Submitting in Vegas (Vegas Morellis 3)

It’s fine that he stops and picks out a sexy black dress and strappy heels for me to wear while I’m out with him.

It’s super fine that he drapes an arm casually around my waist as we head toward the club, that his touch—even through this thin layer of clothing—makes my skin burn with heat. It’s fine that my heart races and my brain short circuits.

Everything is just fine.

4

Rafe

Virginia is incredibly fucking nervous. I suppose since I’ve tried to maul her a time or two in the past, I could draw the conclusion that she’s nervous about being with me in a club environment like this, but I can’t tell if that’s what it is. Her feelings aren’t hard to read, but despite knowing her for years, there is so much about her I don’t know. It’s peculiar that someone could live on the outskirts of my life for so long, someone I have maintained a casually friendly relationship with, and so much about her is still a mystery.

Actually, maybe the odd part is how I feel like peeling back those layers and finding out why. Why is she nervous?

Speaking of things I want to peel back, I should have bought her a different fucking dress. Her eyes lit up when she saw the little black number she’s wearing now, but it’s not what I would’ve picked out for her. The dress has two personalities—part class and sophistication, part sex appeal. The black eye-trap has a plunging neckline with little more than a swatch of sheer lace covering her breasts. Then there’s an even more evil V of missing fabric from her hip to her mid thigh, with just a tiny panel of the black sheer lace there so you can’t see her panties when she walks—but it’s so little, and the dress is cut so deviously, you can’t stop watching to see if maybe you can catch a glimpse.

It’s a truly evil dress. The dress is a trick. I don’t know what it says about her that she’s drawn to the damn thing, but I bet it’s nothing good. She’s probably just like the dress, somehow hiding in plain sight. Prim and proper from a glance, then you look twice and see she’s a secret sex-trap. I can’t keep my mind from wandering to her sexual interests, and I need to keep myself in check. Virginia’s sexual interests are none of my damn business.

The real problem is I’m already too interested in her, because I like her in a non-sexual way. Any girl at the club could wear an even more blatantly sexual dress and it wouldn’t hold my interest for more than a few fleeting seconds. It wouldn’t be complicated. There’s no reason I shouldn’t look at those girls.

Maybe it is because Virginia is a little forbidden, and I do very much like playing with toys I should keep my hands off of.

I should not look at Virginia that way. It’s not even as simple as that with her, and I fucking know it, but looking at Virginia in a sexual light—regardless of reason—would open up a whole new can of worms that I don’t want to deal with. If I fuck around with her, it won’t end well. Then she’ll leave and I’ll miss her.

The gist of it is, I should’ve bought her a different fucking dress.

I keep a hand on her hip as we make our way through the glut of people. It’s not that late, but the club is already full and I don’t want her getting lost in the crowd.

Of course they know me here, so despite the crowd, we walk right in. They didn’t know I was coming though, so they didn’t save me a spot in the VIP section. The club manager rushes out to apologize and let me know they’re taking care of it and they’ll have a booth available immediately.

“Wow,” Virginia says, leaning in so I can hear her. “Look at you bumping someone right out of the VIP section.”

I flash her a smile. “I’m kind of a big deal.” Nodding at the dance floor, I put my hand on her hip and move her toward it. “Let’s dance while we wait.”

“Oh, I don’t—I don’t really think…”

I ignore her and push her through the crowd. She sighs at me, but keeps walking through the throng of bodies around us.

“Rafe!”

Aw, shit. That didn’t take long. My fingers dig into Virginia’s hip since she’s walking ahead of me. The touch gets her attention and she turns back to look at me, her long dark hair moving over her shoulder.

It’s loud as hell over here, so I hold up one finger as I say, “Give me a second.”

She nods and looks around for why we’re stopping. The bright-eyed girl I went out with a few times makes her way over to me with a drink in one hand and a tiny-ass purse in the other.

“Rafe,” she exclaims again, grinning and throwing her arms around my neck for a hug. “How are you?”

“Hey, Galina. I’m good, how are you?”

“Better now. So good to see you.”

“I thought you were in New York now,” I tell her.

Nodding, she says, “I’m just in town for the holidays. My brother got engaged!”

I have no godly idea who her brother is. I’m sure I never met him. Her eyes are wide with expectation though, so I go ahead and say, “No shit?” anyway, as if we’re pals and I’m floored by the news. “Give him my best, will ya.”

“I will,” she says, grinning. She glances away as someone bumps into her, then brings her gaze back to mine. “What are you doing later?”