Page 39 of Menace in Vegas

"Let’s talk wedding plans, sweetheart," he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

I try to push off his chest but accidentally palm his abs.

Fuck.

His chest rumbles with laughter.

"You wanna feel me up again, babe?"

I shriek, shoving myself away so hard that I roll onto the floor.

Connor’s fucking dying laughing.

I look up at him, humiliated to my core.

I’m going to die right here in a shitty motel room with a cocky hockey player laughing over my corpse.

13

ALLISON

Ican’t stand not being in control.

And right now, I’m far from it.

As I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror, determination courses through me.

I’m taking the power back.

Things were much better when Connor was irritated and grumpy as fuck.

I like watching him suffer.

The way his jaw clenches and his hands flex when he’s barely keeping it together makes meshiver.

I like knowing I have some kind of power over him.

And I’ll prove to myself—and him—that I still do.

I saunter from the bathroom in my pajamas and head to the bed. I get comfortable, lying on my back, barely any distance between us.

Yawning, I stretch my arms overhead, letting my tank top ride up just a little.

His eyes flick down, and I see the hint of weakness.

The growing sense of power is heady, so I double down.

I reach for my phone, rolling onto my stomach, my ass arched just enough.

Connor sits there silently, like he’s holding his breath.

I roll onto my side, smirking at him. I tap my fingers against my thigh. "Must be exhausting," I murmur.

He remains quiet.

I try again. "Keeping all thattensionbottled up inside."

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