balcony, her hands clenched tight to the banister, overlooking the Vegas strip shining in the high Nevada sunlight.
I come up behind her, using the opportunity to get a good look at her ass. “Yeah, I was admiring it earlier. It's really something, babe.”
Yeah, something, I think, glancing at the deck furniture. Something that makes me want to rip your dress off right here and fuck you in front of the whole city.
I'm not sure what makes my dick throb harder – the chairs or her ass. I go back and forth, and the last time I've got my eyes glued to her hips, she catches me. Her hands hit my chest and she pushes with all she's got, trying to get me away, flushed and smiling.
I laugh. Something makes me lunge forward and grab her, spin her around, dig my fingers into her soft little belly 'til she can't stop laughing with me. It takes a sharp slap across the face to make me let go. I love the sting the same way I like sharp whiskey.
Shit, she's so feisty, even though she can't move me a single inch, pushing with all her might. I want to pick her up and fling her around, discover some new acrobatics I can do with her mounted on all ten inches of me.
“Don't do this crap again, Chris,” she whines, genuine sadness filling her eyes. “I can't mess around and get shot down again. We're here as brother and sister, right?”
Not exactly. But she doesn't need to know that now.
I smile, push my hand into hers, and give her a gentle tug. “Whatever, babe. Let's go have some fun.”
I grab her hand and lead her out. It's a damned good thing I've had plenty of practice with tactical driving. I navigate the Vegas traffic, heading for the casino.
My dick doesn't give a single shit about my brain catching up. As far as that fire in my trousers is concerned, I'm on a mission to fuck my own stepsister, and I'm coming closer to making peace with it by the second.
I watch her walk a little ahead of me. She's unsteady on those short heels, and it makes her ass bob. My balls ache to unload inside her, screaming in my head, hounding me to let go of all my reason and spread her legs wide open behind her head.
I know right there I'm a goner. It's Vegas, and I'm here to sin.
I don't give a shit who Delia is anymore, or what kinda mark I'm going to leave on her. I have to protect her. I have to know her. And yeah, I absolutely, positively have to own every virgin inch of her.
We pop in and out of casinos and attractions, walking along the strip. Even I've forgotten just how lively Vegas can be. The telltale signs of a few thugs and biker brutes lingering in the shadows reminds me the place can get lively in other ways at night.
I can't keep my hands off her, and it's not just the hellfire scorching my veins that's doing it. I want to keep her close. Protect her, especially while she's stepping up her drinks at every place we hit.
By sundown, Delia's so drunk I have to pull her steady as we maneuver along, heading into the next casino. There's a new VIP section in this place with high stakes blackjack. I'm here to have some fun too, and I make a beeline for the table, jerking her along.
“Oh my god, Chris, you have to let me play. I've always wanted to try cards.”
I grunt. “Not 'til you've burned some of that venom out of your system, babe. You'll be throwing away money piss drunk. Just watch me and look sexy. Pretend you're my date for moral support and eye candy.”
She hasn't gotten pissy about my not-so-subtle hints since we left the hotel room. I'm sure it's the booze, and that puts me on edge.
I don't want her laughing and clinging to me because she's fucking drunk. I want her sober, hungry for every inch of me, ready to rip off her clothes and open her legs.
She's warm and clammy when I hold her hand. Drunk or not, she looks fucking hot in the dark black cocktail dress she's chosen. I take a bench at the nearest high stakes table, thinking it's a damned good thing I've been pacing myself with drinks.
Delia's
I come up behind her, using the opportunity to get a good look at her ass. “Yeah, I was admiring it earlier. It's really something, babe.”
Yeah, something, I think, glancing at the deck furniture. Something that makes me want to rip your dress off right here and fuck you in front of the whole city.
I'm not sure what makes my dick throb harder – the chairs or her ass. I go back and forth, and the last time I've got my eyes glued to her hips, she catches me. Her hands hit my chest and she pushes with all she's got, trying to get me away, flushed and smiling.
I laugh. Something makes me lunge forward and grab her, spin her around, dig my fingers into her soft little belly 'til she can't stop laughing with me. It takes a sharp slap across the face to make me let go. I love the sting the same way I like sharp whiskey.
Shit, she's so feisty, even though she can't move me a single inch, pushing with all her might. I want to pick her up and fling her around, discover some new acrobatics I can do with her mounted on all ten inches of me.
“Don't do this crap again, Chris,” she whines, genuine sadness filling her eyes. “I can't mess around and get shot down again. We're here as brother and sister, right?”
Not exactly. But she doesn't need to know that now.
I smile, push my hand into hers, and give her a gentle tug. “Whatever, babe. Let's go have some fun.”
I grab her hand and lead her out. It's a damned good thing I've had plenty of practice with tactical driving. I navigate the Vegas traffic, heading for the casino.
My dick doesn't give a single shit about my brain catching up. As far as that fire in my trousers is concerned, I'm on a mission to fuck my own stepsister, and I'm coming closer to making peace with it by the second.
I watch her walk a little ahead of me. She's unsteady on those short heels, and it makes her ass bob. My balls ache to unload inside her, screaming in my head, hounding me to let go of all my reason and spread her legs wide open behind her head.
I know right there I'm a goner. It's Vegas, and I'm here to sin.
I don't give a shit who Delia is anymore, or what kinda mark I'm going to leave on her. I have to protect her. I have to know her. And yeah, I absolutely, positively have to own every virgin inch of her.
We pop in and out of casinos and attractions, walking along the strip. Even I've forgotten just how lively Vegas can be. The telltale signs of a few thugs and biker brutes lingering in the shadows reminds me the place can get lively in other ways at night.
I can't keep my hands off her, and it's not just the hellfire scorching my veins that's doing it. I want to keep her close. Protect her, especially while she's stepping up her drinks at every place we hit.
By sundown, Delia's so drunk I have to pull her steady as we maneuver along, heading into the next casino. There's a new VIP section in this place with high stakes blackjack. I'm here to have some fun too, and I make a beeline for the table, jerking her along.
“Oh my god, Chris, you have to let me play. I've always wanted to try cards.”
I grunt. “Not 'til you've burned some of that venom out of your system, babe. You'll be throwing away money piss drunk. Just watch me and look sexy. Pretend you're my date for moral support and eye candy.”
She hasn't gotten pissy about my not-so-subtle hints since we left the hotel room. I'm sure it's the booze, and that puts me on edge.
I don't want her laughing and clinging to me because she's fucking drunk. I want her sober, hungry for every inch of me, ready to rip off her clothes and open her legs.
She's warm and clammy when I hold her hand. Drunk or not, she looks fucking hot in the dark black cocktail dress she's chosen. I take a bench at the nearest high stakes table, thinking it's a damned good thing I've been pacing myself with drinks.
Delia's
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