front of the dresser mirror in nothing but silver stiletto heels, bent close to apply a scarlet color to her lips. Her body was a display of shadow and light, full curves and strong muscle, mysteries and secrets. All that raven hair was secured in a bun, revealing her profile, baring her neck. I had no choice but to drink in her astonishing beauty, to fall prey, yet again, to her captivating spirit.
“How much time do we have before we need to leave?” she asked.
“Twenty-seven minutes.”
Her lingering perusal of my mostly naked body made it obvious why she was asking. Tonight was no night for distraction. She and I both knew that in our bones.
“Pity,” she said. Her widening smile was less flirtatious and much, much more emotional.
Can’t you feel it?
I let my towel drop, enjoyed her hungry perusal as I pulled on black briefs over my extremely obvious erection. Sloane reached for a long chain necklace and moved to drop it over her head.
“Wait,” I said. I walked until I stood directly behind her, our eyes meeting and holding in the mirror. “Allow me.”
With precision, I dropped the chain between her naked breasts, dragged it along her skin before finally clasping it at the nape of her neck. My fingers gripped the back of her neck possessively, squeezing once.
“Thank you,” she said, voice extra smoky.
I curled my fingers in the lacy fabric of her underwear. Holding them up, I said, “May I?”
“Please,” she replied, turning around to face me. I was back on my knees again for Sloane, staring at her in complete and total adoration. She stepped carefully into the fabric, and I slowly slid it past her ankles, along her calves, past her knees. My fingers lingered, stroked as they moved higher. Higher still. If I gave into temptation and pressed my face to her cunt, we’d never leave this room. But I did press a fairly filthy kiss to the inside of her thigh as I finally positioned her underwear where they were supposed to be. I exhaled, feathered my breath across her stomach, dragging my mouth along her hip bones. Her fingers roamed my hair, sifting the still-wet strands.
“Now you,” she said, nodding at my pants. With a wolfish grin, I stood and slipped them on. Sloane hooked her fingers in the belt loops and yanked me over, zipping my pants with her own feline smirk.
“Are suits the only thing you wear, Mr. Royal?” she asked. Her fingers traced down my chest, danced along my ribcage.
“One of the many things past girlfriends have been annoyed by,” I said. I selected a bracelet from the dresser, grabbed her wrist. “I believe the actual charges against me were ‘never has fun.’” I draped the silver over her skin, clasped it. Raised her wrist to my mouth to kiss it. “Letting go is hard for me. The only way I survived what happened with my mother was by exacting a precise control. Fun will exist once I’m done fixing all the wrong in this world.”
Sloane held out my crisp white shirt. The hotel had gone above and beyond laundering and drying our soaked clothing. As I slid my arms into the sleeves, she pulled the material up my shoulders. Smoothed her hand down the strip of chest and stomach still bare.
“Control feels safer,” she said. “I get it.”
I knew she did.
She closed each button with deliberate movements, midnight eyes glued to mine. “How often do you indulge in sex with strangers?”
I caressed the side of her face with my fingers. “When needed. How about you?”
“When needed,” she repeated. Smiled. Shirt closed, I tucked it in, handed her my belt. The confident way she handled the leather gave me too many erotic fantasies.
“Tie,” she said, palm outstretched. I placed the silk material between her fingers, allowed a mostly naked Sloane to knot my tie. Again.
“Do you dress the men you sleep with?” I asked—a bite of rare jealousy in my words.
“That would imply I was there long enough to do anything except get what I came for and then leave,” she said. Tie fixed, she stepped back to examine its precision. I looped my arm around her waist and yanked her back into me.
“Why do it for me?” I asked, mouth lingering near hers.
Her lips curved seductively—the color of a poisoned apple, delicious and sinful in equal measure. “Because it’s you.”
The fortress around my heart wouldn’t be able to take such a skilled dismantling much longer.