Page 25 of Temptation
He began to pump his cock, his grip tight, but not as tight as she’d been. She’d been hot. Clinging to him. Moaning for him.
His hand jerked on his cock. He didn’t want his own hand on him. He wanted hers on him. Her hand. Her mouth. Her tight pussy.
He didn’t see the shower wall. Didn’t see anything but her.
Nipples tight. Legs spread.
He’d feasted on her.
He wanted to fuck her.
And he came right there, in the shower, with her taste on his lips and her body in his mind.
She backed away. Slowly. Kinda crept back as soundlessly as she could.
Maybe going into the room next door had been a bad idea. Maybe heading toward the bathroom and the partially open door had been bad. Maybe watching Preston Byron jerk off while he said her name had been bad.
But it had felt oddly good.
Still, once she hit the hallway Sloane all but ran back to the room she’d originally been given. His room. She snapped off the lights and dove under the covers. Her heart raced, and she wondered…
Had he seen her?
The glass shower door had not been foggy. There had been no steam in the bathroom. She’d peeked around that partially open bathroom door, and she’d seen him and he’d been…
Wow.
Muscled. Powerful. Sexy.
And that cock.
Her eyes squeezed shut.
The man is a red flag for you. And the fact that she wanted him so badly? Another red flag. Waving. Practically slapping her in the face.
She gripped the covers. She’d yanked the bedroom door shut behind her, but Sloane half thought—hoped?—that he would throw open the door and come inside.
She stayed like that, eyes closed, gripping the covers, body tense until…
Until she finally gave into exhaustion and slept.
She rushed down the stairs. “Mom!” Sloane’s fingers slid down the gleaming banister. “Mom, you didn’t wake me up!” Okay, fine, that was an asshole thing to say. She was sixteen. She could wake up her own self. Yes, got it. But they had a routine. Her mom would always knock lightly on her bedroom door, and she’d come in, using that sweet, singsong voice of hers, and she’d promise Sloane that “Today will be a great day!”
Her mom had been telling her that since Sloane had been eight years old, and they’d buried Sloane’s biological father. Since they’d stood at his grave, and Sloane had tugged and twisted at the black dress she’d been forced to wear. Since they had started a life on their own and…
Today will be a great day.
Her mother had said those words for so long, and they’d finally come true. Life wasn’t scary. She didn’t have to worry about her bio dad hitting her any longer. The dead couldn’t hurt you. She was safe. And her mom had found love again. She’d remarried. She and Sloane had a good life.
Nah. They had a great one.
But…
Where was her mom?
Her steps stopped on the second stair from the bottom. The silence in the house had just hit her. There was never silence. Not on a school day. A work day. Her stepdad would have the news blaring because he loved to watch the news while he had his two cups of coffee to start the day. And her mom would be singing a song as she made pancakes or waffles in the kitchen. She would sing old songs, Broadway songs, modern songs—her mom’s voice would float and drift through the house. Sloane’s stepdad wouldn’t even care if her singing interfered with him hearing the news broadcast because he loved his wife’s voice.
But there was no singing in the house this morning. No news. Nothing at all.
