39. Sloan #2
“You’re going to get yourself in trouble like that, woman.”
“What?” she asked with feigned innocence, swirling her tongue on the flat part of the spoon. “I’m not doing anything.”
He rose from the stool and came toward her. “You know exactly what you’re doing. And I fully intend to punish you for it.” He pinned her against the counter. “And for leaving me tortured for two and a half weeks.”
One of his hands slid around her waist and came to rest against her lower back, crushing her body against him. Even through her clothes, she felt his need for her, how hard he already was.
Her breasts went heavy at the thought of him.
Good God.
Then Kyle’s hands slid under her ass, and he lifted her against him.
Her legs wrapped around his waist as she reached down, tugging at his shirt.
She yanked it over his head, tossing it as he started back toward the bedroom.
With one hand steady on his neck, she pulled her own blouse over her head—thank God she’d chosen something loose and uncomplicated for the flight.
She reached behind her and unhooked her bra as he opened the door, then returned her mouth to his.
More. Right now.
She wanted his mouth on hers. His hands on her.
Him inside her.
They reached the bed, and he lowered her onto it, then pushed his sweatpants and briefs down as she wiggled out of her own pants.
“Maybe I should go away more often,” she said as he leaned across the bed.
“Never again,” he said, and she got the feeling he was only half joking.
He opened the drawer to his nightstand and grabbed a condom, then moved to rip the packaging open with his teeth.
She grabbed his wrist.
“I’m okay if you are,” she said, with a shake of her head. “I’m still on the pill and got tested.”
He searched her gaze, and even in the moonlight, his eyes burned.
They’d had a lot of sex when they were younger, but he probably remembered they’d never gone bare then. Not once. Not when there was the threat of teenage pregnancy and parents’ furor hanging over their heads.
“I want to feel you—every inch of you—inside me, Kyle.”
That seemed to do it.
He dropped the package on the bed and set one hand on either side of her shoulders. When he lowered his face to hers once again, his kiss was rough and bruising.
She wrapped her legs over his hips. “You know, if you’re really mad at me for leaving you, you’re welcome to punish me as much as you want.”
“Maybe I will,” Kyle said, his kiss fierce. He grabbed her breasts and squeezed—hard—and she yelped from both pain and pleasure. “Get on your hands and knees. I want to fuck you from behind.”
She grinned and did exactly as he’d asked.
Kyle came up behind her, setting his hands on her ass, palms spread so that he gripped her tightly.
“God, your ass makes me so hard.” He smacked her skin, a sharp crack that sent shivers through her, then lowered his face to her backside, spreading her for his view.
“You like what you see?”
“I love what I see.” He dropped a kiss on her pussy. “Love what I taste, too. You’re so fucking wet.”
“Then maybe you should give me what we both want.”
“And what’s that?” His lips made a slow trail between her legs and she squirmed with heat, her skin burning. “I like to hear you say it.”
“Y-your cock . . . buried . . . deep inside me.” Every word was a struggle, every sensation rocking her body with need for him that demanded to be fulfilled.
“Thought I was supposed to punish you,” he returned, lips closing around her clit.
Her breath came in shallow gasps. “Fuck . . . yessss.”
“More?”
She gave a strangled noise that sounded something like a yes, as his tongue flicked her pulsing clit. “So good.”
The pressure started to build, her fingers digging into the sheets, her back arching. “More—”
He pulled away abruptly, reached forward, and grabbed her long hair, tangling it around his fist. Drawing her back, he kissed her mouth hard, his other hand crossing over her breasts. His fingertips made hard circles over one nipple. “Tell me you want me, Sloan.”
“I want you. God, I want you so bad.”
His kiss bruised her harder, his fingers and palm rougher. He released her hair, then slid the other hand down over her hip, making a slick glide over her clit, before impaling her on his fingers.
He pulled away and searched her eyes, her mouth still open, inches from his. “Tell me you love me.”
That broke something in her.
Something she hadn’t anticipated.
This man. This strong, sexy, caring man who’d once given himself to her over and over again so willingly . . . he needed to hear she loved him before he fucked her.
“I love you, Kyle Winnick.”
“I love you too, Sloan Carrington.” His mouth tipped in a soft smile—just a hint of one—and pushed her down onto her hands again, hands finding her hips just as quickly. Then he pushed her knees apart with his own and found her entrance, slamming his full length hard inside her.
She cried out, the feeling so intense and so fucking incredible that she had to grip the sheets with both hands, burying her face against the mattress. “I want to hear you,” Kyle said, sliding out, inch by inch, letting her feel his withdrawal.
This time, when he pushed inside him, her moan of pleasure was louder than before. “Oh, God, Kyle.”
His hand found her clit as he started to push in and out, her body meeting his, her back arching hard as she ground against him. “So . . . good . . .” Her body shuddered as sparks shot through her limbs.
This wasn’t slow. Wasn’t sweet lovemaking. Nothing of the sort.
It was feral, wild bucking, hard and fast, deep thrusts that left her bruised in the best way possible, crying out with pleasure for more.
But maybe it was what they needed, because they could hold each other later.
This was about something much deeper.
Much more . . . desperate.
Sex that was about need, and want, and fulfilling years of separation that had carved them both out and fashioned them into who they were now. Who she needed to be—for him. For herself. For them.
And even though he was the steady one, he’d changed too. He wasn’t the boy too hesitant to tell her exactly what he thought. Too worried about hurting her feelings that he didn’t challenge her to be better.
He’d become everything she needed, too.
When she started to come, she squirmed against his fingers on her clit, and his hand dug in harder. “I’m not letting you quit me, woman. Ride it out.”
And she did, a scream ripping from her as she came, every inch of her skin seeming to explode at once.
“Holy fuck,” she managed, panting as her body trembled.
He didn’t let up, though. And as another orgasm crested, she felt him start to throb hard against her pussy. Then he thrust in hard, one last time, and came.
The feeling of it undid her all over again, and their cries mingled.
When they’d both gone silent, Kyle hooked his arm around her waist, rolling to the side on the bed and pulling her down to curl up against him, still connected.
Outside the door, Sadie and Charlie pawed, scratched, and whined.
Sloan laughed, too spent to even lift her head. “They probably think we’re killing each other.”
He kissed the crook of her neck. “We may have to reassess their sleeping arrangement, because I plan to do a whole lot more murder tonight. After spaghetti, of course.”
She laughed lightly, then meshed her fingers against his, letting herself rest in his arms. “I missed you, Kyle,” she confessed, feeling happier than she’d been in— God, I don’t even remember when I've been this happy.
“I missed you, too,” he answered softly. “I never stopped missing you.”
Tears stung her eyes, and she let out a slow breath that released any remaining tension from her body. “I don’t think I did either, but I’m glad I found my way back to you.”
Because if she knew one thing, it was that she would never let anything get between them again. Ever.