Page 68 of Menace in Vegas

Her fingers dig into the hem of her shorts.

“Stop calling me baby," she grits out.

I grin. “Maybe we should stop for lunch. Wouldn’t want my girl starving."

She snorts but stays silent.

It’s progress.

I glance over as she picks up her phone, pretending not to watch her unlock it.

“You checking your socials, sweetheart?" I ask smoothly.

“None of your business,” she snaps.

I lean in slightly, letting my voice drop. “Why don’t you post a status telling everyone I made you come three times last night? Two of them around my dick."

Her gasp is so loud it echoes through the car.

The phone slips from her hand and hits the floorboard.

I bark out a laugh. "Quite a reaction, baby."

Her glare could burn a hole through my skull. "Stop. Calling. Me. That."

“Why?”

She turns fully toward me, eyes blazing. "Because I’m not your girl. Or your baby. Or your wife, Connor!"

I chuckle, unbothered.

“You sure as hell were acting like mine when you were clinging to me, your pussy milking the come from my dick."

She makes a choking sound — half fury, half pure mortification — then whirls her face to the window again.

“Don’t speak to me."

I hum thoughtfully.

"Aww, baby. Don’t be like that."

She goes rigid.

“Connor.” Her voice is sharp, shaking with rage.

I glance over. "Yes, wife?"

She exhales like she’s trying not to explode. "I hate you."

I grin.

She doesn’t. Not even a little.

I win.

24

CONNOR

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