls open, her eyes shut tight, and her breath quickens. My hand grips the back of her thigh as I move my leg faster against her pussy, no longer caring to stay with the beat of the music. Instead, my only goal is to give her as much pleasure as I possibly can. It doesn’t matter that my cock is pulsing with need or that she’s the one getting the majority of the pleasure here. Watching her come undone is everything I could ever want or need at this moment.

With her hands still on my chest, I feel her fingernails dig in, as a sound barely audible above the loud music escapes her mouth. I just made her come, but instead of stopping, I let her ride it out until her damp forehead falls onto my chest.

“Fuck,” she murmurs with a soft laugh, her tired, hooded eyes meeting mine.

Fuck is right. I just gave my little sister’s best friend an orgasm—in the middle of a crowded club, and not only did I like it, but I want to make it happen again... and again. What the hell is wrong with me?

19

Veronica

Myeyesflutteropen,but the world feels too bright and too loud—even if the only noise in here is the buzzing going on in my head—forcing me to shut them once more. Last night me clearly had no respect for future me, forgetting to shut the blackout curtains as streams of light pour into my room. I usually welcome sunshine, but these rays feel like daggers, and my only course of action is to protect what’s left of my throbbing, mushy brain.

Hell, that’s putting it lightly. My head is pounding with a rhythmic throbbing. Someone tell me why the little drummer boy decided to start his session inside my skull so early, because that’s exactly what this feels like. My lips part in a pained groan as I try to bury my head in the pillow, while my brain sifts through the fragmented pieces of my memories, doing its best to reconstruct what exactly happened last night.

I wish I could say feeling this horrible after a night of debauchery was a first, but unfortunately, that’s not quite true.I’m well known for my reputation of letting loose and having fun, or at least I was before getting with Pete.

Being the significant other of Evergreen Grove’s youngest town councilman was quite the constant balancing act. I was expected to uphold a squeaky-clean image, with him constantly reminding me not to drink too much or step out of line. And when I did, he made sure I knew about it.

The last time I had this much to drink, or anything close to this, was my bachelorette party. I should’ve been able to let loose and enjoy my last night as a single woman with my friends, but when Pete showed up at my apartment under the guise of ‘checking in on me.’ I was scolded and made to feel like I’d done something wrong.

Now, with the hazy memories of the night before flooding in, I sort of wish I hadn’t indulged so much. Not only had I convinced Broody Bennett to let loose, but we’d gone all out on our night in Vegas. My mind tries to piece it all together, but it only seems to come back in fragments. There were the loud casinos, the constant clinking of the machines as we tried our hand at the slots, the smell of cheap booze in the air, and the pulsating beat of the dance floor, followed by the grand finale of a whirlwind ceremony in a seedy little chapel.

Holy Shit!Miles and I got fucking married last night.

My eyes snap open, jolted awake, and I push myself up, propping myself on my knees as I scan the room. The sudden movement makes my stomach lurch, but the nausea churning inside isn’t from the hangover anymore. I can only recall hazy snippets of walking down the aisle toward Miles, with a cheesy Elvis impersonator crooning in the background, but here, in the flesh, is my new husband, lying face down in bed beside me, his breathing soft and steady.

Even now, I can’t seem to tear my eyes away from his stunning form in nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs. Hislong, exposed back taunts me, tempting my fingers to trace the contours of his lightly-tanned skin. But no. He may be my husband, but that sort of thing is still off-limits. I want to believe there’s still some dignity left in me—or at least I hope so.

Sure, he may have made me come in the middle of a crowded dance floor as we got lost in the moment and in each other, but I’m still ninety-nine percent sure we didn’t consummate the marriage as husband and wife. Some memories from the night before are hazy or completely missing, but I can vaguely remember a lust-fueled make-out session as we undressed each other and made our way to the bed. After that, I’m certain it all came to a halt as the alcohol we consumed took its toll, and we passed out before it could go any further.

It’s only when my eyes shift to Miles that I glance down at myself. I’m still wearing a pair of white, lacy panties, but that’s it—my bare chest is completely exposed.

I gasp in horror, a silent “Holy shit” escaping my lips, as I frantically pull my arms up to shield my chest, praying the sudden movement doesn’t wake him. He may have gotten an eye full last night, as well as a handful or two on the dance floor, but I highly doubt sober Miles is ready to see these babies on full display.

My eyes scan the room for something to change into as a new memory emerges—us booking an entirely different hotel room for the night after being offered some ‘great deal’ on a honeymoon suit to celebrate.

My head falls back, my bottom lip jutting out in a childish pout before letting out an annoyed puff of air.Fuck me! This means I have nothing to change into, which also means we both get to do the wonderful walk of shame, leaving the room in the same clothes we walked in with. Then again, this is Vegas, so at least I can take solace in the fact that we aren’t the only ones in thispredicament. Hell, we probably aren’t even the only ones who were dumb enough to get drunkenly married.

Doing my best not to rouse my sleeping husband, I carefully slip out of bed. I reach for the first article of clothing I find, which just so happens to be Miles’ white button up shirt. Slipping it over my shoulders, I button it up, at least high enough to cover the lady bits.

Feeling a little bit better now that I have some clothes on, I take stock of the mess we’ve created before my eyes finally land on my discarded dress by the front door. Oh God, of course drunk and slutty me would have wanted to strip out of it as soon as we walked in. Then again, if my memory serves me correctly, Miles had been just as eager to get that dress off me as I was.

My cheeks flush at the memory. I can still feel his piercing blue eyes drinking me in as if I were the sexiest thing he’d ever seen, and despite the shame, I can’t help but remember how his adoration almost made me believe it might actually be true.

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