I don't need to be told twice. I lift her easily, turning so she's lying beneath me on the sofa, her curls spread across the leather. I kiss her deeply, thoroughly, my hand sliding up her thigh, beneath the hem of her dress.
"Wait," I say, reluctantly breaking away. "Protection."
She nods, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
I reach under the coffee table to the basket full of Thin Ice and some other goodies.
Sloane raises an eyebrow when she sees the branded packaging. "Prepared, aren't you?"
I grin. “This is the Safe and Satisfied basket,” I explain. “Even before I was Mr. Thin Ice, my parents were really aggressive about this stuff.” I wave my hand at the supplies, and Sloane peeks inside. “It used to be weird that my dad would bring lube when he came to visit.”
She arches a brow, and I laugh. “Maybe it’s still weird.”
Sloane reaches into the pile and pulls out an ultra-thin condom, shaking it at me. I take it from her and watch as she settles back on the couch, spreading her legs and lifting her skirt.I trail a palm up her beautiful leg and forget every joke I wanted to make.
“I believe you promised to show me your socks,” she says. And then her laugh turns into a gasp as my fingers find her center.
"Next time," I promise, focusing on the way her body responds to my touch. I pull aside her panties and inhale the wet scent of her arousal.
What follows is a blur of sensation—her dress pushed up, my jeans discarded, our bodies finding that perfect rhythm we discovered at the ski house. She's responsive, uninhibited, meeting me movement for movement. The glass windows reflect our entwined forms, the city lights creating a backdrop of glittering stars.
I take my time, determined to make this even better than our first night together. If this is my last taste, I’m going to savor it. When I roll the condom on and slide inside her, it really feels like coming home. I should be terrified, but the experience electrifies me. Her nails dig into my shoulders, her breathing harsh against my ear as she tightens around me, repeating my name on ragged breaths. I follow her over the edge, her name on my lips like a prayer.
Afterward, we lie tangled together on the sofa, her head on my chest, my fingers tracing patterns on her bare skin. I feel oddly content, more satisfied than I can remember being in a long time, and it's not just the physical release.
"You okay?" I ask, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
She nods, her curls tickling my chin. "More than okay."
I tilt her face up to mine, struck by the realization that I want more of this—more of her—and not just in my bed. I want to know her stories, her dreams, her fears. I want to be the one she calls when she's having a bad day. I want to see her smile, hear her laugh, hold her when she cries.
It's too much, too soon, and yet it feels like the most natural thing in the world.
I brush my thumb across her cheekbone, marveling at the softness of her skin, the warmth in her eyes.
“Will you stay, Sloane?” The question comes out rough with an emotion I’m not ready to name.
Her eyes meet mine, and her face shifts, and I know what she’s going to say. I feel the crushing weight of her words before she even opens her mouth.
CHAPTER 9
SLOANE
"Will you stay, Sloane? Please?”
Tucker's question hangs in the air between us, heavy with an emotion I'm not ready to face. His thumb traces my cheekbone, blue eyes searching mine with unexpected vulnerability.
Reality crashes back. What am I doing? I sit up abruptly, pulling away from his warmth. Tucker's arms fall to his sides, his face already registering the shift in my mood.
"I can’t.” I look around his apartment with suddenly clear eyes. The place screams single guy with no responsibilities—gaming consoles stacked beneath that massive television, designer furniture that looks barely used, a kitchen with gleaming appliances that probably never see action beyond protein shakes. "I have class in the morning."
I stand, straightening my sundress and searching for my underwear. I spot them on the floor by the coffee table, the delicate fabric torn at the seam from Tucker's eager hands. Great. I grab them anyway and step into them, feeling his eyes on me the entire time.
"You don't have to go," he says, sitting up. He's still naked, his hair mussed from my fingers, looking impossibly gorgeous and entirely too dangerous for my fragile new beginning. "If you stay, we could have breakfast. I make a mean scrambled egg."
I shake my head, collecting my purse from where I'd droppedit. "This was fun, but I really need to focus on school right now. I can't... I can't do this again."
His face falls, the disappointment unmasked. "Can I call you?"
