Chapter 25 Sloane
Sloane
Now
On Thursday evening, I find myself home alone, wrapped up in a rare group FaceTime call with both of my parents. My dad is still at work and my mom is going through a large selection of evening gowns, looking for the one most likely to make her look like she has a heart.
“Sloane, darling. I happen to know that Ash is one of the bachelors being auctioned off at the Rockwell Foundation’s annual charity event this year. Please tell me you’ll be there to save him from the swarm of ladies who’ll be bidding on him. Half of them are old enough to be his mother.”
“Lauren,” my dad says sternly.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes and tell my father that even his best lawyer voice won’t stop his wife from trying to force me to talk to her about my nonexistent relationship with New Haven’s most eligible bachelor.
Once again, that’s not me talking. Ash was literally on the cover of Harem, an exclusive print magazine with a cult following, this week with those exact words in sharp, red letters above his head.
“No, Mom,” I say instead. “Ash and I have decided we’re better suited to be friends, so he’ll have to fend for himself at the auction.”
Or be rescued by whatever mystery woman he was meeting at Roku yesterday. Either way, his fate at the charity event doesn’t have anything to do with me, and I refuse to act like it does. My mother gives a disapproving tut, but it’s Dad who speaks.
“I’m sorry things didn’t work out, Bean.” His chestnut eyes shine with sincerity. “I hope my relationship with him didn’t have any bearing on the decision.”
I shake my head. “Of course not, Daddy. We’re just looking for two different things.”
Ash is looking for someone emotionally available, and I, apparently, am only looking for Dominic Alexander. The one man I shouldn’t want but have given up on resisting.
“What a shame,” my mother mutters. “You two made a beautiful couple.”
“Uh—thanks?”
Oblivious as always, she flashes me her socialite smile. “You’re welcome, love.”
We chat for a few more minutes before I finally manage to get them both off the phone, so I can collapse on my bed in peace. I’m exhausted and grumpy because it’s almost seven in the evening and the only person I want to see or talk to isn’t here yet.
In fact, I haven’t seen Dom all day. Between going to the office to handle the whole Jeanie situation with Mal and running around to check in on different projects being handled by my senior designers, I haven’t had time to swing by La Grande Nuit to see him or a free moment to do more than shoot him a quick text.
Apparently, his day has been busy as well, and now he’s stuck at the office going over details for the groundbreaking on a new project with Andre.
It must be the same project he was working on yesterday, because when he texted me to say he was running late, his message had the same vague tone he used on the phone last night.
I settle into my pillows and pull out my phone, scrolling through our messages and smiling at the only picture in our thread.
Even in the light of day when most explicit things, but especially dick pics, look sleazy and low budget, Dom’s picture is just…
well, hot. I stare at it, examining it closely and letting the uncomfortable pressure that’s been nestled in my core since last night build up until it reaches an impossible pounding that makes me feel like I’ll die if Dom doesn’t get here soon and relieve it.
The picture staring back at me sets off sparks of inspiration.
In an instant, I’m considering doing something I haven’t done in years—sexting.
Normally, I wouldn’t even consider sending a picture of myself to a man to grab his attention, but something about the photo staring back at me that makes me feel bold.
Oh, what the hell. Sighing, I untie the string holding my wrap dress together, unveiling a lacy red lingerie set with a garter belt and straps identical to the one I had on the night Dom came here to claim me.
I position the camera just so, allowing it to capture the swell of my breasts, the smooth skin of my belly, and the lace cuffs on my thighs.
When I’m happy with the way everything is lined up, I take a deep breath and snap the photo.
Typing out the message takes a little more courage than taking the actual photo, but I manage to do it, and the whooshing sound of the text being sent steals my breath.
Sloane: I miss you. Come home to me.
It’s kind of ridiculous to be nervous about sending a simple text message to the man I’ve allowed to have me in bathrooms, elevators, and parking lots, but that’s what I feel as I wait for his response.
Nervous. Vulnerable. Exposed.
And the feeling only gets worse as the minutes tick by.
One after another after another. Passing slowly without so much as a peep from my phone.
And when I can’t take it anymore, I jump up from the bed and march downstairs to the kitchen, leaving it behind.
I pour myself a generous glass of wine and wear a hole in the floorboards as I pace back and forth, reminding myself of all of the strategies Dr. Williams has given me for staving off panic attacks.
But deep breathing doesn’t work. And focusing on one object is hard because the only thing I want to look at is my phone. Closing my eyes isn’t an option because it’ll make it hard to avoid stubbing my toe on the legs of the barstools I can’t bring myself to sit on.
A knock sounding on my back door surprises the hell out of me, and I almost drop my untouched glass of wine when I hear it.
My heart skips several beats as I turn toward the sound, realizing that only one person in my life uses that door.
And then I break out into a sprint. My bare feet don’t make a sound as I run into the mudroom, unlocking the door with a huge but uncertain smile on my face.
“Angel,” Dom greets me. A heavy, slow gaze roves over my body, reminding me of the state of my clothing. My wrap dress is open, hanging on either side of my body and framing my curves. When his eyes snap back to mine, the fire burning in them is hot enough to brand me. “This is quite a greeting.”
Then he smiles that wolfish smile, and I almost evaporate. Almost. Instead of disappearing into thin air, I launch myself at him. Knocking the breath out of his lungs and purring like a cat in heat when his hands slip under the fabric and grab my ass.
I rain kisses down on him. Covering his eyes, his nose, his beard, and finally his handsome mouth with the physical representation of my joy.
Quickly, and without any protest on my end, he takes over the kiss.
Slanting his lips over mine and dominating me so completely my thighs are quivering around his waist when he finally pulls away.
I press my forehead to his and close my eyes, breathing him in with greedy gulps of air that make my lungs burn.
“You didn’t text me back,” I whisper, brushing my nose across his three times just like he always does to me. “I thought…”
I don’t know what I thought, but I can tell by the way his fingers are digging into my skin that I was wrong. Whatever kept him from texting me back doesn’t have anything to do with the panic that’s been curled around my breastbone for the last twenty minutes.
“I’m sorry. I was working, but as soon as your text came through, I left Andre’s ass in the office and ran at least three red lights to get here and see this in person.” His fingers caress me through the lace of my underwear. “That picture didn’t do you justice.”
He kicks the door closed and starts to move us through the house, bypassing the kitchen and the living room to take me upstairs.
Every step he takes makes his dick brush against me, pressing into my core through fabric I quickly realize isn’t the denim he usually wears.
Opening my eyes, I take a moment to actually look at him and nearly lose my breath when I realize he’s wearing a suit.
A sharp, black designer suit that hugs his broad shoulders and a graphite black tie against a smooth black shirt that gives his dark eyes an otherworldly look.
“You should have sent one back. I never get to see you in a suit.”
The last time I did, I was too pissed off at James for hiring him—and too mad at Dom for existing—to appreciate how fucking incredible he looks in one.
I smooth my hands over the fabric, wishing I got to see him in action today.
Marching around the glass and metal offices of Archway Construction, going over plans, and ordering employees around in a refined, less carnal version of the king voice he uses with me.
Construction Zone Dom is hot, but I bet Conference Room Dom is infinitely hotter.
He smirks at me as he passes through the door of my bedroom, unraveling my legs from his waist so he can toss me on the bed. I squeal as my back hits the mattress and grin up at him as he steps back to lean against the dresser.
“Well, I’m here now, angel.” His huge hands gesture toward his body. “Look your fill.”
The invitation to openly gawk at him is unexpectedly sexy—but then again, so is everything Dom does.
I sit up on my elbows and let my eyes roam over him, appreciating every inch of his incredible body and large frame.
It’s a thorough examination, my hungry eyes like fingertips skimming over his skin, but he doesn’t even flinch.
Instead, he crosses his arms over his chest and brings one of his thumbs to his mouth, running it across his bottom lip while he stares back at me.
My nipples pebble and my skin tingles underneath the weight of his gaze.
I lick my lips. “Take the jacket off.”
Both of his eyebrows raise in amused surprise. “Are you taking charge tonight, Sloane?”