“Why? You didn’t pack any white T-shirts?”
“It’s a different audience!”
“Right, the perverts in the comments,” she said, extended one leg—the bare one, her skirt draping in the exact way that kept it from being indecent—and pushed the arm of his chair with her toes.
Nothing happened.
“I thought that would rock back,” she admitted, pushing again. The leather dimpled, and before she could do anything else, Max sat up and grabbed her ankle.
“Quit it,” he said, and Sloane tilted her head against the back of the chaise and looked at him through half-lidded eyes.
“You gonna make me?”
Max glanced around the library: It was a weekday morning. The light streamed in from the tall windows. There were tables in the middle of the library and secret little lounges against the walls, between bookshelves, which was where they were. Max had seen one other patron that morning, and he didn’t see her right now.
“How about we make another bet,” he offered. “If I win, you narrate the next segment while sitting in the hot tub in your bathing suit?—”
Sloane rolled her eyes hard enough to cut him off. “I’m not catering to your drooling pervert audience,” she said. “But if you want, I can film you getting out of the pool.”
Max sighed and let her ankle go, then pushed himself out of the chair and settled next to Sloane on the chaise. “I can barter,” he said. “I’m a very reasonable man when it comes to exploiting a hot woman for views.”
“Look, you’re going about this the wrong way,” she said. “Your first step should be some slutty little shorts. I mean, what is that, even?” Sloane gestured at Max’s legs, which were covered almost to the knee.
She had a very good point, and as an appreciator of slutty little shorts, Max didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it.
“Yeah? How short?” Max had one arm slung over the back of the chaise. Sloane turned her head, rested her cheek against it, and gave him a long, slow once-over.
Max hadn’t found a chance to jerk off that morning, but he was pretty sure it wouldn’t have mattered. He’d be half-hard in his non-slutty shorts either way.
Sloane leaned, close enough for Max to smell her hair—lemons or something—and then drew a line across his thigh that was not at all far from his dick.
“Maybe around there?” she said and, instead of removing her hand, rested it there, her fingertips a few inches from his dick, which was quickly heading for two-thirds hard. “You know. Give or take. Depending on the situation.”
“Quick question,” Max said. Sloane lifted her eyebrows. “Any reason last night needed to be a one-time thing?”
“I can’t think of anything,” Sloane said. She squeezed his thigh again, and Max wasn’t looking forward to the walk through the hotel lobby. “And there’re condoms in my suitcase.”
Chapter Nine
Sloane had his shirt off practically before the door shut, her key card still in one hand. He hadn’t even kissed her yet, just backed her up against the nearest wall, and she was shoving at it until he got the hint and pulled it off. Then he kissed her, pinning her hips with her hands while she spread her fingers over his chest.
“That bad?” he murmured, letting one hand drift downward, looking for that slit in her skirt.
“I’m efficient,” she said. She was already breathing hard, chest swelling with each breath. He could have sworn that the V of her neckline was lower than it had been in the library. “We’ve still got work to do today.”
He found the opening in her skirt with his fingertips and stuck his entire hand inside, wrapping it around her upper thigh. Sloane’s chest heaved again. She looked up at him with her head back and lips parted, and it occurred to Max that she looked like she belonged on the cover of a bodice-ripper, dozens of which he’d walked past in the library.
Max kissed her again, on the mouth, then the jaw, then her neck. Sloane made little sound when she inhaled hard, squashing her tits against Max.
“Are you doing that on purpose?” he asked her pulse point.
She swallowed and inhaled again, delectably. “Doing what?”
“Heaving your bosoms.”
Sloane snorted, and god help him, Max thought it was hot.
“Not yet,” she said, and he pulled back to watch her adjust the neckline of her dress, prod her tits through her bra a little, and hug them together with her upper arms. Then she inhaled properly, breasts straining against the edges of her bra, and Max stuck his face into them so he wouldn’t start drooling.
