Universe (VegasPete) R18

Special chapter - One night in Vegas (part 2)

I love my husband. I'm head over heels for him. He's my everything, my life support, the whole package I never knew I needed. He's my world—my oxygen, the dream I never knew I had. I'd die for Pete, no kidding. If it's on his wishlist, if he's into it, if it's some kind of new kink or just if it lights up his day, I'd be the one with a bullet shaped in my skull with not a single fucking second of hesitation.

But male strippers on our honeymoon? Did I accidentally skip a chapter in "Decoding Pete Saengtham Phorsakorn for Dummies"? I mean, seriously, who plans a strip tease show for their honeymoon?

Well, obviously Pete does. So here I am, standing outside the bathroom door, waiting for my lovable yet completely off-the-wall husband to...

"Open the door!"

I banged again, harder this time, until I heard the lock reluctantly turn, and the door creaked open just a bit, revealing Pete's nose making a cameo appearance.

"You mad?" he said with a tiny voice.

Mad? Of course I am mad! I'm beyond mad; I'm freaking infuriated—

"No, I'm not mad. I just want you to get out of the bathroom so we can talk about this, Pete."

"Hun hun, you mad. I can hear it in your tone, and you've got the vein on your neck and that wrinkle between your eyes—"

"A wrinkle?! What the hell are you talking about? I have no—Pete! Don't change the subject. Get out, or I swear I'll kick that door open and grab you by the skin of your ass, and you know I'll fucking do it —"

The door suddenly swung open, and there he was, giving me the look like he's ready for a scolding, but with that defiant gaze I know all too well.

"I'm out! There, happy?"

"Well, no, but it's a beginning. Now, just tell me you were kidding, and we can start the makeup sex session."

"I'm not joking."

"Pete, for fuck's sake, you can't be serious! Male strippers? On our freaking honeymoon? Am I not enough for you that you need to go watch other dudes on steroids getting undressed? Come on!"

"It's not about that! Listen," Pete took a step forward, planted both hands on my shoulders, and started massaging like he was calming a wild animal ready to pounce. His head tilted to the side, a little smile on his face, and that mischevious look in his eyes. "Just open your mind! Broaden your horizons, give it some thought, try something new... It could be—"

"Why are you talking like a freaking monk right now? It's all thinking about it, and the answer is still no." I gently pushed his hands away, placing them at his sides as I took a step back. No candy for naughty boys.

"Vegas, come on!" And here we go, Pete was litteraly throwing a tantrum, whining and stomping like a damn child, but then he stopped, eyes widening. "Oh! It's just like you said! It's a cultural experience!" Pete declared, suddenly clapping his hands, acting all proud and clever, using my own words against me, cheeky little shit.

"Did you bump your head or something? Male strippers? A cultural experience? Pete, you do realize who you are talking to? You do realize I'm standing right here, Vegas, your husband, the slightly psychotic, jealous, and over-dramatic one. Ring a bell?" I crossed my arms, likely looking skeptical and a tad offended by the comparison between Elvis and those strippers, but I let it slide.

"Who knows, you might enjoy it." Pete laughed faintly and nudged me a little I looked at him and our gaze met for a second before Pete just looked away.

"Enjoy watching other men undress with my husband next to me not missing a second of it? Yeah you really did bang your head!"

"Vegas! Seriously, come on!" Pete whined once more, grabbing my arm and resting his chin on my shoulder, giving me those puppy-dog eyes.