Rate a Date by Monica Murphy Page 0,47

down. I am sad at the thought of her leaving.

“I totally understand,” I reassure her, because I don’t want to be a greedy boyfriend.

Wait a minute.

Boyfriend?

Scratch that.

“Good.” She appears relieved. She is adorable. “Maybe we could see each other later tonight? After the bachelorette party?”

“Won’t that probably go long into the evening?” Though what do I know? I have zero experience when it comes to bachelorette parties.

“I’m sure at some point I can get away from them.” There’s a devious gleam in her eyes, and I like what I see. “You won’t mind if I tell them about you, right?”

“Naw.” I shake my head. Pull her into my arms and deliver a kiss to her shiny peach-colored lips. “You going to give them a play by play of last night and this morning?”

“I’ll gloss over the finer points,” she says, laughter filling her voice. “Now let go of me before we start doing something we might regret.”

“I will never regret any of the things I want to do to you,” I tell her with the utmost sincerity.

And I mean every word I say.

Thirteen

Eleanor

My entire body aches in the best possible way, especially between my thighs. My muscles protest as my friends and I walk all over the indoor shopping area that’s connected to the Wilder Hotel, passing by all the designer stores.

Gucci. Louis Vuitton. Dior. Chanel. Burberry. They are all here, and they are all full of customers. Vegas has really got it figured out. If you’re not gambling, you’re spending big money at a show. Or at a top-rated restaurant.

Or at all of these designer shops.

Candice is dragging us into them, though most everyone is willing and eager to buy something. I’m just going along for the ride, watching my friends ooh and aah over purses and bags and wallets and sunglasses. On the flight over I considered the possibility that I might buy myself something “cheap” from one of these stores. Cheap being a minimum of four hundred dollars, which isn’t cheap at all for my budget, but I wanted to splurge. Treat myself, you know?

Forget it. I don’t need any of those treats. I got all sorts of treats last night and this morning, thanks to Mitch.

My entire body goes hot just from thinking about last night. And this morning. The shower. Lunchtime. The man has no shame. He is wicked. But there’s something so endearingly sweet about him too. Like…he cares. About my pleasure, which is huge. What a bonus!

I’ve had decent sex in my life. I’ve also had awkward sex.

What do you expect? This is me we’re talking about.

But anyway, I’ve never had sex with a man who’s so concerned about my orgasm. It’s not like he’s asking questions or anything like that. He’s just—always making sure I’m getting mine.

I like that. I like that a lot.

Good Lord, the man knows exactly what he’s doing with his hands and mouth. And the things he says. Oh, and the size of his dick. Holy shit. It’s huge. I still can’t believe I had that thing in my mouth.

I wonder what it will feel like, to have actual sex with him.

“Eleanor, are you even listening to what we’re saying?”

I blink myself back into consciousness to find every single one of my friends standing around me in a circle. We’ve ended up in the middle of the Vuitton store and Candice has a giant bag slung over her shoulder, the salesperson standing just behind her and looking anxious.

“What did you say?” I blink them into focus. I was seriously zoned out just now.

They all appear either slightly irritated with or worried about me. Candice turns her attention back to the salesperson, which was probably the right move. Sarah and Caroline wander off in search of who knows what, but I’m sure it’s expensive. Only Kelsey and Stella remain with me.

“I know what’s wrong with her,” Stella says, her voice deadly serious as she crosses her arms.

“What is it?” Kelsey asks, her gaze skittering in my direction before she returns her attention to Stella.

“She’s been dickmitized.”

“What?” Kelsey practically shrieks, and I step in closer to them, shushing them both.

“I have not,” I tell Stella, knowing exactly what she’s talking about.

Dickmitized. Where does my friend come up with this stuff?

“What does she mean?” Kelsey asks, apparently clueless.

Maybe I understand Stella’s latest terminology because I currently have dick on the brain? Who knows.

“This Mitch guy’s big dick energy is sucking all the life out of her. It’s all she can think