Page 80 of Menace in Vegas

I let my gaze drop to the curve of her leg tucked beneath her, then trail up to the tank top stretched across her chest.

Her breath hitches.

I smirk and return my attention to the road.

She’s pretending. Acting like she’s not still aching from how I fucked her. Like she didn’t fall apart in my arms over and over again.

This ends now.

She doesn’t notice when I veer off the main highway.

But when the miles pass and the landscape changes, she finally speaks.

“Where are we going?"

I don’t answer.

“Connor,” she says, sharper now.

I remain quiet.

Her frustration builds in the silence, radiating off her like heat.

Good.

I pull into a deserted overlook. The sky is streaked with golden orange.

I kill the engine, then turn to face her.

She stiffens. "Why are we here?"

I lean back and stretch my legs out, appearing calm and unbothered. "Because I’m done with the games."

She scoffs. "There is no game."

I raise a brow. "You’ve been avoiding me all day, baby."

“Maybe I just don’t want to talk to you."

“Oh, yeah?” In one smooth motion, I unfasten her seatbelt, grip her wrists, and pull her straight into my lap.

She gasps, hands braced on my chest. "Connor?—"

“Still wanna pretend?"

“You can’t just manhandle me!"

“Pretty sure you like it when I do."

She sputters, squirming in my lap. But I press my hips up, letting her feel exactly what she’s doing to me.

She freezes.

Her breathing is ragged. Her face flushed.

“Say it," I murmur.

“Say what?"

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