Page 73 of Menace in Vegas

"Maybe you should take your shirt off.”

It was its own special kind of hell.

I knew she thought she won. That she could get away with that smug little strut back to the car and leave me wrecked.

She’s wrong.

We ride in silence. She sips her soda like she didn’t just flip the power dynamic. I let her cling to the illusion of control.

But I know exactly where we’re headed.

* * *

The sky opensup in a downpour. Lightning cracks, thunder booms, and Allie jumps every time.

I turn off the highway and pull into a run-down motel lot.

She swallows hard. "Another motel?"

I don’t respond as I grab the bags from the car.

She follows, muttering about true crime documentaries and serial killers.

At the front desk, the guy hands over a key. "Enjoy your honeymoon."

She gapes at him, wide-eyed.

I lean in. "Told you, baby. Everyone knows you’re mine."

She doesn’t argue. Just glares at me, then spins on her heel.

We climbthe stairs because she refused the elevator, fearing we’d get stuck in it because of the storm. I enjoy the view, then reach up and pinch her ass.

She spins on me. "Don’t touch me."

“In a bad mood, wife?"

She glares at me.

But when the thunder cracks again, she jumps and moves closer.

I usher her into the room, close the door, and drop the bags.

Her body is rigid, eyes wide.

Game on.

“Take your shirt off," I murmur.

“W-what?”

I stalk closer, pressing her back to the bed. "You wanted to play earlier."

My hands slide to her hips.

"Now it’s my turn."

She trembles but doesn’t back away.

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