Chapter 9
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.
Sloane laughed, her hands on his face, then in his hair. He was pretty sure she heaved again, on purpose, and then the front of her dress was gone and he was working his way up her neck again, one thigh between her legs.
“Amazing,” he said. “I think I know how I want to die now.”
Sloane bit his lower lip, then licked it. “Just wait, like, thirty minutes.” She had her hands on his belt, tugging at it. Max pulled back, hands on the wall on either side of her shoulders, and looked down.
“Why? You need something first?” Her dress was still on her shoulders, somehow, hanging behind her like a cape, black bra and panties still on. Max knew exactly what it meant that they matched. Not that he’d doubted, but still.
“I need your stupid belt off,” she said, and finally pulled it through the clasp, yanking it open. Half a second later, his shorts were undone, the heel of her hand was pressing against his dick through the cotton of his boxers, and he was groaning into her neck.
“Where’s your suitcase?” he asked. He didn’t think he could fuck her against the wall the whole time, but it was a good place to start.
“Next to the balcony door with the open curtains looking out on the courtyard,” she said. They both looked over.
“Right,” Max said, gave her one more deep kiss, and went to close the curtains.
When he turned around, Sloane was a few feet away, rifling through her suitcase on her knees. She’d ditched the dress but was still wearing her bra and panties, and Max didn’t even stop to think, just got his clothes off and dropped onto his knees behind her.
“Hi,” she said when he dropped a kiss onto her lower back and gripped her hips. “They’re here somewhere.”
Max kissed his way up her spine, messy and open-mouthed, and felt the way she arched beneath him. “How much stuff did you bring for two nights?”
“I drove down. It’s not like I needed to pack light,” she said, and he reached her bra clasp.
“So I brought my own shampoo and…stuff.” Her bra fell off, conveniently into the suitcase—that was a good trick, and Max leaned forward onto one hand, cupping her breast in the other, her nipple lightly squeezed between two fingers as his dick slid along the back of one thigh.
“You’re not trying to help, are you?” she asked, sounding shakier already.
“I’m providing inspiration,” he said, and Sloane sighed so he bit her shoulder blade, gently.
“Where the fuck did I—wait,” she said. Max slid her panties off, down to her knees and over one foot, and there was enough light in the room for him to see she was glistening. He had to take a deep breath and squeeze the base of his dick for a moment before he could—
“Here,” she said, and held a condom over her shoulder between two fingers. “I forgot I put them in that side—”
It wasn’t Max’s fault he cut her off; Sloane was totally welcome to keep talking about where she’d hidden the condoms from herself while Max stroked the pad of his thumb down her slit, gathering wetness, and then slid it over her clit a couple of times.
Her head dropped and she rocked backward, against his hand, and it wasn’t quite ideal because he was using his right hand to roll the condom onto himself and he was a little clumsier with his left, but Sloane didn’t complain.
“Are you waiting for an invitation?” she asked, looking over her shoulder. “Come on.”
Jesus Christ, Max was going to die and he was going to die happy. “I didn’t get a good look last night,” he said, using his right hand this time.
“Why not? Your face was in it enough.”
“Disagree,” Max said, and slid two fingers into her, his thumb landing on her clit. Sloane clenched around him, all slick hot muscle, and Max’s brain briefly whited out.
“I know that’s not your dick,” she said, and she sounded ragged and pleading and like she was halfway in a suitcase, still. “You were bruising my tonsils last night.”
Max stopped moving. “Fuck, I’m—”
“Not literally. I’m fine,” she said. “I’m just saying.”
He pulled his fingers out with a slick, pornographic noise he was pretty sure he’d hear in his wet dreams, then rubbed his knuckles against her clit one more time.
“I’m still face down in my suitcase. If you’re not going to get on with it, we could—” Sloane broke off into a noise as Max lined himself up and pushed in with one stroke.
He had to rest his forehead against her back when he bottomed out, collecting himself for a moment.
Mostly making sure he didn’t come immediately, since he’d already been close and the way Sloane had arched her back and groaned had not exactly helped matters.
“You good?” he asked after a moment, when he could trust his voice again.
“Yeah, I’m good,” Sloane said, breathy and faint as she clenched around him, then pushed back. Max grabbed her hip and dug his fingers in. “C’mon, you can—”
Fuck me right, she was going to say, presumably, because she stopped talking as he started fucking.
He started gently, pulling out and sliding back in, thinking about speed and angles and force and virtually anything but how good it felt or how Sloane was fucking back and moaning while she ground against his pelvis.
Watching wasn’t helping, either, but he couldn’t stop himself from looking at the way the muscles in her back knotted and pulled or the way she stretched around him.
“You can go harder,” she gasped. They were in a rhythm now, hard and steady, Sloane making a noise every time he bottomed out as Max kept whispering everything that came to mind, mostly You like that and So fucking good. “I’m not gonna br—ow, fuck.”
Sloane suddenly tumbled away from him, practically onto her face, as the suitcase slid away across the floor. She caught herself on one elbow, and Max slid out, landing with a hand on either side of her.
“You okay?” he asked, but she was already laughing. “Shit—sorry.”
“Probably not the best place,” she admitted, pushing herself back up. “Oh well.”
“There’s a bed,” Max offered, but she was already reaching back for him, guiding him in. “We could fuck like civilized people.”
Sloane rocked back, and Max watched his dick disappear inside her. It looked like a magic trick. It felt like a magic trick. “Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” she asked, and Max had an idea.
“Hear me out,” he said, and leaned over her back again, grinding in hard, listening to the way it made Sloane’s breathing go harsh and ragged. He wrapped an arm around her chest, braced himself as best he could, and pulled her up until he was kneeling and she was sitting on his dick.
“Fuck,” she said, tilting her head back. “Okay. Fuck.”
Max grabbed the corner of the bed and, somehow, managed to spin them both ninety degrees so Sloane could get a hand on the comforter.
He was pretty sure he gave himself rugburn but couldn’t have cared less because now Sloane was pushing back against him, gravity doing its job as she rolled her hips and he thrust up, shallowly, then harder.
It took a minute to get the angles and the rhythm right, a minute where Max felt like he might actually fucking die, but then he grabbed her hips and pulled her where he wanted her and she said Oh fuck do that fucking again, fuck, and Max did.
Thirty seconds later, he got his fingers on her clit, his mouth on the back of her neck, and she came in shuddering waves, one hand clenched in the comforter, forehead leaning against it.
Max fucked her through it and then followed her over, breathless and sweating and practically boneless with relief.
“Sorry about the suitcase,” he said when he could think again.
“I could have moved,” she mumbled.
“But that would have taken time, and you were on your hands and knees, begging for it,” Max pointed out, but he squeezed her hip and kissed the knob of her neck as he did so.
“I wouldn’t say I was begging,” Sloane said, and rested her head on her forearms to look over her shoulder.
She wasn’t moving yet, still warm and solid and on his dick, so he kissed her shoulder blade. “No?”
“I think I was making some very reasonable requests,” she said. “Given the circumstances.”
Max’s knees were beginning to complain, so he sighed and gently bit the spot where her neck met her shoulder and then rested his chin there.