Billionaires in Vegas

What? No, I’m not suggesting we get married. Don’t look at me like that. I said don’t look...

Okay, you want to know a secret? I’m not the one with cold feet about getting married. It’s 100% Katie, who is so in love with not being married that I don’t see it happening any time soon. She practically got hives when I gave her the promise ring saying that I would be true to her and... I’m practically her husband. Practically. We have separate residences, but she’s at my condo half the week and I go to hers for a night or two, usually on the weekends. In the future, we might officially move in together.

But we’re totally not getting married.

On one hand, it’s nice to not have that pressure on me. I grew up hearing the narrative that women would be begging me to marry them if I even so much as looked at them. Both my mother and father warned me about these things. To be sure, there were many women I briefly dated in my 20s who made it clear they wanted big mansions and lots of nannies for our test tube babies. Not Kathryn. As far as I know, I’m spending my 30s beholden to this woman but financially my own man. We’ll be that married couple that is never setting five feet around a chapel unless it’s to celebrate someone else’s nuptials.

“Well,” she finally says, pulling a mint from her clutch and slowly unwrapping the plastic. “No matter what happens with this deal, at least we’ll have Vegas.”

She gives me that nasty little smile that I’ve come to love over the months we’ve been together. My girl is thinking about the naughty things we can get up to in a city like Vegas. Obviously we’re gonna go high-roll somewhere. Maybe hit a couple crazy shows. Definitely go to clubs and get fucked the hell up. Okay, so that’s my idea. That’s fine. I know she’ll join me.

And we’re gonna have a ton of sex. I know this because Kathryn got her period out of her way last week and...

Why, thank you! I am an attentive boyfriend! (Especially when I’m keeping track of when I do and do not get to have sex with my hot girlfriend. And especially when she’s the one yelling at me for ibuprofen and turning my condo inside out looking for a hot pack to place on her abdomen. A guy is gonna notice.)

“What do you want to do first, my love?” I ask, letting my thumb draw lazy circles all over her skin. “The night is young. We can catch a show. Go to the casino. Or...”

“Or we could go to our room.” Her grin stabs me in the gut as she pops the mint in her mouth and stirs her drink with her fingertip. “Rent a dirty movie and get inspired to be dirty ourselves.”

“Oh ho ho.” Do I have a winner or what? “I like the way you think. I want to know what you’ve got in that carry-on of yours, anyway.”

If there’s one thing to say about Kathryn, it’s that she doesn’t travel with five-thousand pounds of luggage. For this week we’re in Vegas she brought one large suitcase and a small carry-on, on top of her usual tote bag she travels with. I saw her pack the big suitcase while I was at her place a few nights ago, but not the little one. She told me I wasn’t allowed to peek.

“If you found out what I’ve got in there, you would bust a nut here and now.”

“Tell me more.”

Kathryn waves me off flippantly as if I’m a nuisance. I see how it is. Someone is feeling in charge tonight. Well, I usually like to be in charge in the bedroom, but Katie and I have an understanding that I’m still a manly man’s man if I let her Top more than once a month.

It’s kind of hot, anyway.

Okay.

Really hot.

Kathryn pulls her finger out of her drink and sucks the tip. Her eyes are on me, watching my reaction as she pokes her tongue out and wraps it gingerly around her finger. I like the language she speaks.

I lean in and place my mouth near her ear. “You wanna get out of here? We can get out of here. Except it’s our first real night in Vegas. We should hit somewhere up before going back to our room.”

Her perfume fills my nose in such ways I cannot explain. “All right,” she says. “What did you have in mind?”

My lips hover over hers before I pull away and take a liberal gulp of my drink. “Simon Lackey told me about this place within walking distance of here. Says it’s a must-go place for people with... means.”

“So it’s a rich kid’s playpen?”

“You saying you’re too old to party?”

“Hardly.” Kathryn uncrosses her legs as if she’s ready to go. “I’m guessing it’s not for kid-kids though.”

“No. It’s for people our age and older. You just gotta have a black card to get in.”