Submitting in Vegas (Vegas Morellis 3)

Well, a little different, because where every other time I could imagine what it would be like if he closed that distance, now I don’t have to imagine. Now I can remember. Now it’s even tenser because I know how it feels to have those lips brush mine, I just don’t know if they ever will again. I know what it feels like to have him inside me, to have his scent, his body, his taste all around me, inside me, completely overtaking me.

Every other time he’s brushed past me, I felt his dominance in the limited way you can feel something you haven’t experienced yet, but now I have memories. Not a complete collection, I’ll never have a complete collection, but no number of women I’ll have to watch him bring around in the years to come, no lack of a repeat performance, none of that can ever take those memories away from me. They’re mine forever, locked away in my mind, for better or worse.

He walks into my apartment and looks around. Last time he was in my apartment, it was to move Nate out, but that was a different building. He’s never been in this one before last night, but I can feel him scrutinizing how small it is. Rafe likes his space—giant house on a big track of land he’ll never need, huge booth even if it’s only for two people. Rafe Morelli is a man who likes room to stretch out, even if he’ll never need it.

My apartment lacks room to stretch out.

“Jesus Christ, this place is claustrophobic,” he states.

I smile faintly. “It was just as small last night.”

Rafe glances back at me. “I was distracted last night. How do you live in a place this small?”

“I work a lot,” I point out. “I don’t spend much time here.”

Shaking his head in faint disapproval, he reaches into his left breast pocket, extracts two thick envelopes, and holds them out to me. “You need to move. A shoe box is bigger than this place.”

I do not touch either envelope, but I have a good idea of what’s inside. “Put those away.”

His attention momentarily diverted from my tiny apartment, he looks back at me. “What? Why?”

“Because I fear there’s money in those envelopes. The only reason there could be money in those envelopes would be because you feel guilty about fucking me and you want to pay me off. That’s going to lead to me having to tell you ‘I’m not a prostitute,’ and I would prefer to avoid having to tell you that again. Put those back in your pocket and we can pretend you didn’t just try to pay me off.”

He does not do that. He reaches his hand even closer. “Take the envelopes, Virginia. I know you’re not a prostitute, that’s not what this is.”

“Well, in accordance with not being a hooker, I don’t take payment for sexual services, so what else would you call it?”

“A settlement.”

I blink at him. “A settlement?”

Nodding once, he says, “If I were a normal man, you could sue me for sexual harassment. Obviously I’m not and you can’t, but that’s not fair, and you’re one person I never want to be unfair to.”

“You know I would never sue you, even if I could. I do not need or want your money, so please put that away.”

“Don’t be stubborn,” he advises, leaning into the doorway of my kitchen and dropping the envelopes on my countertop. “I played with your heart and wasted your time; you deserve compensation. I’m leaving these here. You can count it later if you feel weird doing it in front of me, but it’s 35 grand. I know you said you couldn’t afford to take that class just for fun… well, now you can. Since you have a little extra money now, you should also call your landlord and tell him you’re moving into a matchbox, because you need more living space.”

“Why are you so obsessed with my living situation?” He’s still looking around, but I think he’s latching onto that because he doesn’t want to discuss what happened last night. I decide to save him, so he knows he isn’t morally compelled to. “We don’t have to talk about it, you know. It happened, it’s over, it’s done. I was upset last night, and the alcohol made it worse. We’ll be fine. I’m not going to quit… Everything will be fine.”

Instead of taking my escape hatch, Rafe shakes his head. “No, last night needs to be addressed. Last night was not one of my better performances. I shouldn’t have fucked you like that without giving you a safe word first—Hell, I shouldn’t have fucked you like that at all, given the conversation that happened earlier that night. I didn’t even give you a chance to—” He pauses and runs a hand over his slicked back hair. “I practically forced myself on you.”

Memories of the way he used my body flood my mind, making it hard to concentrate on the moment. Making me hot, and this is not the time for that.

“I was rough with you, rougher than I should have been,” he goes on, since I’m not responding.

I finally interrupt to let him off the hook. “You don’t have to apologize for that. I liked your roughness, and I don’t need a pay-off for enduring it.”

“Well, I want you to have it anyway,” he states. “I don’t like the way things ended between us.”

“I don’t either,” I agree. “I still care about you. I enjoyed every minute of our time together, right up until that last few in Sin’s yard. Honest, we don’t have to talk about this. I would prefer if we didn’t. I would prefer we just move on.”

“I do care about you,” he swears.

My heart sinks under the weight of those words, but I try to keep my head above water. “I know you do.”

“I just… I can’t… I don’t like way I felt…”

My protective instincts take over and I take a step forward, gripping the lapels of his charcoal suit jacket. He looks down at my hands, mildly surprised that I’m touching him. I slide my hands inside the jacket and run my hands down his