The noises between us fade to just breathing, just husky moans. My hand reaches for her hip, and I hike her leg up higher as I slow-fuck her. I lower to my elbows, and I stare into her eyes. She trembles. Her whole body shudders.

“Oh God, Wyatt,” she whispers.

She’s not loud and crazy. She’s just raw and real now, and I feel the same way. Naked, totally fucking naked, and not just because I’m in my birthday suit.

But because it hits me hard—no matter what tomorrow brings, tonight I’m fucking my wife. I bring my mouth to her ear, and murmur, “I love fucking my wife. God, I love fucking my wife so much.”

It’s the truth. Nothing but the truth.

And she cries out.

She shatters, shaking under me, as a barely comprehensible series of “oh God,” and “I’m coming,” and “I’m coming so fucking hard” fall from her lips. I love that she can’t control her mouth, that words of pleasure spill forth as she falls apart beneath me, like a category-five orgasm has swept through her body, unleashing wave after crashing wave of ecstasy. Her release flips the switch in me. My quads tighten. My balls squeeze. And pleasure surges like a storm in my body, spreading everywhere, my own groans now loud enough to wake the neighbors.

“Fuck, Natalie,” I moan, as I come inside her. “Jesus. Fucking. Christ.”

Every word punctuates the intensity that lights me up as my body jerks, and I can’t stop moaning, or groaning, or swearing. “Fucking hell,” I say on a long pant as I collapse on her.

Her arms loop around me. “You’re so loud,” she says. “Do you have any idea how hot it is when you come like that?”

I laugh lightly. “Glad you enjoy what you do to me.”

“Nothing is sexier than knowing I made you moan.”

“Except you. You’re sexier,” I say, and then I raise my face to brush my lips lightly against hers when something occurs to me.

Yes, all sex is good, but not all sex is created equally. I’m not just talking about hotel sex. Because I’ve just learned that sex with Natalie is in a class of its own. It’s beyond hotel sex. It’s more than the bee’s knees. It’s better than the cat’s meow.

It’s heart-stoppingly magnificent.

And I’m not the kind of guy who uses that word.

But sex with her is indeed magnificent.

I’m sweating and panting and totally spent, and I’m pretty sure you can wring alcohol from my pores, but this has been a night for the ages. I tug her close, brush her hair from her cheek, and tell her, “Nobody in the history of Vegas has done this city as well as we have.”

She smiles. “And nobody ever will.”

And I’m sure when I look back on this night, I’m going to savor every single delicious detail.

14

Natalie: Remember The Hangover? That morning-after scene?

Charlotte: Is this your way of telling me you’re missing a tooth? Because I’m not okay with that. You have very nice white, straight teeth.

Natalie: Ha. The fangs are fine. My head still hurts, but my throat got intimately acquainted with some aspirin and a coffee chaser already, so I’m surviving the after-effects. Now, try again.

Charlotte: Oh, wait! Bradley Cooper is shirtless in your suite?

Natalie: Nope. But a girl can dream :)

Charlotte: Um, Zach Galifianikas is . . . pantsless?

Natalie: One more guess.

Charlotte: There’s a tiger in your tub?

Natalie: I’m taking away your movie card. Moving on . . .

Charlotte: *insert epic eye roll* Did you use all, some, or none of the six-pack of raincoats you brought along? Did you get drunk with your boss? Kiss your boss? Sleep with your boss? Spend the night with your boss?

Natalie: We used nearly all. Which means yes to all of the above. And there’s something I’ve got tell you.

Charlotte: !!!!!!!! Tell me everything now. Start with the good stuff. HOW WAS THE DEED?

Natalie: It was amazing. Look, everything was amazing. Well, one thing wasn’t. But I’ll get to that.

Charlotte: What??? Does he have bad breath? Ugly toes? Does he fart in his sleep?

Natalie: NO!!!!! NO!!!! NO!!!

Charlotte: Then what would be bad?

Natalie: First, the good stuff. The kissing, the talking, the laughing. We get along so well. He cracks me up. He cares about me. He’s good to me. And he kisses me like . . . well, like I’ve always wanted to be kissed.

Charlotte: Swoon . . . Like the world will end and nothing else matters but the kiss?

Natalie: Yes. And the sex. Oh dear God, the sex. Beyond anything I could imagine.

Charlotte: And you have a good imagination.

Natalie: I do, I do, I do. It was just all so good. But there’s something I have to tell you.

Charlotte: You didn’t come?

Natalie: No, I didn’t stop coming. I lost track. I had twenty orgasms. Maybe six. But it felt like twenty. Or two hundred.

Charlotte: So what’s the problem? Well, besides the little issue of him being your boss and you being his employee and I therefore being a very bad sister for encouraging you to pursue the man you’re totally hot for? Since everyone knows boss-employee relationships are a massive no-no and always end up in heartbreak. But if anyone breaks your heart, I will kick him in the balls twenty times because I love you like crazy. Bottom line—am I kicking him in the balls?

Natalie: I *might* have married him last night. (Hello? Don’t you remember Ed Helms waking up married?)

Natalie: Um. Hello? Are you there? Bueller?