Staying in Vegas (Vegas Morellis 1)

My heart does somersaults in my chest and I stare at the leather strap, wide-eyed. Here I am chained to his bed, and he’s watching me while he takes his belt off.

I can’t breathe. I suck a breath in and he watches me struggle, but instead of looking remotely sympathetic, amusement glistens in his dark eyes.

This amuses him? What kind of sick bastard am I dealing with here?

I want to rage at him. I want to tell him he’s horrible. I want to choke him to death with that Twix bar I gave him.

Instead, I watch him hang up the belt and meander out of the bedroom like this is part of our nightly routine.

“Sin,” I call after him. “Come back. Please!”

Not for the first time tonight, Sin ignores me.

11

Laurel

By the time Sin finishes his eternity-long shower, I have remembered how to breathe again. I try to sulk at him when he comes back in, but since he likes the quiet, it doesn’t do a damn bit of good. If I gave him the silent treatment for the rest of my time here, he would be in heaven.

So, I talk.

“Listen, this whole cuffing me to the bed thing? Aside from being really weird, this is not necessary. If you are this adamant that I stay, I will stay. I promise. I didn’t have any urgent plans tomorrow anyway. You can remove the cuffs and I won’t try to flee.”

He doesn’t respond. My chain scrapes the bar as I move my arms and peer back at him over my shoulder.

Oh, fuck.

Sin is standing bedside, completely naked. My sense of decency compels me to look away, but I don’t possess the will-power. He’s not even looking at me, he’s standing there texting, the glow of the light illuminating his handsome features. His dark hair is damp from the shower, the longer part on top that was slicked back before now falls in his face. I really, really hate admiring the physical attributes of a man who just cuffed me to his bed, but… well, if these cuffs were on under different circumstances, I’m not sure I would complain.

Prior to Rafe, the extent of my sexual experience was two average teenage guys—one pale and lanky with glasses, one a little softer around the middle with too much body hair. Suffice it to say, I am not accustomed to the sight of a gorgeous, badass-looking man, muscular in all the right places and decorated with tattoos. Sin appears to have several. I can’t see what they all are without asking him to turn, but ink wings on his upper arm catch my attention before I continue my perusal. My mouth goes dry as my eyes wander down over his chiseled abdomen. I can see the jut of his V in profile, and my fingers long to trace it.

Well, now I can’t think straight. I force my gaze to the ceiling because there i

s more body for my eyeballs to explore, and I refuse. I already had a hard enough time stopping myself. I could see the dark shadow on his front, the enticing curve of his ass. If I peek again, I’ll be too tempted to check out what he’s working with. My luck, he’ll catch me gawking at him and I’ll die of mortification.

This bedroom is a fucking boiler room. Thank God I’m not under the covers, because I am burning up.

Sin cuts the light off on his phone and places it face-down on the bedside table. I tense when the bed sags under his weight as he climbs on.

“Um… didn’t you forget something?” I ask.

He glances over at me, almost curiously. “No.”

I dart a look at just his face, then back at the ceiling. “You aren’t wearing any clothes.”

“I sleep naked,” he states. From the tone of his voice, you’d think I should have known that.

“But I’m stuck in this bed with you tonight, and I really want you to… put on clothes.”

Cocking his head to the side, he pretends to consider. “What was it you said to me? I don’t need you to approve of my life choices.”

My eyes widen and dart to his face, staying there this time. “This is an entirely different situation. I am a vulnerable woman chained to your bed. Can’t you see why your nakedness might make me uncomfortable?”

“If you’re looking to be even more uncomfortable, keep talking about how vulnerable you are chained to my bed,” he tells me.

My jaw falls open and I gape at him, but he gives me absolutely nothing. I can’t tell if he’s serious or joking, and now that he’s said that, I can’t help looking at the padded cuffs around my wrists. Padded cuffs. These aren’t the kinds of cuffs captors put on their victims; these are the kinds of cuffs I expected to find in Rafe’s playroom, if I ever got to visit.

These are sex cuffs. He put sex cuffs on my wrists and chained me to his fucking bed—which has rails on the sides. Or at least this side?