Submitting in Vegas (Vegas Morellis 3)

“That’s right, I’m a bastard,” he tells me, coming down on the bed behind me. I hear his pants unzip and my pussy clenches with need. I don’t want to fuck him, but I need to come, and he gives the best orgasms.

He doesn’t ask permission, anyway, so I don’t have to wrestle with whether or not to let him.

Smacking my ass again, he tells me, “Ass up.”

I push it up just in time for Rafe’s cock to slide inside me. I groan, burying my face in my pillow. He must like it there, because he grabs my head and holds my face down. I jerk, struggling on instinct more than because I legitimately don’t like it, but he ignores me and fucks me so hard, I can’t keep pace with him. My whole bed moves with the force of his thrusts, with the power and brutality of him pounding inside my pussy like his dick is a blade and he’s going to slice me to ribbons. Some thrusts are so hard they hurt, but the friction of his cock against my walls feels so good, his possession of my body feels so good. I know I shouldn’t let him do this, but I can’t bring myself to ask him to stop, either.

Need burns inside me as he invades me with his cock. “Rafe,” I cry out, but it’s muffled against the pillow.

His hand in my hair tightens. “You’ve done enough talking for tonight.”

“I want—” He presses my face harder into the pillow. I gasp, rearing back, but I take his point and stop talking.

As violent a coupling as this is, I expect it to end sooner than it does, but it feels like he’s inside me forever. A spitefully long time, considering somehow, as turned on as I was to begin with, he isn’t letting me come. He knows just how to make me come—I know that, because he does it regularly, multiple times per session, but this time he doesn’t want to pleasure me; he wants to punish me. Punishment sex is not something I’ve had with Rafe before, so this is a whole new ballgame.

My muscles are tired, my body is covered in perspiration, and my face is hot with a mix of exertion and the limited airflow from being trapped in the pillow. My pussy aches and burns with every thrust now, because he went in bare with his giant cock and he’s used up all the natural lubrication without creating more. When he drives inside me, I feel myself stretching, trying to fit him.

“Rafe, please,” I say, when I’m able to pull my face from the pillow.

He pushes my face back into the pillow and rides me harder. I groan, my pussy taking his punishment, but stinging as he shoves the way every inch. With a few more thrusts, he buries himself deep and releases himself inside me.

I’m so exhausted, so physically zapped, that I feel relieved. Normally I never want sex with Rafe to stop, but I’m tired and sore and still so drunk, the world turns the wrong way sometimes.

Rafe pulls his cock out of me and I hear him zip back up. I’m too tired to move, but he doesn’t expect me to.

“Now, you lie there with my cum inside you all night like a good girl.” Rafe yanks the covers out from under me and drapes them over my exhausted body. Then, after fucking me to sheer exhaustion, he has the gall to lean down and place a chaste kiss on my forehead. “Good night, Virginia.”

20

Virginia

My morning is spent nursing an unpleasant hangover and reliving the most embarrassing memories I’ve had to deal with since last time I got that drunk. It was a long time ago. The night I told Rafe about a while back, when I ended up singing I Believe I Can Fly and making a whole slew of bad decisions.

Last night my bad decisions had different names, but damn, did I make a mess. If I didn’t already have a massive headache, I probably would after reliving the horrible highlight reel from last night.

I pick up my phone several times to text Rafe an apology. I was an out of control, emotional drunk girl, and I wasn’t even his problem anymore. Actually, I was never his problem. While to me it certainly feels like he dumped me, we were never even officially together.

Ugh. I feel like garbage today for so, so many reasons.

Since I have to work tonight even if I feel like shit, I drag myself out of bed, grab a bottled water, and take a shower. My shower is sad and lonely compared to showering at Rafe’s house, but I can close my eyes and touch myself while memories of his strong arms around me play out in my mind, while I replay even last night, him tearing off my lace panties and dropping to his knees beside my bed so he could eat my pussy and punish me with a lack of orgasm. Taunting me afterward by taking his own and leaving me wanting.

Oh, God, that man.

Once I’m clean and the ache in my body is finally sated, I head to the kitchen. I’m rooting around the refrigerator, looking for something to make for lunch when I hear the knock at my front door.

My mind is caught somewhere between “it has to be him” and “it can’t be him” until I get to the door, pull it open, and see the heart-crushingly adorable bent head of Rafe Morelli on the other side of my front door. His forehead wrinkles adorably as his eyes rise to meet mine first, and then the rest of his body slowly follows his lead. I love the way he moves—so leisurely, like the whole world will wait for him. They usually do, so he’s not wrong in thinking that. He brings himself to his full height and looks down at me, surveying me to see how I look today.

I didn’t want this visit, but it’s not like I’ll turn him away. Even as I stand here looking at him, I have a vivid recall of his fingers digging into my hips, of the sudden intrusion of his cock. I can feel him owning my pussy, making me take his length. God, that was so hot. I mean, I’m sore as fuck, and sitting down isn’t much fun today, but damn.

Bringing myself back to the present, I cross my arms and cock my head. “What’s up?”

“You know what’s up,” he states, nodding toward the interior of my apartment. “We need to talk. Can I come in?”

“We already talked,” I remind him.

He gives me a dry look and ignores the lack of invitation, pushing the door open and letting himself inside my apartment. I should move back, but the moment that Rafe brushes past me is one of my favorites, always. When he’s at the restaurant, I always put myself in his way as much as possible so I can collect as many of those memories as I can. No two are exactly the same, and they never get old. I always feel him, and now is no different.