The suite in Vegas was a monument to excess, all white marble and gold leaf, but the only thing Robin saw was the sunken tub big enough for four. Steam rose in lazy curls, fogging the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the Strip’s garish glow. Lena was already in the water, her back to him, the dark waterfall of her hair clinging to her damp shoulders.

“April said to make sure you relax,” Lena said, her voice a low purr that echoed off the tile. She didn’t turn around. “She’s very thoughtful.”

Robin stood at the edge, the plush hotel robe hanging open. The permission felt like a collar. A test. A gift. It was impossible to separate them anymore. He let the robe fall.

The water was scalding. He hissed as he sank in opposite her, the heat biting into his travel-tight muscles. Lena finally turned. Her eyes, dark and knowing, tracked down his chest, past his stomach, and held. His cock, half-hard from the steam and the proximity and the sheer fucking audacity of this, bobbed in the water between them.

“Hi,” she said, a slow smile spreading.

“Hi.”

She moved through the water like a promise. Not quickly. An inch. Then another. The bubbles parted for her. Her knees brushed his outer thighs as she settled between them, the waterline just cresting the swell of her breasts. She placed her hands on his knees under the surface. Her thumbs began to make slow, deliberate circles on his skin.

“You were so good at the meet-and-greet today,” she murmured, her gaze locked on his. “All those fans. You gave every single one of them your full attention. It’s exhausting, being that generous.”

He leaned his head back against the cool marble rim. “Part of the job.”

“This isn’t.”

Her hand left his knee. He felt the water shift, a current against his skin. Then her fingers, slick and hot, wrapped around the base of his cock. He jerked, water sloshing over the side of the tub.

“Easy,” she whispered. Her grip was firm. Possessive. “Just relaxing.”

She didn’t stroke him. Not yet. She held him, studying him as he thickened and hardened completely in her hand. Her other hand came up, fingertips tracing the line of his jaw, his lower lip. He turned his head, caught her thumb between his teeth, bit down gently. Her breath hitched. A victory.

Then she sank.

Not her whole body. Just her shoulders, dipping below the surface, her face following. Her hair fanned out like ink in the water. He watched, mesmerized, as the blurred shape of her moved through the steaming haze. He felt her lips first, a soft, water-softened press against the head of his cock. Then the wet, hot seal of her mouth.

The sensation was unreal. The heat of the water everywhere, the hotter heat of her mouth surrounding him. She took him deep, her nose brushing his lower stomach, and held. He could see the outline of his length in her cheeks. His hands found the edge of the tub, gripping the marble until his knuckles ached.

She rose for air with a gasp, water streaming down her face, her lashes beaded. She was smiling. “Tastes different in here.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. More you. Less everything else.”

She went under again. This time, she worked. Her head bobbed in the water, a rhythmic, fluid motion. He felt every inch of the slide. The tease of her tongue along the vein underneath. The tight pull of her cheeks as she sucked. The gentle scrape of her teeth. The water magnified every sound—the wet, sucking pulls, the low groan he couldn’t keep inside.

His hips began to move. A shallow thrust, meeting her descent. She let him. Encouraged him, her hands coming up to grip his hips, holding him as she took him deeper, faster. The world narrowed to this tub, this steam, this mouth. The neon lights of the Strip blurred into meaningless color beyond the glass.

His phone buzzed on the bath tray. Then again. A call. He glanced at it. The screen flashed ‘April’. A cold spear of reality pierced the fog. Lena felt him tense. She surfaced, releasing him with a soft pop.

“Ignore it,” she breathed, her lips swollen and glistening. She climbed into his lap, straddling him, her wet skin sliding against his chest. The phone went to voicemail. “She told you to relax. This is relaxing.” She kissed him, deep and searching, and he could taste himself on her tongue. The phone began to buzz again. ‘Julian’ this time.

Robin reached out, his hand dripping, and flipped the phone face down. The buzzing became a muffled, persistent hum against the marble tray. He pulled Lena tighter against him. “You’re right.”

Later, much later, they were tangled in the thousand-thread-count sheets of the king-sized bed. The room was dark, lit only by the perpetual twilight of Vegas seeping around the curtains. Lena slept, her back pressed to his chest, his arm draped heavily over her waist. Her skin smelled of hotel soap and sex.

Robin was awake. The silence was a physical weight. He stared at the ceiling, feeling the ghost of her mouth on him, the clutch of her body around him in the bath, then again here in the bed—slow, warm, consuming sex that felt less like a performance and more like getting lost. He’d called her ‘baby’. He’d meant it in the moment.

His flipped-over phone lay on the nightstand. A tiny, persistent red light blinked in the dark. Missed calls. Voicemails. Messages. A tether to a world where he had promises to keep. He watched the light blink. Once. Twice. He closed his eyes, buried his face in Lena’s hair, and chose the silence.