Submitting in Vegas: (Vegas Morellis, #3)

by Sam Mariano

  “What was that?” Rafe asks.

  I freeze, thinking he means everything Giordano just said. “What?”

  Eyebrows rising, he nods at the cash register. “I didn’t think Giordano liked anyone, but you two are thick as thieves.”

  Shrugging, I put Rafe’s plate of salad down in front of him. “People tend to like you more when you’re nice to them than when you prey on them and shake them down.”

  His lips curve up faintly. “Go figure.”

  I make a non-committal noise and take my seat across from him, scooting in and opening my rolled napkin full of plasticware.

  Unrolling his own set of utensils and drawing out a flimsy plastic knife, he advises me, “If I were you, tesorino,” he says a touch mockingly, “I’d lose your new anti-predator attitude. You’re not straddling a line anymore; you’re married to the mob now. You gave up your chance to be one of the good guys. Now you’re one of us.”

  I’ll never be one of you.

  I don’t say it. I don’t even know where the words come from, but they’re alarming, to say the least. I guess if I didn’t have anti-mob roots to begin with, I would have never put myself at such risk, or spent years preparing myself for a career to take them down. It was my admiration for Rafe that got in the way, that muddled my loyalties, and I’m struggling with that right now.

  When I was his waitress, I loved him. Now that I’m his wife, I’m struggling to even be on his side.

  Life is weird.

  Placing the striped pink bag on Rafe’s neatly made bed, I’m reminded that while my new husband may be a bastard, he’s a sexy bastard. His strong arms wrap around my waist from behind, yanking me back against his hard body. Heat rolls off of him in waves and warms me, relaxing my body even while my mind is torn.

  He’s not wearing his jacket or dress shirt anymore, so his strong arms are bare for me to ogle. I love Rafe’s arms. I love the way he moves, the way he holds me. I love the feel of his body pressed against me from behind, the tickle of his breath on my neck as he peeks over my shoulder.

  “What kind of goodies did Laurel buy me?”

  I crack a smile at the lilt of playfulness in his tone. “She bought them for me, not you.”

  He cups my breast through my dress. “Sure she did.”

  I lift the white, lace bra and panties out of the bag and hold them up to show him. “White’s not really your color,” I advise him.

  “No,” he answers, his tone wry. “You’re the angel in this pairing. Ask anyone.”

  I sigh, holding the underwear against my chest and leaning my head back against him. “You’re not really jealous of an old man, are you?”

  “I’m not jealous of anyone,” he informs me. “Just possessive of what’s mine, that’s all.” Taking a step back, he catches the zipper on the back of my dress. “Let’s get this funeral garb off. I want to see you in these.”

  Once my dress is unzipped and gaping open, I head to the bathroom so I can change. Rafe bringing up his possessiveness, even in jest, reminds me of Felix. When my phone was given back to me without ceremony—left on the nightstand by Rafe’s bed for me to find when I woke up this morning and he was already gone—I immediately checked for any new messages, but the contents of my phone had been more or less cleared. I was only sure it was still my phone—and not a replacement—because there’s a tiny crack on the bottom right corner of my screen, and it’s still there. All of my phone numbers, text messages, photos, and apps were wiped. Adrian probably restored the damn thing to factory settings.

  I didn’t feel like dealing with it so I didn’t put any effort into re-downloading apps today, but I checked it every now and then to see if Felix might have reached out again after not hearing from me last night.

  He didn’t, and that worries me. Maybe the reason he didn’t reach out is because he couldn’t.

  I check my reflection in the big mirror, adjusting the line of the panties across my hips, along my ass. My hair is down, the way Rafe likes. I have my purse with me, so I unzip it and draw out my lip balm, running it across my lips.

  Perfect.

  I guess I’ll need to move all my toiletries into this bathroom. Even though I can’t imagine Rafe being the sort of man who wants his wife to sleep in a separate room, I thought I might get my own room for my stuff, so Rafe could keep his space his own. When I brought it up at dinner, the blank look he gave me led me to other conclusions.

  For now, I just pull my phone out of my purse and push my bag back along the wall, so it’s out of the way. Then I turn and head back to the bedroom.

  I expect to see Rafe stripped down when I get back to the bedroom, so I can’t help frowning when I see instead he has changed into black slacks and put on a black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, no jacket.

  I shift uncertainly and wait for him to turn and notice me. He does, his warm gaze raking over my body before returning to my face. “Beautiful.”

  “Are we going somewhere?” I ask.

  “I am,” he says simply.

  “I thought… I mean, it’s technically our wedding night.”

  “Duty calls,” he informs me.

  “Oh. Okay. Yeah. Will you be long, do you think?”

  “I wouldn’t wait up,” he advises me, before slipping back into his closet.

  A bit numbly, I take a seat on the edge of the bed and stare at his closet door. He comes back out a moment later with new shoes and he’s fastening a watch on his wrist.

  He looks like he’s going out, not going to work. I guess he does dress nicely whether he’s working or playing, but the weight in my gut feels like fear and suspicion joined together in a really ugly marriage.

  Don’t do this, Rafe. Don’t make me hate you.

  It wouldn’t be the first time I said it today, so I don’t speak the words. He probably is just going to work. Yesterday was a mess, so it’s feasible that he has fires to put out. Fires that demand he change clothes.

  It’s not the end of the world. It’s barely even a real wedding night. At least I’ll have time to move my toiletries to the bathroom, I guess.

  He heads for the bedroom door to leave. I feel a sudden sense of urgency, so I rise and follow him. “Rafe.”

  He turns back to see what I want, and I catch him off-guard, throwing my arms around his neck and sinking against him. His arms slowly move around my body and he pulls me tightly against his chest. He takes control of the kiss, his tongue sweeping into my mouth and overpowering mine. My tummy tightens with arousal and my heart rate picks up as his hand slides lower and he grabs my ass.

  We remain tangled together for a long moment, kissing and touching, but then he pulls back. His questioning gaze sweeps over me and I reach a hand up, caressing the side of his face.

  “I love you,” I tell him quietly, like it’s a secret.

  The corner of his mouth tugs up faintly, but he looks more pensive than anything. “I hope so.”

  It’s a strange response, but it has been a strange day, and clearly it’s going to be a strange night. I let him go and pull back, looking over him one more time, memorizing him just in case this is the last time. Just in case his self-destructive behaviors overpower whatever feelings he does have for me and ruin everything.

  In case this is the last time I ever like him, I want to remember it.

  38

  Virginia

  There are aspects of married life I don’t hate, but overall, I’m not settling into it as well as one might hope to. It has been a long week, and I have slept with my husband twice. And when I say slept with, I do mean slept. I don’t know where he goes at night, and the words he spoke to me when we were friends echo in my head, his fears about ending up in a committed relationship, but rebuilding his parents’ bad marriage. People routinely turn into what they fear becoming the most, and for Rafe, that might mean becoming his dad. For both our sakes, I hope not, but it really feels like he’s actively avoiding me—not just avoiding fucking me, but avoiding me, period. />
  Naturally, that feeds into all my darkest fears.

  Today I do not feel frazzled. After drinking too much of the free champagne the bridal shop offers and snuggling with Nicky, I’m feeling much better.

  Today is Sunday, and the first time I’ve seen Laurel since the ceremony. Tonight is family dinner, but before that we had to do a little shopping. For one thing, Rafe informed me I needed to get some dresses and skirts so I have outfits for family dinner each week. Secondly, we had to stop at the bridal shop so we could try on our dresses for Laurel’s wedding and see if they need more alterations. I’ve already tried on my bridesmaid dress, now I’m waiting for her. Skylar is at the house with Sin and Rafe, but I appreciate Nicky time more than Rafe does anyway, so he can just wait.

  Rubbing Nicky’s fingers, I tell him warmly, “You’re just the most wonderful thing your father has ever done, aren’t you?”

  He grins up at me and shakes his fist.

  “You wanna bop him on the nose? Me too. We’re gonna serve him dinner instead. Life is weird, baby boy. Weird, weird, weird.”

  He grins wider, his perfect little lips glistening with slobber. I grab the cloth and preemptively wipe it so it doesn’t get all over everything.

  “I love you, cutie pie,” I tell him. He squeals at me and blows raspberries in response.

  From behind the closed curtain of the dressing room, Laurel calls, “All right, I’m coming out.”

  “We’re ready,” I assure her, propping Nicholas up so he can see her, too. “You wanna see your mommy in her pretty dress?”

  He slobber-grins and tries to eat his fist. I take it as a yes.

  The bridal consultant pulls back the curtain and reveals Laurel, beaming as she slowly makes her way toward us. Yards and yards of white chiffon swathe around her body, a long train trailing behind her. Breastfeeding has plumped her boobs up a little, so they look incredible with the tastefully blinged out sweetheart neckline. The dress is strapless and ruched at the butt with pretty laces up the back.

  She tries to spin around, but there’s a lot of dress, and not a whole lot of room. “So, what do you think?” she asks.

  “I think you look absolutely gorgeous,” I tell her.

  “Yeah?” she questions, looking at her reflection in the mirror.

  “Sin’s eyes are going to pop right out of his head, no question,” I assure her.

  She grins, peeking back at me over her shoulder. “I kind of love it. It’s the prettiest dress I’ve ever seen.”

  “You’re the prettiest bride I’ve ever seen.” I shift Nicky to the crook of my arm and draw out my cell phone. “Here, let me get a picture for you to send Carly.”

  I stand up and take a few pictures of her in just the dress, then the consultant puts the veil on her so we can see her whole bridal look. Laurel can’t stop smiling, and I’m so, so happy for her. I can’t help feeling a little pinch of jealousy, though. I would have loved to wear a pretty wedding dress and veil, to walk down the aisle to my awestruck groom and dance the night away in his strong arms. Instead, I had a black dress, a lawyer/officant, and a casino lobby waterfall.

  Oh well, I guess at least I got the handsome prince? The prince who stays out all hours of the night and won’t fuck me. Maybe I should have gone for the general. I laugh at my own thoughts of my birthday fairytale and Laurel looks at me, faintly questioning.

  “What are you laughing about?”

  “Oh, nothing you’d find funny. You look gorgeous, Laurel. Seriously, so freaking pretty, I can’t even handle it.”

  She lights up again and admires her wedding dress some more before pulling the curtain shut so she can change out of the dress while I gossip with Nicky and finish my glass of champagne.

  The champagne had me feeling good but I was afraid I would sober up, so when we get back to the house, I send Laurel off to find the men, and I go to the wine room. It’s closing in on evening, so I’m allowed to dip into the wine. Plus, why the hell not? Rafe literally has a whole room of wine, so someone should drink it.

  I crack it open and pour myself a glass in the kitchen. After finishing about half of it, I meander up to the bedroom where I dropped several bags full of various items of clothing and shoes. I picked out a pretty blue satin top and tulle skirt outfit for dinner tonight that reminded me of a modern Cinderella look, so I dig it out and slip the skirt it on. A pair of sky blue, low-heeled sandals finish the look, but as I slide my arms into the shirt and pull the back together, I realize it zips from bottom to top, and I cannot get dressed in this damn thing by myself.

  “Nuts,” I mutter.

  I consider texting Rafe and asking him to come zip me up, but then I reconsider. Everyone in this house has seen me in a bra and panties, thanks to my dear husband (and trying on dresses with Laurel), so I leave the back of my dress gaping open and wander downstairs to find either a person to zip me up, or a wine glass—whichever I happen across first.

  I happen across the wine glass first. While I’m standing at the sink drinking my wine without a care in the world, I hear the deliberate patter of loafers against the ground, and I recognize the sound of Rafe’s footfall.

  Merrily, I glance at him over my shoulder. “Good evening, husband.”

  His lips curve up with faint amusement, his gaze drifting around and putting together the pieces. “Are you day drinking?” he inquires.

  “It’s evening,” I inform him. “We’ll be starting dinner soon.”

  “Naked?” he asks, walking up behind me, pulling the two ends of my top together, and sliding the zipper up.

  “No, I was just waiting for someone to find me and help me with that,” I tell him, before taking another sip of wine. “Turns out you have to be double-jointed to wear this shirt without assistance. I had Laurel at the store, so I wasn’t really thinking about it.”

  “Lucky it was me,” he says lightly. “Imagine if Sin had been the one to find you.”

  “Who cares if it would have been?” I murmur.

  He runs a finger along the neckline of my shirt. “You want Sin to see you in your pretty white bra?”

  “Someone might as well enjoy looking at it,” I answer slickly. “He paid for it, anyway. Maybe Sin deserves a bonus.”

  I am 100,000% bullshitting (Laurel would murder me, for real) and I don’t actually expect it to ruffle any of his feathers, but Rafe grabs my hips and spins me around, backing me against the counter and looking down at me, his eyes dark with annoyance.

  “Yeah?” he asks, his tone deceptively light. “You’d rather share Sin with Laurel than be mine, huh?”

  I’ve had just enough wine and aggravation to offer him a sweet smile and tell him, “Even sharing, I bet Sin would fuck me more than you do.”

  Every last trace of amusement evaporates. Rafe grabs my wrist and drags me through several rooms, up the stairs, and through the hallway until we make it back to our bedroom. I’m a little winded—and a little tipsy—when he slams the door shut, backs me up, and shoves me on the bed.

  My blood warms with anticipation and I scoot back on my elbows. “Was it something I said?” I joke.

  Not at all in the mood for jokes, apparently, he commands, “Roll over and grab a pillow.”

  “Why do I need a pillow?”

  “To hold onto,” he answers, unbuckling his belt and drawing it off.

  Oh, shit.

  “Hold on, let’s hit the brakes,” I tell him, skittering back to my side of the bed.

  Rafe shakes his head. “It seems my pretty little wife is hard up for some cock. It also seems like she’s in desperate need of a lesson in how to talk to her husband. Lucky for you, I can fix both problems right now.” Folding the belt and running his palm over the smooth leather, he points at the bed. “Tummy down, sweetheart. Pull your skirt up and show me that pretty little ass. I’ll leave you a few stripes of red, stinging skin to help you remember your manners.”

  “How much is this going to hurt?” I ask, eyeing up the belt. “Weren’t we
supposed to start with the flogger? We definitely discussed starting out with the flogger.”

  “Yes, but then you joked about wanting Sin’s cock, and now we’re going to work with what we have handy. Tummy down, now. I won’t tell you again.”

  “Joked,” I say, eyes wide. “It was a joke.”

  Rafe drops the belt, grabs my ankles, and positions me on the bed the way he wants me, since I didn’t do it myself. “When your ass stings every time you take a seat tonight, we’ll see how funny you find that joke in hindsight.”

  “Rafe,” I object, hugging the pillow as he bunches my skirt up around my waist. I feel the cool air on my ass, and I feel so exposed.

  “Virginia,” he says, his tone much more even than mine. “Who do you belong to?”

  I huff, staring at the bedspread and clutching the pillow tighter. “You.”

  “That’s right, me. Whose is the only cock you get to lust after for the rest of your days?”

  “Yours.”

  The bed sinks as he climbs on his knees onto the bed with me, his hand caressing one lace-covered ass cheek, then the other. “That’s right,” he says, his voice like a reward. “It’s your favorite anyway, isn’t it?”

  I crack a faint smile. “It is.”

  Since that last bit was light-hearted enough, I jump at the feel of cool leather suddenly sliding across my ass. My amusement falters, because I don’t know what to expect. Logically, I knew what Rafe was into, but I have no idea if I can be into it, too. If we were getting married for the right reasons, we would have explored his kinks together to make sure I could satisfy him beforehand, but now here I am, his vanilla wife, cautious of just his belt. The man has a whole sex room. I’m so far out of my depths, here.

  “Um, aren’t we supposed to have a safe word?” I inquire.

  “Sure,” he says, straddling my ass and reaching around to firmly cup his hand under my chin, then tug me back like a bow. “Does my delicate little wife need a safe word for a simple spanking? I’m not sure you could hang with Sin, sweetheart.”