Submitting in Vegas

by Sam Mariano

  I need to leave. This was a terrible idea.

  Rafe draws his belt off, fists it in his hand, and looks back at me. “You’re allowed to move, you know?”

  “I really like this spot,” I inform him, looking down at my feet, planted firmly against the floor. “It’s a good location. I think I’ll sleep right here.”

  His lips curve up faintly. “Standing up?”

  “Yep. I know sleep generally requires relaxing the muscles that keep me upright, but I feel like challenging my body, seeing what it’s capable of enduring.”

  “I know much more fun ways of doing that,” he informs me casually.

  “Your cane is probably involved,” I mutter.

  “It could be. Sessions with the cane take a while, though. Not sure it would be a good place to start your journey.”

  “I seem to recall you luring me over here with promises of conversation, not trips to your sex room.”

  “What, we can’t do both?” he asks easily.

  I glance hopefully at his dresser. “Do you have a sleep shirt you need to put on, or…?”

  Rafe smirks, dropping his belt. “No. Why? Does my bare chest offend you?”

  “Any part of your naked body offends decent-minded people everywhere,” I inform him. “I don’t know if you know this about yourself, but you’re incredibly attractive.”

  He plays along. “I am? I can’t believe no one’s ever told me.”

  I nod solemnly. “They probably didn’t want you to get a big head.”

  “Why don’t you give up that square foot of prime real estate and come on over here. I’d be happy to let you feel how big my head is.”

  I cover my face with my hands and mutter, “You’re terrible.”

  “I did touch you, it’s only fair I offer to return the favor,” he says.

  Dropping my hands, I look up at him and lift my eyebrows severely. “Conversation,” I say, elongating each syllable. “That is all I am here for.”

  “I have a proposition,” he says, striding across the room and coming to me, since I won’t come to him. I didn’t know what to wear for Christmas Eve, so I chose a pair of snug jeans, a white dressy blouse, and a grassy green cardigan over it. Rafe grabs the open ends of my cardigan and pushes them down past my shoulders, sliding the material down my arms.

  “I can probably save you some breath and just say no now,” I offer.

  Rafe ignores me, removing the cardigan from one arm, grabbing my gingerbread man purse, and dragging the sweater off my other arm. “What if we both took off all our clothes and climbed in bed, and we just touched each other and talked? No sex, nothing scary, just a little personal exploration.”

  As I’m sure he expects, I am already shaking my head no.

  “Why?” he asks.

  “I don’t want to have this conversation every time we’re alone together,” I tell him.

  “Then start answering differently,” he suggests, running his hands down the outside of my arms.

  “Tell me what I went to school for,” I reply.

  Rafe frowns, like this request throws him. “What?”

  “College. What did I study? I know a lot about you, but you don’t know much about me, do you?” My heart pounds in my chest as I speak, because I probably shouldn’t dare him to look. I don’t know how deep he looks into people, I don’t know how he would interpret anything he might find. My instinct is still that even if he doubted me, after all these years of faithful service, he wouldn’t hurt me. He would give me the benefit of the doubt. It’s not a conversation I want to have, though. So many conversations I don’t want to have.

  Why yes, Rafe, I do have intimate, incriminating knowledge about you and your entire criminal enterprise stored away in my mind like family photos in an album, and the unusual ability to relive them in vivid detail, at will.

  Why yes, Rafe, I did double major in sociology and criminal justice, and then—upon finding out you’re more likely to be accepted into the FBI if you go to law school—go to law school.

  Why yes, Rafe, I did pass the bar a year ago and remain toiling away as a waitress, serving steaks to rich locals and tourists so I could stay close to you.

  Why yes, Rafe, I could single-handedly topple your entire family and lock you up for the rest of your life if I felt like it.

  Why yes, Rafe, before you punched my cheating boyfriend in the face and changed the course of both our destinies, that was my plan.

  Now? Well, now I’m undecided. For now, my life is paused, and I have no idea when or why I will unpause it. I have no idea what my future holds. All I do know is that no good can come from a sexual relationship with this man, because while I adore him, while I would do anything for him, I know that connection is untested. I know our relationship only lasts because of the distance he usually keeps from me. I know he got a free pass into my good graces completely by accident, and I don’t want to invite anything that might change that.

  I am comfortable rooted to this spot. I am comfortable on pause and in limbo. I am so comfortable, and I want to stay where I am, not venture into terrifying new territories.

  The funny thing is, I thought I wanted to. When Rafe was unattainable, when he was a fantasy, when I never thought he would look twice at me, I thought I would give anything to be standing here with him like this, his brown eyes alight with interest, the chance to be with him—even if only for a night—presented to me like a pot of gold at the end of a very long rainbow.

  But when it was a fantasy, it was safe. Now it comes with complications and inevitable aftermath, and I don’t want to deal with any of that. I never want Rafe to look at me with distrust. I never want him to look at me and see a potential enemy.

  That alone is a terrifying thing to admit, because I also don’t want to commit to throwing half my life away because I have an ill-fated crush on an accomplished criminal.

  The weight of all these secrets and responsibilities weigh on me and I break his gaze, looking down at his bedroom floor.

  Rafe immediately releases one arm so he can position his hand under my chin and tip my face back up to look at him. He lets me watch as his gaze lingers on my lips, and for a brief moment, I think he might do what he didn’t do the other night and kiss me.

  He doesn’t, though.

  Instead, his deep voice light because he trusts me, he tells me, “I don’t, but I do know a solution to that problem. You could tell me.”

  Why yes, Rafe, I could tell you. I could tell you, the man who doesn’t trust women enough to even date one, that I, the woman who has spent four years loving you from afar, the woman who has had to watch you fuck your way through enough women to populate a small country… I could tell you how much power I actually have over you.

  You’d love that, wouldn’t you, Rafe?

  Instead of saying any of that, I catch his wrist and tug it away from my face. “Sociology.”

  With a playfully knowing nod, he says, “Ah, so that’s why you’re still a waitress.”

  I pull a playfully offended face and smack him in the stomach. “Don’t be a jerk.”

  He catches my arm, using it to draw me close like I knew he would. “Can’t help it,” he tells me. “It’s in my blood.”

  He’s so damned beautiful. I love it most when his guards are down and he’s playful.

  This is Hell starts playing in my brain again.

  Why yes, brain, this is Hell. But who knew the flames would feel so good licking at my skin?

  I managed to get away from Rafe by telling him I needed to take a shower. Rafe’s master shower isn’t enclosed, like every other shower I’ve seen in my life. There’s no glass enclosure, no vinyl shower curtain to pull closed. It’s like standing out in the open, completely vulnerable, completely bare, a rain shower falling down on me from overhead. There’s another attachment on the wall with a handheld sprayer, but I don’t touch that one. I’m not even entirely sure how to turn it on.

  Even though I locked the door, I have spent m
y entire time under the luxurious spray jumping at every imagined sound, half-expecting Rafe to surprise me in the shower.

  Caution turned to arousal when that concern solidified in my mind as a fantasy. Even though in reality no one joins me, in my mind I paint pictures of him barging in, of the way he would hold me, the way he would touch me, the way he would kiss me. I already know how he would look at me, and that alone is enough to turn my inside mushy.

  I’m turned on and needy thinking about him, being here in his shower, and even though I know it’s a bad idea when I have to face him in just a few minutes, I can’t help letting my hand drift down between my legs, can’t help touching myself the way he wanted to touch me the other night, and with a hand braced against his shower wall and a moan of sweet release I hope to God he doesn’t hear, I get myself off in Rafe Morelli’s shower.

  I’m weak and shaky not only from my orgasm, but from the adrenaline surge, the feeling of dangerousness, touching myself with Rafe so close. I lean back against the shower wall until I can catch my breath and get my bearings, then I finish washing up, turn off the shower, and go to grab a towel.

  When I do, I notice the bathroom door is cracked open and my heart stalls.

  Oh, my God, no. He couldn’t have heard me, right?

  I didn’t leave the door open. I know I didn’t. I go back in my mind, rewind to the moment I most assuredly double checked, pulling on the door to make sure it wouldn’t drift open. Literally to avoid what is happening right now.

  He wouldn’t violate my privacy that way, would he? He may be comfortable taking his clothes off in front of me, but I’m certainly not, and judging by how many times he has tried to get me out of them, he has to know that.

  My heart pounds irregularly, my stomach rocks, and my lungs don’t work quite right. I get the same feeling of short circuiting that always hits me when Rafe starts touching me, and there’s too much to try to catch and organize, too many thoughts, too many feelings, too many sensations. I need them filed away in an orderly fashion, not hurled at me with the overwhelming violence of an avalanche. I can’t think straight. I turn around three times at the sink, but I can’t remember what I’m doing here.

  I don’t want to accuse him, but now I’m feeling exposed in so many ways. I don’t even pull my clothes on, I just wrap the towel around my body and head for the door. I feel like I’m losing my mind, and I won’t be able to think clearly until I see on his face that the door opened on its own somehow, that he didn’t take it too far, that he respected my damned wishes, regardless of whether or not be believes I mean it.

  I wrench the door open, even though I’m terrified of what I’ll find on the other side. Rafe sits on the edge of his bed with his back to me, but as soon as I throw the door open, he looks back at me over his shoulder.

  I can’t tell. Maybe I don’t want to be able to tell. Maybe I’m just not giving myself enough time, because it’s only been a second, but it feels like an eternity. I was angry when I opened the door, but all the angry words die on my tongue when he stands, rounds the bed, and heads directly for me.

  Oh, fuck.

  I open my mouth and try to find words, but words fail me. My brain has enough sense to tell my legs to move, but since he’s advancing on me, I naturally back up, and all I end up doing is backing myself against a wall.

  “Rafe—”

  His voice is short, clipped as he says simply, “No.”

  I snap my mouth shut, but I’m not sure why. He can’t overrule my objection. I swallow and clutch my towel tighter to my heaving chest, but I can’t convince my legs to move another inch. I remain plastered against his wall like I’m waiting for him, even though all I want to do is run.

  12

  Rafe

  She is fucked now, and she knows it.

  It’s her own goddamned fault, too. I thought I heard her call out for me, I thought she needed to know where something was, then I open the fucking door and see her touching herself in my shower.

  “I don’t think—” she begins to stammer.

  I’m in spitting distance now, so she’s done for. I use one hand to cover her mouth and stop her bullshit objections, the other to take care of the towel. Her brown eyes widen and her death grip tightens when I slip my fingers inside the soft cloth, against her skin.

  “Let go of the goddamned towel, Virginia.”

  She shakes her head vehemently.

  She has the cutest fucking dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose. I don’t know why I never noticed that before. I feel positively feral as my gaze rakes over her face, as this damned woman denies me again for no good reason.

  It’s bullshit, that’s what it is.

  I shake my head at her pointless resistance, then snatch the edge of the towel out of her grasp and yank it open.

  Virginia pushes my hand away from her mouth and grabs for the towel, but I whip it away and toss it as far as I can.

  “Rafe!” Her brown eyes burn with anger and her hands fly up to cover her breasts as she does her best to glare holes into me.

  “I’m going to fuck you,” I tell her, simply. “You’re going to like it.”

  “We agreed that there would be no sex. We both agreed to that.”

  “Due to unforeseen circumstances, our plans have changed,” I inform her.

  Her eyes narrow with renewed anger. “You had no right to open that door. You invaded my privacy.”

  “I’m going to invade much more than that,” I inform her, done with this conversation. Since she’s still playing at modesty and my cock is ready to go exploring, I grab her, lift her, and drag her over to my bed.

  “Oh, my God,” she says, covering her face with her hands. “This is not happening.”

  I let her slide down the front of my body when I get her to my bed. Then, since I assume she won’t climb on herself, I toss her on my bed.

  She can’t skitter away and cover herself at the same time, so she gives up hiding her body and skitters away from me. I’m sure she’s about to run that pretty little mouth again, so I don’t give her time. I shuck my sleep pants and watch as all the words on her tongue die a swift, painful death. Her eyes widen and her jaw drops open at the sight of my cock, fully aroused, and right where she can’t help looking.

  “Oh, shit,” she mutters.

  I smirk, then I climb on the bed with her. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, pussies stretch.”

  Eyeing me even more warily as she crawls backward, she says, “Rafe, wait. We can’t. We really, really can’t. There are like a million reasons—”

  “I accept none of them. You want me, I want you, this is happening.”

  Before she can object further, I grab her and drag her body under mine. She puts up such a fucking fight, I haven’t even had a chance to look at her. Now I remedy that, straddling her hips and pinning her here so I can take a good, long, leisurely look at her body.

  Her long, dark hair is still wet from the shower, and it’s already leaving a stain of dampness on my sheets. Her face is flushed, and she’s covering it with her hands again. That won’t do at all. I grab her wrists, pull them away from her face, and then for the hell of it, pin them over her head. The breath rushes out of her and something sultry darkens her eyes for a moment, but she tries so hard to fight it.

  “Let me go,” she says calmly.

  I shake my head faintly. “Nope.”

  Instead, I continue my perusal. A few more sporadic freckles dot her otherwise creamy skin. There’s one right on her clavicle. It’s like a bullseye, daring me to bite it. I don’t—yet—but I do bend my head and brush my lips against it. Virginia shudders at the touch of my lips against her skin and my blood heats.

  “Are you a responsive fuck, Virginia?” I murmur, kissing my way to the base of the neck. “I sure hope so.”

  “Oh, God,” she says again, a touch more desperate this time.

  I can’t help smiling. “Can you say anything else?”

  “I can say no,” she respon
ds instantly, lifting an eyebrow. “Want me to?”

  “Maybe. You liked when I pinned down your wrists. Do you like to say no, too?”

  The little spurt of fire goes out of her, like she’s ashamed I’m calling her on it. Don’t like that.

  “You can like whatever you like, Virginia. Trust me, I enjoy all sorts of play. We’ll get you hooked up with a safe word before we get into any of that, though.”

  “I don’t have the kind of sex that requires a safe word,” she informs me.

  “You haven’t,” I correct her. “Are you opposed?”

  At this, she hesitates. “Well… no.”

  Good. I can work with that.

  That’s enough talk, though. Virginia can talk like no other, and I know if I let her, she’ll talk me out of fucking her. I’ll have my goddamn sleep pants back on and she’ll be snuggled up under blankets, blissfully unfucked, before I even realize what happened.

  Nope, I’m not letting her run away this time.

  I turn my attention back to her neck, peppering the sensitive column with kisses. Little sounds of pleasure slip out of her as I do. I use my left hand to start at her hip and drag my fingertips lightly up her side while I kiss her neck. She squirms helplessly beneath me, but I keep her pinned here. I still don’t trust her little ass not to try to dart out of the bed.

  My right hand still has her left wrist pinned down, but her right hand is free now that I’m touching her side. Her hand comes to rest tentatively on my shoulder and she gazes up at me. She’s so nervous, if I didn’t know better, I’d think she was a virgin. I don’t know who she’s fucked recently, but I know she fucked the little weasel she lived with years ago, so I know she’s not a virgin. Maybe it’s just because it’s me. Or maybe she’s never had a decent lover, and she’s still shy about her body.

  Just in case it’s that last one, I draw my mouth away from her neck and return to looking at her body. The flush is creeping all the way from her chest to her cheeks, like she’s never been so embarrassed in her life.