Sinning in Vegas

by Sam Mariano

The taste of Rafe’s release in my mouth brings me back to what I’m doing, to my mouth working the wrong dick. Thankfully, Rafe wasn’t paying attention to any inner turmoil I was experiencing; he was too busy getting his dick sucked. I need to get my shit together, fast.

  Rafe climbs off me and drops to the bed beside me, curling an arm around my waist and pulling me snugly against him. “Mm, that was fun.”

  “Yeah,” I murmur, resting my hand on his arm.

  I should have at least tried to muster more enthusiasm. “What’s wrong?” he asks, carefully.

  I sigh heavily, shaking my head. “I don’t know. There’s something wrong with me.”

  “Why is there something wrong with you?”

  Because I think of your enforcer while your cock is in my mouth.

  Can’t say that. “Tell me something,” I say instead.

  “All right.”

  “You have had sex with many women, right? Many of whom you probably still have to see after the fact in a non-sexual capacity.”

  “Sure, sometimes.”

  “How do you shut it off?” I ask. “How do you stop thinking about them like that after you’ve experienced something so intimate together?”

  He’s quiet for a moment, then he says, “Well, to begin with, it helps not to think of it that way. View it more as a transaction—you’re two people who want to get off, so you want the same thing. You find one another attractive, and you can help each other out. You get in, get out, move on. It’s not intimacy; it’s just a mutually pleasurable physical activity. Like jogging together, but more fun.”

  “But what if it isn’t? What if isn’t a cold exchange like that? I’m talking about when you have feelings involved, not… not that.”

  “Well, then you’re generally fucked in a much less fun way,” he says, easily. “Catching feelings is a bad idea unless you’re in a relationship.”

  I don’t know what to ask now.

  Rafe seems to understand. “You’ll get over him, Laurel. It’s still fresh. You’re young and open-hearted, so you let him in much deeper than you should have. You’re paying a higher emotional toll than you should have to, but it won’t go on forever.”

  This is so weird. Barely a minute after exchanging our own intimacies, curled up in his embrace, and talking about the heartache I’m feeling over someone else.

  “I think you’ll ruin me if I go with you,” I tell him honestly.

  He says nothing for a long while, then his hand drifts down my torso and he splays it over my abdomen. “I think I already have.”

  6

  Laurel

  My phone buzzes for what seems like the millionth time since touching down at the airport in Nevada. My sister has been a good sport, but she’s at her wit’s end.

  I completely get it. I had to ask her to buy me a plane ticket home after I landed in Chicago because I was out of money, and then this morning I had to text her and tell her not to come to pick me up at the airport, because I wasn’t ready to leave Chicago.

  Her text messages are beginning to look like missives from an angry sailor.

  I sigh, turning the phone face-down in my lap and trying to ignore the guilt. I look out the car window as we pass the strip, and Rafe’s hand settles casually on my thigh.

  “Everything all right?” he asks.

  I tear my gaze from the buildings passing by and look over at him. “It’s Carly again. She doesn’t understand what’s going on. I’m going to have to tell her the truth before she loses her mind. If we’re going to go through with this, there’s no reason to keep lying to her.”

  Rafe nods his agreement. “We’ll call her tomorrow and clue her in.”

  That sounds good. A tiny weight falls off my shoulders. No, it’s not done, but Rafe has said it will be, so I don’t have to keep thinking about it. Since I have so much else on my mind, that’s a good thing.

  “I have a surprise for you when we get home,” he tells me.

  “You do? I thought I deserved punishment, not surprises,” I tease.

  His eyes are warm, even as he slides me a dry look. “You deserve lots of punishment, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to give you nice things from time to time. Once you learn your place, you’ll get plenty more nice things.”

  “Hmph. Learn my place.”

  Now he smirks, enjoying getting a rise out of me—even if just a little one. “I have a lot of work to do tonight, so unless you want to tag along, you’ll have to entertain yourself. You can unpack whatever Mia sent with you and Juanita will make you dinner.”

  I perk up. “I’m allowed to tag along?”

  Rafe nods. “For some of it. I have a couple errands to run first, so I’ll have to go out without you this afternoon, but this evening when I have to go to the casino you can come if you want to. Afterward, we’ll grab dinner and finish off the night at one of my favorite clubs.”

  “All right, I’ll tag along.”

  “Great. You can go shopping this afternoon then, pick out a dress. Unfortunately, I don’t have a closet full of women’s clothing for you to raid.”

  He had to go and bring up Sin, didn’t he? I’ve been stressing enough all morning about the possibility of seeing him today. I hoped Rafe would warn me one way or another, but he hasn’t mentioned Sin even indirectly before now. Initially, I was afraid it would be Sin who picked us up at the airport, but it turned out Rafe’s car was there, so we didn’t need anyone to drive us. Now I’m wondering if Sin will be at the club later.

  I just need to get the first sighting over with, that’s all. I barely slept all night, despite the warm body curled up with me or the soft, comfortable mattress we were sleeping on. Instead, I wallowed in Sin some more, then around the time the sun came up, concluded that this craving is all in my head. I’m making more of it than I need to because I am less experienced with this sort of thing. Look at Rafe—after I had sex with him, I let myself believe I needed to come to Las Vegas to tell him I was pregnant, just on the off chance he’d be romantic instead of practical and tell me to keep it. Even if those feelings weren’t like these, even though I never felt heartache with Rafe, I felt enough fondness to want to see him again.

  For whatever reason, it’s just more intense this time. I don’t know why. Maybe because of raging pregnancy hormones?

  I should probably stop blaming the baby for everything and take some responsibility. I have made a mess of my life, and I have no idea if I’m on track to cleaning it up or making it worse. Logic tells me I should have broken free of this twisted web and hauled ass back to Connecticut. Some other demented part of me said, “Eh, let’s see where this goes” and apparently I listened to that crazy bitch instead.

  As much as I’m dreading it, I want to see Sin again. I’m hoping against hope that when he appears, I will be fine. Whatever spell I was under will be broken, and relief will pour through me. No longer his captive, I will be free to move on with my life—whether that means giving Rafe a fair shot, heading back to Chicago to let Mia help me out with single parenting, or going home to Carly in Connecticut. Wherever I go from here, I will be able to go without this albatross around my neck. Without the feeling that I’m missing a part of myself, that I left it chained to Sin’s bed and I need to go back for it.

  The desire to sink to my knees will dissipate, and whatever fever has struck me will suddenly be cured.

  I crave wellness, and I don’t think I can have it again until I face my demon. Rafe is not my demon; Sin is.

  Rafe parks the car in his driveway. This place shouldn’t even feel vaguely comfortable to me, but I’ve been without a home of my own for so long at this point, bounced around from place to place, I’m pretty much open to whatever. Rafe’s house is big and gorgeous—though, not as big as the one back in Chicago. Rafe doesn’t have a bunch of people living under this roof, though. It’s just him, and now I guess me.

  He unlocks the front door and thrusts it open, gesturing for me to go inside first. He trails behind with a s
uitcase. I didn’t have a suitcase with me, but before Mia would let us leave, she gave me one of hers, filled with clothing. Some gender-neutral baby clothing none of hers got a chance to wear with tags still on, the maternity stuff she bought for me, prenatal vitamins when she found out I wasn’t taking any, and various other things she told me I needed.

  This kid needs a closet already, and it has barely made the transition from embryo to fetus.

  We head left into his living room, and I halt, gasping, as I see my surprise.

  The whole set of blue, leather-bound Brontë books I yearned for at the rare bookstore are lined up on Rafe’s coffee table. I turn around, eyes wide. “The Brontë books?”

  “Surprise,” he says, smiling warmly.

  I throw my arms around his neck and give him a big hug for that one. “Holy hell, Rafe. Thirteen thousand dollars worth of books isn’t a surprise, it’s… I don’t know what, but it’s a step beyond a surprise.”

  His arms encircle my body and he gives me a firm hug back, but now all I want to do is look at my presents. Breaking away, I rush over to the coffee table and drop to my knees, this time for something unquestionably worthy—books.

  I grab The Professor first and flip it open, running reverent fingers over the title page. If he notices, Rafe will probably think I’m a freak, but I don’t even care; I lean in and smell the pages, closing my eyes as I breathe in their aroma.

  Of course, he notices.

  “My God, you are a nerd,” Rafe states, clearly amused, as he drops onto the couch and leans back to watch me.

  “It’s a great smell.” I hold open the book like an offering. “Take a whiff, you’ll see.”

  Folding his arms over his broad chest, he shakes his head. “I’m all right.”

  I explore the books for a few more minutes, wondering that I actually own them. Actually, I’m not sure I do own them. More likely, as long as things work out with Rafe, I own them. I’m sure if I leave, the books don’t leave with me.

  Still, I never dreamed I would own these under any circumstances when we looked at them that day, and I’m feeling grateful. So I crawl around the coffee table, noting the way Rafe’s amber eyes warm, and I climb up on his lap. I straddle him like I did many moons ago, bracing my hands on his shoulders. Then I lean in and brush my lips against his. One of his hands moves around to the small of my back, the other settling on my hip and he pulls me closer. I go easily, closing my eyes and letting myself enjoy the moment of tenderness.

  As many doubts as I still have, I really don’t want to sabotage this before we even have a chance to take off. Rafe and I have never been a couple before; we’ve never invested in one another. As recently as a week ago, I didn’t even know who Sin was, and look how I felt for him by the end of it all.

  I’m sure I can do that with Rafe too, but only if I let it happen. Seeing as I’m pregnant with his baby, I might as well give it a shot.

  “Thank you,” I say again, when I pull back.

  “You are welcome,” he assures me. “You’ll have to check out the library and let me know if there are any more unacceptable missing pieces. Make me a wishlist, and maybe you’ll get more.”

  “Mm, I like book gifts,” I tell him, leaning my head on his shoulder. “We should start buying baby books. We could go to the bookstore and pick out one every week, that way when the baby is born, we’ll already have a little library going.”

  “We could do that.”

  I don’t know what kind of parents we’re going to be with our mish-mashed lifestyles. I don’t know what kind of life we’ll have, what kind of love we’ll foster between us. Right now so much is unknown, and as positive as I want to be, I can’t shake the feeling of there being insurmountable barriers between us and happiness.

  I tell myself it’s because this is new, and it probably is. I haven’t been in a relationship with Rafe before, so literally everything remains to be seen. We took a few steps forward, a couple giant leaps back, and then—oh, yeah—there’s the minor complication of my falling for someone else.

  I swear to myself if I could fall for Sin in four days, I can fall for Rafe…eventually. After I see Sin and I’m okay. After my heart heals and is willing to open up again.

  It’s not open right now, and I feel guilty for that. Even though I realize logically I don’t owe Rafe anything, I recognize that he’s making an effort. Not with the books, but by dragging me here in the first place. By wanting a relationship with me when he just told me last night he hasn’t had one since he got his heart broken.

  Most of all, I don’t want to be the next person he lets in, and also the next person to ding up his heart. If I could give my heart to him to take care of, maybe I would, but I don’t possess it just yet. The damn thing is still cuffed to a bed across town, and I can only hope I get it back soon.

  7

  Rafe

  It’s going to be a long, probably unpleasant day, so I figured I may as well dive right into the deep end. I’m sitting in my car, looking at the video call I just made as it connects. I called from a blocked number, so I wasn’t sure she would even answer, but my screen suddenly fills up with a giant blonde, messy bun and the pretty face of Carly Price—well, Carly Morelli, I guess, now that she’s married. Her face loses some of the pretty and turns thunderous instead when she see me.

  I offer an obnoxiously charming smile. “Hi, Carly.”

  Her blue eyes narrow. “Satan.”

  My grin widens. She fucking hates me. I love it.

  Skipping straight to the point, she asks, “Do you have my sister?”

  “I do.”

  Slamming her fist down on some hard surface beneath her, she says, “I fucking knew it.”

  “That’s why I’m calling, obviously.”

  “Oh, it wasn’t for our weekly book club?” she asks sarcastically.

  These Price women are not nearly as intimidated by me as they should be. Since there’s no way this goes well anyway, I don’t waste time greasing the wheels. “Laurel is going to call you tomorrow with some news you’re not going to be happy about, and I’m calling ahead to let you know. This way you can process today and adjust your response tomorrow. Regardless of how you feel about it, tomorrow when your sister calls you with this news, you’re going to be happy for her. For us. You’re going to treat it like good news, and offer your support.”

  Dread has already transformed her face. “What have you done?”

  “Laurel is pregnant.”

  Her face goes blank, then fills up with horror. Carly buries her face in her hands, like I’ve delivered news of a death instead of an impending birth. It’s insulting, but I get it. Given who I am, this is sort of a death—the death of whatever life Laurel might have known before. Where once she may have had normalcy, now she will be forever tied to me. Her fate permanently entwined with mine.

  I took over the empire Carly’s husband should have inherited, and now Laurel will be at my side. From a traditional standpoint, it’s hard to see it going any other way now that she’s having my kid. Whether ours is a love for the ages or a marriage of convenience remains to be seen, but she is mine, either way. Even without understanding that part, this is a life Carly didn’t want to deal with herself, let alone inflict upon her little sister.

  I understand all that from an objective standpoint, but this is all I’ve ever known. It doesn’t seem so bad to me. I think I’m offering Laurel a pretty sweet deal, as a matter of fact. Plenty of women before her have tried—and failed—to earn the position she gets to fall right into.

  “This can’t be happening,” Carly says to herself. “This cannot be happening.”

  “Now, she’s terrified to tell you,” I add, once I’ve given Carly a minute and she’s verbal again. “On top of everything else that’s stressful for her right now, that’s the big one. She knows you don’t like me. She doesn’t think you’ll be happy that she’s pregnant by anyone, least of all by me.”

  Returning her attention to me, she gl
ares. “Of course I’m not happy she’s pregnant. She is 19-years-old, you son of a bitch. She has her whole life ahead of her—a life that will not include you, I’ll tell you that right now. No fucking way. No way is my sister getting pulled into the torrential downpour of fuckery that is your family. Nope. Fuck this. I’m calling her right now. This ends today.”

  “I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” I advise her. “See, this is why I called ahead of time, so we could iron out these little wrinkles. Today you can vent your anger at me—I can take it. But tomorrow when Laurel calls, you’re going to respond with something more like excitement. You’re going to be surprised, sure, but ultimately happy. Tap into your love for babies. Are hookers wired with that, or…?”

  “Fuck you. At least I got paid. You whore around for free.” Her eyes widen and she shoots a look over her shoulder. Probably lost her cool and forgot about Vince. He must not be in the room, because beneath her fury, she looks faintly relieved when she looks back at me. “This is not happening,” she tells me.

  “It is happening. It’s already done. I’m letting you know my expectations of you, and I know you’re smart enough not to disappoint me.”

  “Oh, you know that, do you?” she asks, sarcastically. “Funny, I’m not so sure I know that.”

  “Well, in the event you’ve forgotten the breadth of my reach, let me remind you that Mateo told me all about your past. I know Laurel has no idea what you resorted to in order to support her, but imagine how devastated she would be if she did.”

  Eyes narrowed with more than dislike, Carly says, “You don’t give a damn about my sister, do you?”

  Ignoring her, I go on. “For that matter, I would hate to have to tell Vince your secrets. Not the whoring part, obviously. The working for Mateo part. Much worse than whoring to him, don’t you think?”

  Carly closes her eyes and covers her mouth with one hand, taking a breath. She knows I have her cornered. In an abstract way, she has known that since she came to Vegas and I let her know that I have access to all her dirtiest secrets. Didn’t think I’d actually need to use them, just liked fucking with her. Now I’m pretty fucking relieved to have dirt on her. I can collapse her whole life with just a few whispers, and she knows it.