Page 30 of Shameless in Vegas

A string of Spanish curses fills the line. “How fucking long is he planning to stay in the city?” he finally demands.

“Not long. His mother wants us to return.”

“It better not be fuckinglong. You’re supposed to have him by the balls by now, you filthy whore. Work your slut magic on him, and get him to take you back, or you’re gonna feel the fucking wrath, bitch.”

The line disconnects, and the assailant releases me, throwing me against the back wall. I trip and land hard on my hip on the tile just as he silently slips out of the stall, and I hear the restroom door swing open and ease shut with a low groan. Pushing myself off the floor, I clutch the sting on my torso, and subtle panic grips me when I feel blood soak through the tank top.

How the fuck am I supposed to explainthisto Joaquin?

For an alleged criminal mastermind, Xavier’s kind of fucking stupid for allowing this kind of evidence to be left behind.

Grabbing a handful of paper towels, I dampen them under the faucet and lift my shirt to clean off my stomach and assess the cut. It’s not as bad as it could be, and I make quick work of stopping the bleeding. The black tank top fortunately conceals the blood stain decently enough, and the slice in the fabric isn’t too noticeable, so all I’ll have to do is discreetly dispose of the shirt once we’re back at the hotel.

Easy enough.

The difficult part will be convincing Joaquin that our sabbatical has lasted long enough, and that it’s time to go back to his house.

BACK IN THE HOTEL room, Joaquin has me flat on my back on the bed as he drowns me with deep kisses. He slips his hand under the camisole I changed into after a long bath in the luxurious tub in an effort to hide the cut from him, and he squeezes my breast.

“Mmmm,” I moan and arch against him. His erection is hot and hard against the side of my thigh, and I reach down to cup him through his boxer briefs. “I want this.”

He growls against my neck. “You’re gonna get it, baby doll.”

The focus right now is to keep him from finding the cut and also to convince him that we need to go back to his home, which means I need to distract him with one of his favorite activities—AKA his cock in my mouth.

“I mean,” I say mischievously, slipping my hand below the waistband and wrapping my hand around his dick, “I want to—”

“Whoa, hey,” he says in a sudden change of tone. “What’s this?”

Joaquin pulls away from me, forcing me to release his erection as he switches on the lamp. He leans over me again, and my stomach turns with nerves as he lifts the edge of the camisole to inspect the cut.

He lightly draws his thumb across the edge. “What did you do, honey?”

I make a big show of being clueless as I peek down at my mid-section. “Oh.” I rack my brain. “I dropped the razor on myself while I was in the bath. It doesn’t really hurt, but you know how those cuts can be with a brand new—”

“Yeah, but…Jesus, baby.” His brow furrows as he draws his hand over the side of my hip. “How’d you get this nasty bruise?”

“Oh,” I say again, glancing at my hip.

He squints as he inspects it. “Did you fall or something?”

“Oh, yeah,” I say quickly. “I guess someone had mopped the floor in the ladies’ room at that club, and I slipped.”

“Querida.” He meets my gaze below a knitted brow. “You didn’t tell me.”

“Well, it was a little embarrassing,” I dismiss, expertly feigning a sheepish expression and tone to match. “Three very sophisticated women saw me fall right on my ass, and I’m sure I flailed spastically the whole way down, so I preferred to just try to forget it.”

“Honey…” He presses a kiss to my lips. “You should’ve told me so I could get you some ice or something.”

I smile. Compassion for injuries like this is totally foreign, and it throws me for a small loop. “It’s really okay, Joaquin.”

He crawls over me again, pressing long kisses to my neck. “Not okay with me. I don’t want anything hurting you, even if it’s something minor.”

I mewl as his hand makes its way to my breast again, his thumb circling my nipple. “I’m more than okay now.” Reaching into his boxer briefs again, I stroke my hand up and down his cock. “But I would be even better if you got on your back for me.”

He hastily does as I say without a single protest. Straddling his thighs, I drag my nails down his abs and slide off the boxers. His long, thick erection springs free, resting against his abs, and I dip my head to draw my tongue up the length in a long, teasing stroke. A satisfied groan drains from him, and he threads his fingers through my hair.

Licking up and down a few more times, I circle my tongue around the head, and then cut my eyes up at him. “Do something for me,amor?”

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