Page 61 of Dr. Fellow

In the past two weeks, I’ve been over to her place several times to fix various issues. It might be a nice place, but the landlords are pieces of shit and don’t address anything in a timely fashion. She’s mentioned trying to move, but the lease she signed is ridiculous and requires her to pay over six grand to back out of it. And she won’t be getting out of there any sooner by losing all of her money on a game of chance.

“Such a spoilsport,” she mutters under her breath, stretching her arms above her head with a small yawn. “Okay, but let’s make a side bet, just you and me.”

I sigh. “Fine, but you’re only putting in the minimum.”

Tables in Vegas have a set amount that you have to play for each bet, usually ranging from ten dollars to upwards of thousands. The one we’re sitting at is currently asking for twenty-five bucks a spin, and the entire night Morgan has been betting on colors, so the odds are essentially fifty-fifty to win or lose. I have no idea how she’s been choosing the correct color each time, but my intuition says that it’s best to stop while she’s ahead.

“Fine,” she echoes, narrowing her gaze on mine. “If it lands on black, you win. We head back to the penthouse and go to bed.”

I wait for her to continue, knowing there’s more to this based on the glimmer in her eyes.

Her mouth curves into a wild grin as she adds, “If it lands on red again, I win.”

“And what, exactly, am I agreeing to if you win?”

She draws her bottom lip between her teeth. “That we’ll go play.”

***

“Shhhh,” Morgan whispers, tiptoeing toward my room.

She looks like she’s going on some sort of bear hunt, swiveling her head back and forth dramatically in search of predators. I have no idea what she thinks we’re going to encounter—it’s well past midnight and the penthouse is silent when we got back. Our friends are definitely asleep, but even if they aren’t, who gives a shit? I’m sure they would be proud that we’re hooking up.

“You’re the one making noise,” I reply quietly, swatting at her plump ass as she pauses to open my door.

Morgan yelps and turns, giving me an evil look. We were making out the entire elevator ride up from the casino, and my cock is throbbing painfully in my slacks, begging for some relief. While she ended up losing the bet and we won’t be going into a formal scene, that doesn’t mean I’m not going to fuck her silly. Her tits have been taunting me all night in that low-cut dress, and all I’ve been able to think about is marking them with my teeth.

She stumbles into my room, not because she’s drunk, but because she’s wearing ridiculously tall heels that she can barely walk in. Scooping her into my arms, I close the door behind us with the heel of my loafer.

I set Morgan down in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, wrapping her in my arms as we take a moment to admire the shimmering lights of the Las Vegas Strip that are illuminating my dark room. It truly is the entertainment capital of the world, and even from floors above, I can feel the energy of the city—it’s intoxicating, but still not as intoxicating as the woman pressed against me.

“Did you have fun tonight?”

“Of course,” she sighs, nuzzling into my chest like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

It makes me feel a deep sense of longing for more between us. I don’t just want to be her friend. Or her lover. I want to also be her partner. I want to give her everything that I could never give someone in the past . . . I know I can give her everything.

“You look stunning,” I murmur into her hair, telling her what’s been on my mind all night.

She inhales sharply, stiffening in my arms. “That’s not what this is.”

Her words cut deep even though I should have known that they were coming. I can feel my pulse escalating as frustration swirls inside my chest. “Why don’t you tell me what this is, then.”

She spins, staring up at me like she can’t decide whether she should say what she wants to say. Her hands reach up to my neck, searing my skin as she begins to unbutton my shirt.

“This is fucking,” she replies, popping the first button open.

She reaches for the second, keeping her eyes glued to mine with rageful defiance. “This is pleasure.”

Pop.

“A transaction.”

Pop.

“An arrangement.”

Pop.

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