“I could never hate you, angel,” I whisper against her skin. “I’ve always loved you too much for that.”
***
Waking up next to Sloane is the single best thing I’ve ever experienced in my life, or at least I think it might be. I don’t get the chance to experience it, because when I crack my eyes open the next morning, she’s nowhere to be found. Only the muted, grayish-blue light of the early morning and the happy chirping of a bird somewhere outside greet me when I sit up and listen for any sign of her in the master suite.
The silence around me would be daunting if I wasn’t certain Sloane wouldn’t flee her own home just to get away from me. Waking me up in the middle of the night demanding I leave? Now that was a hell of a lot more likely, but she didn’t do that, which means despite all odds she isn’t losing it over spending the night with me.
When I was on my way over here last night, a trip that took longer than necessary because I had to drop Kristen off and she wanted to fight about why I came back without any drinks demanding we leave, I wonderedhow smart it was to come here. Sloane had agreed to have dinner with me and give me an answer to the offer I pulled out of the clear blue sky, but neither of us had discussed me coming over, let alone spending the night.
Making it through her door was a long shot. Getting the chance to taste her was a dream I was desperate to make a reality, but I didn’t dare hope for it. And spending the night in her bed—well, that was just an idea I floated out there and prayed she would grab hold of.Okay, it was more of an order, but Sloane had to know she was well within her rights to show me the door if she wanted to.To my surprise, she didn’t want to.
She wanted everything I did.
The thought puts an embarrassingly huge smile on my face. One that sticks with me as I knock on the door of the master bathroom before entering and handling my business. When I spot a spare toothbrush laying on the countertop between the sinks, the smile grows wider. Clearly, Sloane was thinking of me when she woke up this morning and went wherever the hell she snuck off to while I was still sleeping.
After I brush my teeth, I pull on my clothes from last night and head downstairs. It’s quiet on the first floor too, but I see Sloane sitting at her kitchen island sipping a cup of coffee. Her curls are loose now, flowing freely over her shoulders, and she’s exchanged the shirt she slept in for a gray T-shirt dress that hugs her curves while exposing the smooth expanse of her legs.
I clear my throat so she isn’t startled by my sudden appearance in her living room, and delighted hazel eyes lift to mine, a shy smile curving her lips. My fucking heart stutters to a stop then starts pounding in my chest.
Sloane sets her cup down. “Morning.”
“Good morning, beautiful.” I close the distance between us with a few strides. The need to be close to her is a demand in my blood I don’t have to fight anymore. Sloane watches me approach with an expectant spark in her eye that makes me want to laugh.
She’s insatiable.
I snake a hand around her neck, grabbing a fistful of hair at her nape and tilting her head up so I can kiss her beautiful lips. When I pull back, we’re both panting and breathless. Before I release her, I brush my nose over hers three times like my mom used to do every night before she tucked me into bed and told me how much she loved me.
Watching Sloane’s eyelids flutter rapidly in response to the motion transports me back to the night we met, when just being in her presence compelled me to use one of the most loving gestures from my childhood to convey emotions I didn’t dare put a name to, and she looked at me the same way.
So much has changed between that night twelve years ago and today, but all of the most important things have stayed the same: I’m still so far gone for this woman, captivated by her smile, devastated by the sway of her hips, shattered by the thought of living without her and willing to do anything to stop it from happening.
Last time I was unprepared, completely blindsided by whatever circumstances had conspired together to keep us apart, but I’m not letting that happen again. Not after living so long without her, not after finally getting the chance to taste her, not after letting a cozy-looking picture of her and James on Instagram fuck with my head, prompting me to strong-arm my way onto this project just to keep them apart.
My original plan for accomplishing that goal wasn’t even fully formed by the time I accepted his offer to finish the project, and when Sloane walked out on me on Tuesday, I thought it was all blown to hell. But then last night happened and all the pieces fell into place thanks to a condition I’d never even heard of and a proposition I couldn’t stop myself from making.
Sloane runs a tentative hand down my chest and over my abs. “How’d you sleep?”
“Like a baby.” I release her hair and take a sip of her coffee. It’s still hot, but I only take one sip before handing it back to her with a frown. “Jesus, woman. Did you putanycoffee in there at all?”
There have to be at least five spoons of sugar and half a carton of creamer in that cup. No one in their right mind would call this coffee, let alone sit around drinking it at eight in the morning.
She laughs. “That’s what you get for putting your lips on my cup.”
“Oh. All of a sudden you have an issue with where I put my lips?”
A flush creeps up her neck, giving her skin an adorable red tint that reaches her cheeks.
“Nope,” she says, popping the “p” with her lips. “I like everything you do with your lips.”
I nod, my lips quirking. “You don’t have to tell me, angel. Your moans last night were more than enough proof.”
Sloane shoves my shoulder, but she’s laughing as she pushes me away. “Shut up. Would you like your own cup of coffee?”
“I would love one.”
Her ass bounces as she hops up and prances over to the Keurig on the counter. Both of my eyes are glued to her, tracking her every movement. It’s no surprise that watching Sloane do even the most mundane task is riveting to me. I could watch her do shit like this all day and not get bored. What’s worse is, Iwantto.
A few moments later, she’s sliding a hot cup of black coffee my way. “Would you like some sugar and creamer, or do you like it black like your soul?” Her lips twitch, suppressing the urge to laugh at her bad joke, and I sigh. This is the shit that breaks my heart. She’s probably made a thousand of these atrocious attempts at humor over cups of coffee, and I haven’t been around to give her shit about any of them.
