Staying in Vegas: (Vegas Morellis, #1)

by Sam Mariano

  That one’s perfect. I nod my approval and she goes back to unpacking our lunch.

  I look at the picture one more time, then I start to slide my phone back in my pocket, but I stop. Sin crosses my mind. I don’t want to play dirty as far as Laurel can see, but pissing off Sin can’t be a bad idea.

  Well, I mean, it could, since he works for me. But in the spirit of competition, it can’t be a bad thing. It won’t hurt me if he’s a dick to Laurel because he’s jealous—and I know this will make him jealous. Sin is a possessive motherfucker, and if he really likes her, it has to be killing him that he’s competing with me, of all people.

  Since Laurel is still busy, I open my message to Sin. Nothing new since this morning, but I’m not surprised. I have him running his ass off today. I attach the picture of Laurel smiling at me at our picnic lunch and send it without any accompanying text.

  It’s petty as hell, but I’m playing to win here, I don’t give a fuck.

  Now I tuck the phone back in my pocket and go over to join Laurel on the beach.

  “These are still warm,” she marvels, lifting a sandwich out of an insulated bag. She puts one on my plate and hands it to me, then puts the second sandwich on her own plate. Inhaling and closing her eyes, she says, “Oh, this looks and smells so good.”

  Juanita made roast chicken sandwiches served up on ciabatta bread—they are good. She also gave us an assortment of fruit—sliced strawberries, grapes, watermelon—and a container full of carrot sticks.

  “My housekeeper keeps me fed, especially when I’m single. You met her, didn’t you?”

  “Briefly. You’ll have to tell her thank you for me. This is a perfect picnic spread.”

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  Her smile warms. “I do. Thank you.”

  I nod, glancing beyond her at the little cluster of mallard ducks. On impulse, I take the top piece of bread off my sandwich and start ripping off a couple chunks. I throw the first piece, then Laurel looks back, noticing the ducks.

  “Don’t feed them,” she says.

  That surprises me. I would have taken Laurel for a girl who got a kick out of feeding the ducks. Looking back at her, I ask, “Why not?”

  “Because ducks are assholes. I mean, also because you’re not supposed to feed wildlife, but mainly because ducks are assholes.”

  I cock an eyebrow, but I stop picking my bread apart. “Those cute little mallards, right there? Assholes?”

  Nodding firmly, she says, “Bunch of gang rapists. If you’re going to feed them, only feed the females. Let the males starve.”

  I sputter, taken off guard by her accusation. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Her eyes widen at my skepticism. “Don’t you know about the secret life of ducks? They’re rotten bastards. The male ducks, anyway.” Seeing I’m completely clueless, she sighs and curls her legs to the side, getting more comfortable so she can impart a lesson. “Okay, so, there are a lot more male ducks than female ducks, and because of that, females can afford to be very selective with their choice of mates. You have to really wow them, otherwise just forget about it. It’s a good thing, but these lazy asshole male ducks can’t be bothered to step up their game and impress the ladies. Oh, no. Some of them decide, hey, you know what’s easier? Rape.”

  “Are we really talking about duck rape over a picnic lunch?”

  “Yes,” she says, firmly in teacher mode. “So, the asshole ducks accost the women, even if they already have a mate and ducklings, and they’re violent about it. They’ll push her under water if they get her in the pond. They’ll chase her around on dry land, pecking her into submission, trying to mount her with their stupid duck penises.” Pausing, she holds up a finger. “As an aside, ducks are also well-endowed, for avian creatures.”

  I shake my head, grabbing the spoon and scooping some grapes onto my plate. “Thank God I know that now.”

  “You’re welcome. So, yeah, duck rape is an epidemic. And sometimes it’s just one rogue bastard who accosts the lady duck, and in that case she has a better chance of survival, but sometimes the male ducks attack in gangs. They brutalize these poor lady ducks, sometimes even killing them in the midst of the attack.”

  This is the strangest date I have ever been on.

  Laurel continues. “As a consequence of this, duck vaginas have evolved and become quite complex, as nature tries to correct this situation and make it harder and harder for the egg to be fertilized in a forceful attack. Some species of lady ducks have secret pouches to catch unwanted sperm and, like… almost, like, vagina teeth.”

  “I don’t understand why you know any of this,” I tell her.

  Shrugging nonchalantly, she opens the lid on the watermelon container. “I read about it in a book, and then I was like ‘what the fuck is this shit?’ so I researched it more online. Yale did a study and everything. It’s crazy shit. I could show you a video on your phone.”

  “You want me to watch a duck snuff film while we eat?” I ask. “And I thought I was hardcore.”

  “Not a snuff film, but people have filmed examples of it in nature. I’m just saying, if you don’t believe me, I can show you.”

  “You watch weird porn,” I inform her.

  Laurel smiles, rolling her eyes at me. “Don’t be gross. It’s not explicit.”

  I shake my head at her. “You’re a fascinating little nerd, kitten.”

  She picks up a grape and rolls it between her fingers. “It’s a real problem. I can’t sit by and let you nourish rapists.”

  “We probably shouldn’t host my family for the holidays, then,” I tell her, dryly.

  Eyebrows rising, she meets my gaze. “Huh?”

  I shake my head, watching her pop the grape into her mouth. “Nothing, never mind.”

  After taking a sip of her water, Laurel tells me, “We should have discussed this before we went to the bookstore; I could’ve looked for that one book I read. It’s called The Evolution of Beauty. There’s a whole chapter on duck sex.”

  “I’ll make sure I order myself a copy as soon as I get home,” I assure.

  Laurel nods her approval as she takes a quartered strawberry between her fingers and brings it to those plump lips of her. “See that you do. Your library needs it.”

  Fuck, I can’t concentrate on anything right now except the sudden, overwhelming fantasy of her being a professor. I want to bend her over her desk and fuck her, holding that messy bun like the horn of a saddle. “Do you have glasses?”

  She looks up at me and blinks as she chews her strawberry, then swallows. “Glasses? Yes. I don’t wear them often though. They make it easier to read small print, but they’re ugly.”

  “Perfect.”

  This seems to amuse her. “Why is that perfect?”

  “I’m picturing something in my head, and you are definitely wearing glasses.” I had no idea I was into nerds, but I’m getting behind this fantasy fast. Laurel naked but for her glasses and messy bun, tummy down on a desk, my hand caressing her bare ass right before I fuck her. Yes, I like that a lot. I’m going to remodel one of the spare bedrooms so she has her own office.

  “When we were in Chicago over Easter, didn’t you tell me you wanted to be a professor? That’s what you’re going to school for?”

  Laurel nods her head, uncapping her water bottle. “Yep. Someday. I still have quite a bit of school before I get to that point, but that’s definitely where I want to end up. A tenured position, ideally.”

  “Do you have your heart set on a school you would want to teach at?”

  “Nope. I’m keeping an open mind. It will be easier to find a position I’m happy with that way.”

  I can think of several positions she would be happy with, but they all involve her naked, and none of them have anything to do with college.

  Fuck. I shift as my cock stirs and I try to clear the images of Laurel out of my mind. I look back at the ducks, but somehow that doesn’t even help. Horny little bastards. I’ll never lo
ok at a duck the same way again.

  “I should have Juanita make us a male duck à l’orange for dinner one of these nights.”

  I don’t know whether Laurel will be tender-hearted and horrified, or amused, but she cracks up and I’m relieved. “Yes. That’ll show them. Just no female duck à l’orange.”

  “I’ll interrogate the duck first, make sure we get a guilty one.”

  Laurel grins. “Please do. Stopping duck rape, one dinner at a time.”

  I shake my head, teasing her, “I knew you weren’t a vegetarian, but I didn’t know you were a beast.”

  “Please. I’m basically an activist. They should learn to keep their little duck dicks behind their feathers and I wouldn’t cook them up and serve them with roasted veggies.”

  “You are ruthless.”

  “Nah, I’m sweet, remember?” As soon as the words slip out of her mouth, she loses her smile. She realizes she just openly referred to when we spent those few days together, and due to whatever complications she sees now, she doesn’t want that.

  I let it go so she keeps having a good time, but it’s too late. I haven’t actually spent time with Laurel in the few days she has been here, but now that I’m in her company again, I am absolutely enchanted. Now I remember how much I enjoyed her—why I made the decision to invite her to Vegas while Vince dealt with listing the house he inherited to begin with.

  None of that had to happen. Vince didn’t even have to be here to sell the house. He had no reason to step foot back in Vegas, but Easter was over and I couldn’t stay in Chicago. I needed a reason for Laurel to come back with me, and the only one available to me was Vince dealing with his inheritance.

  It certainly wasn’t in my plan, and I’m still not entirely sure how to feel about it, but one thing is for sure: now that Laurel is carrying my baby, I have a significantly better reason to keep her in Vegas.

  29

  Laurel

  It’s well past dinner time when Rafe brings me back to Sin’s place. My stomach sinks with probably unfounded guilt when I see Sin’s car is parked in the driveway. I had been hoping he wouldn’t be home yet. I wanted to get here first, that way I wouldn’t feel like I had abandoned him here alone and gone off with Rafe. I hate feeling like I missed out on time I could have spent with Sin—which is a little alarming, because I only have a few more days with him. If I feel guilty and bereft that I’ve missed—at most—hours with him, how am I going to feel when I’m back east and I never see him again?

  Shoving those thoughts down into the Pit of Unthinkable Thoughts, I try to give Rafe a hug in the car so I can go in the house alone, but when I go to lean in and thank him for a nice day, his door is open and he’s already getting out of the car.

  It’s not my house, so I guess I can’t tell him not to come in. Maybe he even needs to talk to Sin, for all I know. Their business connection makes it more difficult to navigate the romantic rivals part of all this, so I try to let them sort that out amongst themselves. Bracing myself for another round, I climb out of the car. Rafe stands in front of it, holding my bag of books and waiting for me.

  “I can carry those,” I tell him, reaching for the bag.

  “Nope. I got it.”

  He may be carrying the bag, but I’m carrying all the guilt. I feel it gathering in my gut with every step I take closer to the front door. I don’t know whether or not it will be unlocked, but the knob turns easily when I twist it.

  My eyes are peeled for Sin as soon as I step inside, but I don’t see him. I feel like I’m returning home from having an affair, and as confused as I am—when I certainly wasn’t this morning—I need Sin’s dark, brooding face to center me. As much as I want to be his good girl, I feel like I’ve been a very bad girl today. Maybe Sin should spank me until I remember how to behave.

  Shaking off the little bite of arousal that mental image stirs, I make my way up the stairs into the living room. “Sin?”

  Rafe follows me up the stairs. Sin doesn’t answer, but once I get to the top, I look over and see him sitting alone on the couch. He’s not sitting back against the cushions relaxing, but sitting on the edge with his head hanging, like he’s been waiting.

  At the sight of him, guilt multiplies and wrecks my stomach. I forget that I need to take these strappy heels off, forget the nice time I had with Rafe, forget everything but wiping that horrible, solemn look off Sin’s face. Walking around the couch, I take a tentative seat next to him and rest my hand on his thigh to get his attention.

  “Hey,” I say, softly.

  His dark gaze slides to mine, but I can’t tell what he’s feeling. I sense sadness, but I don’t know if it’s real or I’m conjuring it from the guilt I feel. Displeasure seems the most obvious feeling. Yes, definitely displeasure. Even though I feel bad, Sin did tell me I could go with Rafe this morning. He assured me on the phone that he was fine with it, told me to go and have fun.

  Right now he does not look like a man who is happy I went out and had fun. I didn’t think it was a good idea either, but he swore it was fine.

  On instinct, I scoot off the couch and drop to my knees in front of him. He still doesn’t speak, but his eyes follow me as I crawl between his legs, placing a hand on each of his thighs, and wordlessly seek his approval.

  At first, he doesn’t give it to me. He just watches me through hooded lids, maybe to see if I’ll stay here or move. I dimly realize Rafe is standing just off to the left, watching, but now that Sin is here, I’m focused. I have a mission, a purpose, a need to make sure he’s all right.

  Finally, Sin reaches his scarred hand toward my face and caresses my jawline. I sigh with relief, sinking into his touch. Even though nothing sexual is happening, my loins stir. I think it’s the submissive position, perhaps the behavior. I didn’t think about it at all, I just came in, read the vibe, and responded.

  Fuck, maybe I am a submissive. Rafe told me I had tendencies, but I haven’t researched it myself, so I’m not sure what all it involves. I can’t think of a rational reason to explain what I just did, though. Or why it turns me on—that’s probably the weird part.

  Whatever I am, Sin is a little less alone than he was when I came in just a minute ago, so I don’t care. I don’t require labels anyway; I like what I like, and if Sin likes it too, great.

  Finally speaking, Sin turns his head to look at Rafe and says, “Thanks for bringing her home safely.”

  “My pleasure,” Rafe says, rather easily. Holding up my bag of books so I can see it, Rafe says, “I’ll just leave these here by the wall, kitten.”

  Out of my peripherals, I see Sin’s hand clench into a fist on his thigh as Rafe utters the nickname he gave me. Absently placing a placating hand over his fist, I nod my head at Rafe. “Thank you.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Rafe tells me, before making his way back down the stairs.

  Sin raises his eyebrows at me, but waits until he hears the door click shut behind Rafe to ask, “Tomorrow?”

  “Maybe. Nothing is set in stone. When we were at the bookstore today, we realized I never saw Rafe’s library. He said we should come over tomorrow night for dinner and he’ll—and I can see it.”

  Sin’s hands trace the curve of my jaw, almost absently. “Did he, now?”

  I nod, but go ahead and add, “If you want to, anyway.”

  “I’m sure he doesn’t care if I want to,” Sin remarks.

  “But I do,” I assure him.

  “Yeah?”

  I nod my head, inching further between his legs so I can get closer to him. “Of course.”

  “Why’s that?” he asks, idly.

  I sense an invitation lying beneath his words, and I really want to accept. “Because I love pleasing you.”

  “Yeah?” I nod. “Do you think you pleased me today?”

  Certainly not. Since I can’t say that, I give him a devilish little smile and tell him, “The day’s not over yet.”

  Sin gifts me with a little smile, and I lean in to kiss his ches
t. He’s wearing clothes, but I kiss him right through the fabric, kissing my way up to his neck. My whole body responds when his hands press against my back, pulling me closer. His arm locks around my waist, but then he hauls me against him as he stands.

  I have to stop kissing his neck to see what we’re doing. Hopefully he’ll take my hand and lead me upstairs.

  He doesn’t. He grabs me under the ass and lifts me instead. Automatically wrapping my legs around his waist, I hold on as he carries me up the stairs to the bedroom. Sin deposits me none too gently on the mattress, spreads my legs so he can see my panties, then points his finger at me. “Stay here, just like this.”

  “Yes, sir,” I murmur, playfully.

  He shoots me a dark look that sends a thrill straight through me, then disappears from the bedroom. He’s only gone a minute, but I take the whole 60 seconds to fantasize about him. I hope I didn’t make him feel bad today spending time with Rafe, but boy, am I eager to make it up to him. When he comes back in, he’s drawing his T-shirt over his head and tossing it, revealing that gorgeous body for me to appreciate.

  “God, you’re beautiful,” I tell him.

  His eyebrows shoot up briefly, then he cracks a smile. “Beautiful?”

  “Gorgeous. Handsome. You make my panties disintegrate simply by existing.”

  His tone warms as he walks back over to the bed. “Oh yeah? Let’s see about that.” My legs are still spread for him since he told me to stay like this. He looks between my legs, then hooks his fingers in the sides of my panties and drags them off. “Hm, they haven’t disintegrated at all.”

  I watch him toss them behind him. “Weird. I could have sworn I felt them melt right off. Maybe because you’re still wearing pants.”

  Sin drops to his knees, braces his hands on each of my thighs, and leans his face between them. Without taking time to tease me this time, he latches his mouth onto my pussy, his tongue pushing inside me and sending the most glorious jolts of pleasure through my body. I close my eyes and reach above me, reveling in his generosity. The pleasure builds fast, since I’m already turned on. I can’t help grabbing a fistful of blankets and thrusting my head back against the mussed sheets. Sin’s tongue glides inside me like a channel he’s already familiar with. The way he touches me, the way he tastes me—everything he does makes me feel like I belong to him.