Whipped (Hitched #2)(30)

She rubs herself against my cock and wraps her arms around my neck. "Long distance would be hard," she says, a seductive smile on her lips.

"So hard," I say as my cock pokes against her. "I'd miss this," I say, kissing her deeply. And, God, would I ever.

There are a lot of reasons to stay in Vegas. I want to start my new life. I don't want to be on the road for another year of strip dancing. I don't want to leave Vi. I don't want to uproot myself again.

I also don't want to let the kids down. They need this after-school program. And I need the money to make that happen.

But as Vi runs her hands down my chest and pulls off my shirt, thoughts of the kids and the center and dancing float away. I want her. That's all I know.

"Will you go with me?" she asks.

It takes a moment to remember what she's talking about. Her parents. Right. "Yes. Sure, babe."

She could ask anything right now, and with her body pressed against mine with the promise of more, the answer would always be yes.





CHAPTER 19





VI


It should only take about four hours to get from Las Vegas to my parents' house in Belmont Shore, California—the hip, fun part of Long Beach, where's there's actual beach.

Of course it never only takes four hours. There's always stop-and-go parking lot traffic getting in and out of Las Vegas. Which is why I try not to ever leave my beloved city. It's practically designed to make you want to stay.

But my parents are renewing their vows, and it's been too long since I've seen them outside of Skype. And they want to meet my boyfriend.

And I kinda want them to meet my boyfriend. I'm curious what they will think of Lachlan. They've met other guys I've dated. They know my kinks and my lifestyle and they've always been cool with it. I'm guessing they will be shocked to discover I'm not with a sub this time around.

I know I am.

We toss a coin to decide which car we should take and who gets to drive. Lachlan believes my beloved Camaro isn't safe—or big enough for his 6' 2" frame. I think his brand-new black Beemer is pretentious and boring.

So we flip. Heads the Camaro. Tails the BMW.

Heads.

I win!

The Camaro it is. And I get to drive.

We leave early, our weekend bags thrown into the trunk and venti cups of caffeine steaming between us. "All set?" I ask.

He nods, tucking his legs in and dramatically sighing. "I suppose. Though I might not be able to walk straight after this."

"I'll find some way of stretching you out again."

He laughs, and I rev the engine and pull out of our parking spot.

I love driving. I know not everyone does, but to me it's liberating. The road can take you anywhere, in any direction. All you need is a car and enough money for gas and the entire country is your playground.

What I don't love is bumper to bumper traffic, which is what we hit as soon as we 'park' on the 15 heading out of Vegas.

I'm half foot on the break, half ready to put pedal to the metal as soon as everyone gets out of the way. "I wonder if there's an accident."

Lachlan rolls down the window and peeks his head out. "Don't see anything. Just cars. Everywhere, cars."

"Fantastic. What shall we do to pass the time?" He winks suggestively, and I laugh. "Um, no. We might eventually have to move forward an inch, and then where would we be?"

"Happy. We'd be in Happyland while the rest of these schmucks complained and tweeted about their roadside misery of bumper to bumper madness."

"Happyland? Is this a thing now, because I'm not sure how I feel about that."

His hand lands on my thigh, riding higher and higher until his fingers graze my panties. "I can make you feel very… happy… about our Happyland. I promise."

I let go of the steering wheel and push his hand back to my knee, not without some level of regret—but still, safety first and all that shit, right? "Happyland it is. But it'll have to wait until we get to Long Beach."

"That would require movement on this freeway," he says, squeezing my knee.

"True."

"I have an idea." He pulls his hand off my knee and rummages through my glove box.

"What are you looking for?"

"Pen and paper?"

He pulls out receipts, business cards, napkins… not all of them clean. I laugh at the look on his face. And a stack of papers. "What the hell, Vi. Do you never clean this out? This has got to be your registration for the last… six years."

"What can I say? There's always something more interesting to do than clean out my car. Be glad there's no food in there."

He sticks his hand in and pulls out a half-eaten hamburger I don't remember buying. "You were saying?"

"Oh. Well, hey, I didn't tell you to go poking around in there. You entered at your own risk and without authorization. We frown on that sort of thing here in the States."

"I'll remember that." He continues to rummage until he finds what he's looking for. "Eureka! We've found gold. Well, a gold pen at any rate."

He scribbles something on the back of an old registration and then folds it. "I've written something on this paper. If you guess what it is in twenty questions, you win. If you don't, I win."