Sloane tossed the phone onto the bed, her eyes meeting mine, frustration and something softer swirling in them.
“I don’t want to go,” she said, her voice quieter now, almost pleading. I leaned back, my hand resting on her thigh, the warmth of her skin grounding me.
“I can talk to them, if you think it’ll help,” I offered, though I wasn’t sure what I’d say to a woman who thought I was a kidnapper.
She shook her head, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “Trust me, it won’t. Just … drop me off and wait for my call, okay?”
I nodded, relief and something sharper settling in my chest. “Of course,” I said, and her grin lit up the room, mischievous and warm, like she knew she had me.
She leaned closer, her breath hot against my ear. “Go rinse off,” she murmured, her voice a tease.
I raised an eyebrow, my pulse kicking up. “Why aren’t you coming with me?”
Her grin turned wicked, her eyes glinting with promise. “Because I’m gonna give you the best blowjob you’ve ever had, so you won’t leave me with the wolves.”
My cock jumped at her words, and I didn’t need any more convincing. I was out of bed in a flash, heading for the stateroom’s ensuite, the shower a quick blur of hot water and soap as I scrubbed off the day’s exertion. My mind was already racing, anticipation coiling tight, knowing Sloane was waiting, ready to blow my world apart again.
I stepped back into the stateroom, a towel slung low around my hips, water still dripping from my hair. Sloane was on her knees at the foot of the bed, beautifully naked, her hair loose and wild. She looked up, her eyes dark with intent, and crawled toward me, slow and deliberate, like a predator sizing up her prey.
My breath caught as she stopped in front of me, her hands sliding up my thighs, nails grazing just enough to send a shiver through me. She tugged the towel free, letting it fall, my cock already half-hard, and leaned in, her breath warm against my skin, teasing without touching.
“Ready?” she whispered, her voice a sultry challenge, and before I could answer, her tongue flicked out, tracing a slow, deliberate circle around the tip, sending a jolt straight to my core.
Sloane’s hands gripped my hips, steadying me as she took me into her mouth, her lips wrapping tight, warm and wet, pulling me in deep. She moved slow at first, her tongue swirling along the underside, each stroke deliberate, building a rhythm that had my hands fisting in her hair, guiding her without pushing.
She hummed, the vibration shooting through me, and I groaned, my head tipping back as she picked up the pace, her mouth a perfect mix of soft and firm, sucking hard then easing off to tease with light, maddening licks.
Her nails dug into my thighs, a sharp counterpoint to the heat of her mouth, and she looked up, her eyes locked on mine, the sight of her—fierce, hungry,mine—nearly undoing me. She pulled back, her lips glistening, and used her hand to stroke me, firm and fast, while her tongue darted out, flicking the sensitive spot just below the head, driving me to the edge.
I growled her name, my grip tightening, and she took me deep again, her throat relaxing, swallowing me whole, the sensation so intense my vision blurred. I came hard, a white-hot release spilling into her mouth as she took every drop, her eyes never leaving mine, branding this moment into my soul.
I’d never forget this, never forget her.
I picked her up and lay her onto the bed, my chest heaving, her body curling against mine, her lips still curved in a satisfied smirk. The stateroom was quiet again, the yacht’s hum a distant pulse, but the weight of what we’d done, what we were becoming, settled heavy between us.
I pulled her close, her head resting on my shoulder, my mind still spinning from her touch, from the truth of who she was.
Sloane’s phone lay silent now, but I knew the call from her mother had changed things, pulling her back to a world I didn’t fit into. I wanted to keep her here, away from the Carringtons and their games, but I knew she had to face them, just like I had to face my brothers and the trust I’d signed.
“You sure about going back?” I asked, my voice rough, and she nodded, her fingers tightening on my chest.
“I have to,” she said, her voice soft but resolute. “But this isn’t over, Charlie. Not by a long shot.”
I kissed her forehead, the gesture more tender than I’d planned, and felt her relax against me, her breath evening out. The yacht was still cruising, the captain taking us nowhere fast, and I radioed Tom to head back to the marina, knowing we couldn’t outrun reality forever.
Sloane stayed quiet, her hand still on me, like she was memorizing this moment as much as I was. I thought about her mother’s voice, the fear in it, the way she’d said my name like it was a curse.
The Danes had a reputation—dangerous, untouchable—and I wondered what Sylvia Carrington knew, what stories had made her sound like she’d seen a ghost. I didn’t care about her approval, but I cared about Sloane, and the thought of her facing that cold, polished world alone twisted something in my gut. I’d drop her off, wait for her call, and be there when she needed me, no matter what came next.
We dressed in silence, Sloane slipping back into her white blazer dress, the fabric wrinkled but still screaming money.
I pulled on jeans and a T-shirt, and led her to the deck, the Charleston skyline looming closer as the yacht approached the marina. The sun was dipping low, painting the water gold, and I stood beside her at the railing, the salt breeze tugging at her hair. She leaned into me, her shoulder brushing mine, and I felt thathomecoming again, mixed with the shock of how fast this had all happened.
“You’ll be okay,” I said, more to myself than her, and she nodded, her eyes on the horizon.
“I will,” she said, her voice steady. “And you better answer when I call.”
I grinned, the weight lifting just a fraction, and promised I would, knowing I’d never let her go to the wolves alone.
