Submitting in Vegas

by Sam Mariano

  I nod my head. “I sure am.”

  “Oh, thank fuck. No offense,” he adds.

  I smile. “None taken. I’m clean, too. Assuming you are as well, you don’t have to use condoms with me.”

  “I normally use condoms regardless. I’m not sure what the hell happened to my head last time; I didn’t even ask first.”

  “You know I always take care of your needs,” I offer lightly. “Instinctively, you probably knew I’d make sure you couldn’t knock me up.”

  “Yeah, you are pretty reliable, aren’t you?” he remarks fondly, tightening his arm around me.

  I close my eyes, worn out, and nod my head. “Mm hmm.”

  “I like that, too.”

  I smile sleepily. “I bet you do.”

  “Do you prefer one way or the other? I’m generally more comfortable using condoms, but I suppose I can forego them if you prefer it that way.”

  “I do. I loved the way it felt with you inside me, skin to skin. I believe I adequately conveyed my appreciation of your dick last time.”

  Chuckling warmly, he says, “Yes, very adequately.”

  “I still lowkey think we should make sure Sin isn’t holding Laurel against her will. I know they make a pretty convincing show of being a happy family, but, I mean… does he also have a magical dick? Do lots of men have these, and I just haven’t had enough sex to know? Have I only had unskilled sex partners with unimpressive penises? I don’t understand.”

  “Well, Laurel never fucked me again once she met Sin,” he explains. “Maybe she forgot.”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s not something you can forget.”

  “Sexual incompatibility wasn’t our problem,” he adds. “Sin’s personality was more suited to hers. She didn’t like to go out, she was more of a homebody, and so is he. Obviously they both wanted kids. She hated the fact that other women regularly paid attention to me, and Sin is the epitome of a one-woman man. No measure of great orgasms can fill the chasm of that kind of incompatibility.”

  I slide him a look. “I know you’re not going to pretend that female attention was completely one-sided. Remember Marlena the moron?”

  He shrugs. “Like you said before, we just didn’t fit.”

  “I know you didn’t, but… the sex.”

  “Sex isn’t that good with someone you don’t like. The fact that you and I genuinely like one another probably made the sex that much better. By the end of our attempt at dating, I made Laurel start to dislike me. She’s over it now, but only because I let go. I couldn’t meet Laurel’s emotional needs, and half-assing it only made things worse. I wouldn’t have made her happy, no matter how good the sex might have been.”

  Well, he makes me happy. I won’t say that and risk freaking him out, but I’m ridiculously happy. Happier than I’ve ever been. It may be illegal in some states to be this happy.

  “Well, this is definitely going down in the record books as my favorite Christmas Eve to date. I wasn’t completely sure I was making the right decision by not going home for Christmas, but now I’m convinced.”

  I remain snuggled close, but Rafe props himself up on one arm so he can watch me. “Do you normally go home for Christmas?”

  I nod my head. “Yep. I usually spend Christmas with my mom. I told her I couldn’t afford to make the trip this year, but really, I just didn’t feel like arguing with her for two days.”

  “Do you and your mom fight a lot?”

  “No, not a lot. Right now we’re just having an obnoxious disagreement about the life choices I’m making—or, not making, as the case may be.”

  “What kinds of life decisions?”

  “My career decisions, specifically. I’ve racked up quite a bit of student loan debt, but when I graduated, I said I wanted to take a year off from school so I could work more and pay them down, then I would start this year-long program to get a specialized master’s degree. I told her it would open up more—and maybe better—job opportunities.”

  Rafe nods. “Okay, that sounds sensible.”

  “It does. The problem is, I was supposed to start that program several months ago, so I think she’s starting to suspect I’m stalling, and she doesn’t understand why. It’s not like her questions are unfounded, I just don’t feel like dealing with them.”

  “So, why didn’t you start the program?” he asks.

  “A few reasons. Mostly, before I sink myself $35,000 deeper in debt, I need to decide if I actually want to do it. I’m already in so much debt from my last degree, I can’t really afford to go back to school just for fun. If I’m going to invest more money, I need to be reasonably sure I’ll use the degree.”

  “What’s the decision depending on?”

  More things than I can explain to him. I segment out the reasons I can’t share with him, and go with the next most relevant.

  “Positions of this type are fairly limited, and I don’t exactly have a passion for that field,” I explain. “There’s really only one place I’d be interested in working, where it would feel personally rewarding and not just like a hard-earned paycheck, but even if I do land that job, that will forever close the door on the career I originally invested all that time and money preparing myself for.”

  “Sounds complicated.”

  I nod my head. “So, for now, I’m sticking with the restaurant, but my mom doesn’t understand why. To the outside world, it’s an easy decision. There are essentially two paths I could take that would lead to personal success. One would even be pretty good for the world. The other, not so much, but it would be good for my bank account. Instead of making a choice, I’m currently sitting down in the middle of the road with my hands over my ears, insisting, ‘you can’t make me!’”

  Rafe nods slowly in consideration. “Passion vs. paycheck. A classic conundrum.”

  It’s a little more complicated than that for me, but since I can’t explain that, I nod my head. That’s close enough for him to understand my struggle. “Yeah, so… I didn’t feel like fighting about it. Figured I would stay home and buy myself one more year. Maybe by next year, Trent will finally get himself fired and I’ll at least be managing the restaurant,” I joke.

  His lips curve up faintly. “Do you want to manage the restaurant? I’m sure I could find a reason to fire Trent.”

  “No, I don’t want to cost someone their livelihood. I was joking. Mostly. If he ever quits, you should definitely make me the manager. I would do a much better job than he does.”

  “If I promote you, though, who will bring me my dinner?” he half-jokes.

  I smile and run my hand over his chiseled abdomen. “I’ll always bring you your dinner.”

  “Always, huh?”

  I nod my head. “Even if they make me queen. I’ll have a private jet fly me back at dinner time just so you never have to worry about your meal getting fucked up. Any ordinary waitress might make the horrific mistake of not bringing you a refill before your glass empties, and then you might get a bite on your fork and realize you don’t have anything to wash it down with. You’d have to wait for her to notice, then wait again while she went and filled your glass. I bet she’d take her time, too.”

  Shaking his head in mock disgust, Rafe says, “The audacity.”

  “Mm hmm. I would never inflict such a fate on you.”

  Rafe smiles and leans down, brushing his lips across mine. “I’ll have to see about getting you a raise. I could make you head waitress. It’s not a position I’ve ever officially staffed, but I could make one and give it to you so I could pay you more.”

  “I don’t want special treatment,” I say, guiltily.

  “Nah, that’s goodie goodie talk. This is the real world. Take special treatment where you can get it. You should be the head waitress, anyway. You’re the best one there and the owner’s personal favorite. I’ll look into it after Christmas.”

  Well, that would give me a valid reason to weigh in on some of the stuff Trent doesn’t do well. In the end, putting me in a positio
n with more responsibility would benefit Rafe. Everyone listens to me at the restaurant anyway, so it probably wouldn’t be unfair to accept commensurate pay for the effort I put in. “All right, if you insist,” I decide.

  “Or I could just give you a different job altogether,” he adds, his large hand sliding around my waist, down my side, and around the curve of my ass. He gives it a squeeze. “I’ve had thoughts of making you my maid.”

  “Oh, have you? I think you just want to see me in a maid uniform,” I tell him.

  “Entirely possible. But I could double your salary, and then your only job would be taking care of me.”

  “I’ll do that for free,” I volunteer, hooking my leg around his as he moves on top of me. His lips move across my jawline and I sigh with pleasure.

  We kiss for a little while and my blood starts to heat again. His must, too, because he pulls back and tells me, “We should try to get a couple more hours of sleep.”

  “We’re going to be so tired in the morning.”

  “You’ve probably lost your spot on the nice list for letting me fuck you. All you’re getting is coal now.”

  “Probably,” I agree. “I regret nothing.”

  “Yet,” he says, lightly.

  I widen my eyes at him, thinking he means I probably made a mistake sleeping with him.

  Then he corrects my thoughts when he follows it up with, “We’ll see how you feel when you have to sit down tomorrow. I fully intend to fuck you again before we leave for Sin’s house in the morning.”

  Oh, okay, he meant I’ll be sorry because of physical discomfort, not because of the inevitable heartache that’s bound to follow this encounter. Good, good. I can work with that. “You can fuck me until I’m sore, then fuck me some more. I can handle a little ache.”

  He buries his face in my neck and growls. “Are you trying to drive me crazy?”

  “If it means more orgasms, absolutely.”

  “Troublesome minx,” he accuses, rolling back into his spot, locking his strong arms around me, and tugging me close.

  “Please. I’m the least troublesome woman you’ve ever had in this bed.”

  He can’t argue with that, so instead he tucks my face into his chest to shut me up and cuddles me tightly against him. I can’t complain. As much as I enjoy talking to Rafe, cuddling is new, so I’ll take as much of it as I can get.

  Besides, maybe it’s not by accident that I’m the least troublesome, and also the woman who is finally in this bed after Cassandra’s death, after his fiasco with Laurel, after his “lady cleanse.”

  Maybe Rafe has finally had enough troublemaking women in his life.

  I didn’t need Galina. I needed you, he said.

  I hate to even hope for that, but his words certainly gave me some of it. I don’t want to set myself up for disappointment so I won’t commit to this expectation, but maybe… just maybe… Rafe is finally ready for something different.

  15

  Virginia

  Rain water falls gently from the blue-lit head above. I’ve never thought kissing in the rain was terribly romantic regardless of what Hollywood tried to tell me, but when Rafe spins me around in the shower so I’m facing him, cradles my face in his big, strong hand, and pulls me close for a tender kiss under the rain water shower? It’s pure romance.

  It’s almost scary how happy I am. This happiness feels as slippery as his muscular biceps when I run my hands down them under the gentle spray. God, he is a sexy man. I didn’t want this much of him emblazoned in my mind, but now that it is, I can’t complain.

  I don’t even know how we’re supposed to act around each other when we leave the bubble of Rafe’s house and go to Laurel and Sin’s place. I just told Carly last night I wasn’t sleeping with Rafe, and I know that’s the only reason she let herself like me. Even Laurel; she may have brought me to Christmas Eve so Rafe wouldn’t be lonely, but how will she actually feel when—if?—she finds out I’m fucking the father of her child?

  And what if Rafe doesn’t want anyone to know? Then I’ll get stuck overthinking it, wondering if it’s just because this is the Christmas holiday and he doesn’t want to steal the spotlight or make things uncomfortable, or if he has another (much less pleasant) reason.

  Thankfully, Rafe tugs me out of thoughts of the future when the water changes. The rain shower stops and I look to see what he’s doing, since he’s reaching past me.

  Rafe grabs the shower spray extension and turns the head until a harder spray comes out. I make a little murmur of satisfaction as he runs it along my neck and shoulders and down my back.

  “Gotta get you clean,” he tells me.

  “Oh, yes. It wouldn’t be a successful shower otherwise.”

  “Mm hmm,” he murmurs, lowering the spray and running it along the small my back. The spray stings just a little, but it feels good. Then Rafe uses his free hand to move my sopping hair off my neck and presses his lips there instead. Pleasure shudders through me and I let my eyes drift closed.

  “You know what we should have done?” he asks.

  “What we’re doing right now?” I suggest. “I’m a big fan of that.”

  His low chuckle rumbles against my neck and gives me chills. “No. I should’ve taken you to the shower attached to my gym. It has a sauna, so there’d be a place for you to sit while I bury my face between your legs and have an early breakfast.”

  “Sweet baby Jesus,” I murmur. “You can’t just say things like that.”

  “You’re right, it’s much better to do them. You should sleep over again tonight and we’ll do a morning workout together before we hit the sauna.”

  As hard as I’m trying not to get carried away, that suggestion causes my heart to do backflips. “I could probably do that,” I tell him. “I have to work tomorrow night, but you actually have one of my work outfits, so…”

  “I do, don’t I? I forgot about that. Juanita cleaned and ironed it for you, but I don’t know where she put it. We’ll find out tomorrow. If you’re going to be here, I’ll make you fix our breakfast, give her the morning off. Maybe by lunch time, I’ll let you put clothes on.”

  “Sounds good to me,” I tell him, leaning my head back against his shoulder as he brings the spray around to hit my breasts. He lets the spray hit each nipple for a few seconds, then moves around to the front of my body and pushes the spray down between my legs. “Oh, God,” I murmur, the spray hitting my pussy. At the same time, he bends his head and takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking, and then nipping.

  Pressure builds from within. He releases that breast, switches to the other, and moves his hand between my legs, caressing me with two fingers. The spray moves to my thigh for a moment while he fondles me, and I breathe a sigh—of relief or disappointment, I’m not entirely sure.

  Popping off my nipple, he pulls me into the shelter of his chest and murmurs, “You like that?”

  “Yes,” I manage, a little breathless.

  “Good,” he says, aiming the head between my legs again. “Spread your legs wider.”

  I do, then I shudder as the spray hits my clit at a different angle. He only keeps it there for a moment, then he slides it back and sprays lower before bringing it right back to my clit. I’m whimpering in under a minute, clinging to him in under two, and crying out into his shoulder as I come just a cluster of seconds later.

  Rafe kisses my forehead, hangs the attachment back on the wall, and turns the rain shower back on. I’m glowing. I’ve never had so many orgasms in the space of 12 hours before and I feel incredibly relaxed. Rafe locks his strong arms around me from behind and tugs me back against him, and my bliss is complete.

  “Now, bend over and put your hands against the wall so I can fuck that pussy one more time before we leave.”

  I do not hesitate to obey.

  It’s a chilly day, I’m wearing yesterday’s outfit, and I couldn’t be any happier.

  On the way over, I asked Rafe if I should say—or not say—anything specific to Laurel abou
t what happened between us last night.

  Rafe shrugged his shoulders and said, “Doesn’t matter.”

  I tried not to dissect those four syllables—his tone, the relatively impassive look on his face, his relaxed grip on the steering wheel—but I couldn’t help it; obviously I did all that anyway, and filed my findings away in a nifty file to think about again later when I don’t have him right here with me.

  My immediate takeaway is that Rafe doesn’t seem to regret anything that happened last night, and since he already invited me to spend the night again tonight… well, I don’t know, but I’m going to let myself be happy. Thrilled. Ecstatic. Even if I actually get coal today, it will be the best Christmas of my life.

  We’re late, though. I realized we would be when we got out of the shower and it was already 8 o’clock. I sent Laurel a text and apologized, telling her they should go ahead and start without us. Judging by how many presents were under the tree and the ages of their babies, unwrapping will take a while.

  As we approach the front door, Rafe’s hand settles at the small of my back. It’s a signal for me to stop, I think, since I’m in my usual single mode, barging ahead and doing my own thing. Rafe likes to be in charge.

  He smiles faintly and moves in front of me, but he doesn’t knock. This time, he just opens the door. Since they knew we were on our way, the door is unlocked.

  “Lock it behind you,” Sin barks from the living room, as soon as we step inside.

  “I’m on it,” Rafe assures him, closing the door and kicking each lock into place. I know Sin’s kind of paranoid about his locks, but considering what happened to his first wife and daughter, I can’t blame the poor guy.

  Rafe kicks off his brown Oxfords and I glance down at them. They’re a touch more casual, a touch more rugged than the shoes he usually wears. I love being with him on his casual days.

  Today he wears a burgundy sweater and black slacks, but every time I look at him, I envision him naked. I envision him the way he looked this morning when I was sitting on the edge of his bed and he sauntered in wearing nothing more than a white towel. On top of the casual intimacy of that perfect moment, he had this little smile on his face that set my heart on a journey I’m not sure it’ll ever come back from. Poor heart. Bon voyage!