“Fuck, yes, Sloane. Scream for me,” I say, feeling my own release building at the sound of my stage name leaving her lips. I pull out my cock and start fisting it in my hand, unable to wait a second longer. She looks back, trying to flip over. I push her back down. I use the wetness from her orgasm to coat my length, and then I pick up speed. Before long, I feel that spine-tinglingsensation build up, hitting me so fucking hard that I nearly fall over before catching myself with my other hand.
“Fuuuuckk,” I groan, erupting all over her back. The sight of it alone makes me want to flip her over and fuck her right here, but I don’t. I’ve already gone too far.
I grab the back of my shirt and pull it off in a single motion, using it to clean her up. I flip her over gently and cradle her in my arms, lifting her off the ground. She gazes up at me, eyes hazy with the remnants of her orgasm. Sweat coats her chest and neck. I brush a strand of damp hair off her cheek and tuck it behind her ear. Her mouth falls open on a small sigh.
“Let’s get you inside and cleaned up,” I say, as she rests her head against my chest. I begin walking back to the house.
I have no idea what I’m doing as we head back inside, and I walk straight through my living room, down the hall, into my bedroom, and finally my bathroom. I still have no clue what motivates me as I sit her on the edge of the tub and start running a bath of warm water. She doesn’t speak, watching as I grab a couple of towels and body wash out of the closet and set them on the ledge beside her. I go to my dresser next to grab one of my T-shirts and bring it back to sit it on the vanity counter.
“For you,” I say, pointing to the shirt. “I’ll be in the living room when you’re finished.” I consider asking her if she wants me to stay. She stares at me in astonishment, but nods. I fight my urges as I close the door to the bathroom and lean against it, taking a deep, cleansing breath.
What the fuckam I doing?
24
Sloane
I’m trying to process everything that happened as I remove my clothing and step into a tub the size of a spa. I sit down and lean back until the delightfully warm water covers my shoulders. A sigh escapes my lips at the feel of my muscles relaxing one by one. I wave my hand through the water slowly, playing with the bubbles that are scattered over the top.
I have no idea what came over me. Maybe it was revenge for that awful text that I still can’t get out of my mind. Maybe it was the heat of the moment. Van was right when he said that being chased through the forest by a masked man was turning me on. His words after that, though, are what did me in. “…who wants to fuck that attitude right out of you.”
Holy hell. That washot. I half considered dialing up the attitude after that. I hated myself for how responsive my bodywas to those words alone. I hated myself even more for wanting Van to follow through on them.
“You were with the professor nearly hours ago,”Halo me chastises. I cringe at the thought.
“Serves him right for breaking it off over a text message.”The one with the pitchfork snorts. I smile because she’s also right.
I slide down the tub until my head is under water, remaining there until my lungs burn. I consider putting myself out of my misery right here and now, before plunging out of the water and sucking in a breath. I wipe the water out of my eyes with my hands, laughing out loud at the complete dumpster fire that is my current life. Maybe Van was wrong, and the frequencyismessing with my head. I sigh because the two bickering fools in my head both know that’s a complete lie.
As I wash the dirt out of my hair and from my skin, I recall the way Van took control out there. It felt so …familiar. How did I manage to findtwomen who share similar kinks within a thirty-mile radius? It’s almost too good to be true. Maybe I could force them to meet and mash them together until they become one. I laugh out loud again at how ridiculous that mental image is. I finish up in the bath, towel off, and throw on the all-black T-shirt that Van left for me. The clothing has a woodsy scent. I inhale deeply, and another scent tugs at my memory.
I catch my reflection in the mirror, noticing that the shirt is so large that it falls to my knees. I look down at my dirt-smudged jeans on the bathroom floor, biting my bottom lip. I don’t want to put them back on after bathing, so I opt to find a pair of his boxer shorts to throw on instead. I recall passing through his bedroom on the way in here. I open the bathroom door and peek out to make sure he isn’t in there. I tiptoe to his dresser and open up the top drawer, expecting to find his underwear. But what Ifind in it instead is his off-stage masks. I run my hand over them, feeling the fabric against my fingertips.
I’m mindlessly flipping through them one by one when my finger hits something hard and box-shaped, near the bottom of the stack. I peek over my shoulder at the bedroom doorway to make sure no one managed to sneak up on me in the last minute before resuming my snooping. I know that I should close the drawer and find what I’m looking for, but I can’t force myself to abandon the mysterious box. I pull the box out and study it. It’s an antique, gold-plated box with ornate designs covering it. There’s an unlocked latch on the front. I flip the latch, holding my breath with my hand on the lid like I’m expecting something to come flying out of it. Before I’m able to open it, I hear footsteps coming my way. I hurriedly place the box back in the drawer beneath the masks and close it.
When Van walks in, I’m already fumbling through another clothing drawer.
“What are you doing?” he asks, confused.
“I thought maybe I could borrow one of your boxers since my jeans were dirty, and I wasn’t wearing any und—”
“Yeah, of course. My bad,” he says, opening up his underwear drawer to grab a pair of boxer briefs and handing them to me. “Might be a little big.”
“That’s fine,” I say, stepping into them. I tie them off at the waist so they’ll stay on. It will do for now. I look up at him, and he’s staring down at my shirt,hisshirt.
“What?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious.
“Oh, nothing,” he says, eyeing me up and down. “It … looks a lot better on you than on me.”
“Oh, um …” I say, staring down at the floor. My hand instinctively comes up to my earring to twirl it in my fingers. “Thanks?” I say, like it’s a question.
He stands there assessing me for another second before asking, “Do you want to come to the living room? I made us a pizza. Figured you’d be hungry after … everything.” He coughs.
“Sure,” I say, voice an octave higher than intended. I follow him out of the room and into his living room, where there’s an amazing-smelling margherita flatbread pizza sitting atop a pizza stone on a white marble coffee table in front of a large white sectional. I take a seat, my stomach growling to expose my hunger. Van laughs, taking a seat beside me. He plates the pizza and hands a slice to me. I try not to look like I’ve never eaten a day in my life as I shovel the delicious cheesy goodness into my mouth.
“Hungry?” He laughs. I notice that he isn’t eating any, but don’t question it. I’m assuming he ate while I was bathing. Less time to have to mess with his mask in front of someone, I guess.
“Just a bit,” I respond. “Worked up quite the appetite, it would seem,” I say out loud, instantly wishing I hadn’t. My eyes shoot up to him, and I know my cheeks are as crimson as a hibiscus in full bloom. Stupid,stupidbrain. Of all the thoughts that never leave my lips daily,that’sthe one that manages to slip free? I internally face-palm.
