We’ve been driving in almost complete silence for five minutes before Sloane speaks. “Do you really think that was appropriate?” she asks, tapping her fingertips against her bare knees. From the back of the car, Lacey pauses in her gentle humming and leans forward.

 

“Think what was appropriate?” she asks.

 

Sloane and I answer at the same time.

 

“Nothing.”/ “Sloane was playing with my dick under the dining table.”

 

Lacey slumps back into her seat, gasping in a scandalized fashion. “No, Sloane. No, I don’t think that was appropriate behavior at all.”

 

Sloane’s face reddens, either from embarrassment or rage, I’m not sure, but she curls her little doctor hands into fists and raises them high enough to make me think she’s considering hitting me. The prospect of being wailed on by Sloane does remarkable things to me; I give her my most salacious smirk. “Bring it, angry girl.”

 

She scowls, lowering her fists. “Do you think you could at least tell me where you’re driving to right now? I notice we’re headed north. There’s not much up there apart from Seattle, and I know you're not seriously taking me back there.”

 

She doesn’t realize that Seattle is the only place we can go. We could travel anywhere in this country and it wouldn’t matter—Charlie would find me. Charlie would find the both of us. No, the only option is to go home and face the music. I have to do my best to get her on board with the idea while not frightening the shit out of her at the same time. “What’s up, Sloane? I thought you liked your job. Your house. Don’t you wanna go back to that?”

 

She wrinkles up her nose, looking up at me with such blatant incredulity that I think she might start laughing. She doesn’t, though. She just shakes her head slowly.

 

“Are you completely mad? Have you forgotten about your ex-employer? Ah, but then again you were nice and safely out of the picture when he started sending people around to my house to kill me. Not much of a surprise that you'd want to head straight back to your crazy sex pad as soon as my sister’s found.”

 

Ahh, if only she could see inside my head. She’d have been surprised by my little Sloane Romera no longer needs you bit earlier. Actually fuck that. That would be a nightmare. “I don't live in my crazy sex pad. And I haven’t forgotten about Charlie, either.”

 

“Then why are you in such a rush to head back there? It’s not safe. They know where I live, Zeth. They know where I work.”

 

Lacey pipes up from the back again, confident and sure of her words. “You're going to come live with us for a while. And Zeth’s gonna keep you safe. Aren’t you?” She shoves a hand up into the front of the car and prods me forcefully in the arm. I could kill her. Yeah, so I was gonna broach the subject of Sloane coming to stay at the warehouse for a little while, just until things with Charlie resolved themselves one way or another. But I was going to do it more subtly. Try and make it seem like her idea. If she actually came to me wanting protection...how would that change the dynamics of our relationship? It would change things massively. The truth of the matter is, I have ways of getting what I want, and Lacey has just totally screwed with that. She’s completely fucking up my game.

 

“Sloane can stay wherever she likes.” I affect an air of total indifference. I know the reaction this would normally provoke from a fiery woman—I’ve had an awful lot of time over the years to study people and their reactions to different situations. They would say hell no. They’d rather die than come and stay with me. Even for a day. A single night. Half a fucking hour. But with Sloane, I can never rely on what I’ve learned from other people. She never reacts as I think she’s going to. I’m half thinking she’ll turn around and say okay to the whole thing.

 

She snorts, cracking her thumb knuckles, awkwardly shifting in her seat. “That’s an incredibly valiant offer there, Zeth, but I think I’ll give it a miss this time, thanks ever so much."

 

Okay, so maybe I wasn’t too far off the mark with my first guess. She prettied it up a little, but the response is still a hell no. It’ll be about ten thirty by the time I get a text from her, telling me to come get her. She’ll be mad. Angry. Probably say something about how since it’s entirely my fault that she’s jumping every time the house creaks, then I could at least have the decency to look out for her. I bite back the smile that wants to bloom across my face.

 

“Fair enough. Have it your way.” Such a beautiful thing that her way always ends up being my way. I drop Sloane off at her home just as she requests. I might be leaving her here for a couple of hours, but I'm not a complete punk. I haul ass out of the car.

 

“Uh, where do you think you’re going?” she asks, her bag in her hand. I head to the trunk of the Camaro and I pop it open. I grab out a piece of my own luggage, and then I open the rear door, bending down so I can get a good look at Lacey.

 

“I’m gonna be gone for eighteen minutes,” I tell her. She knows the drill; we’ve done this before, although she looks really unimpressed this time.

 

She holds out her hand. “You’re a fucking jerk,” she tells me. I snap off my wristwatch and I place it in her open palm.

 

“I know, kiddo. Eighteen minutes.” I slam the door closed, and then I walk past Sloane and up to her front door. She watches me dump my bag and turn to wait for her, arms folded across my chest. She looks like she’s just been doused with freezing cold water. She storms up the pathway, her hips swinging in those tiny little fucking shorts. Seriously. Fuck.

 

“What the hell are you doing?” she hisses. “You’re not coming in.”

 

“I am coming in,” I inform her, leaning back against the door. “You’re going to let me in.”

 

“No. I’m not.” She folds her arms across her own chest, mirroring my pose. It’s fucking adorable.

 

“You are. I’m going to make sure none of Charlie’s men are lurking inside. Why do you think I brought the bag?” Her cheeks flush scarlet, and my dick starts to rise in my pants. I know why she thought I was bringing the bag. I can’t help but smirk as I bend down, unzip the duffel, and I pull out the Desert Eagle. I hold it out to her. “You seem to know how to make a man shit his pants with this. Perhaps you’d like to do a perimeter sweep yourself?”

 

She rolls her eyes, although I see the second’s hesitation there. I expect her to slap my arm and giggle or some shit and then send me into the house to look for the bad guy, but instead she snatches the gun out of my hand. “Fine. Wait here. I’ll go and do a perimeter sweep, and then you can have your gun back and you can leave.”

 

I rock back on my heels, my face throbbing with the effort it’s taking to keep the smile off my face. I can’t remember the last time I felt the need to fucking smile so desperately. Fighting it back’s as hard as trying to shove a wet cat inside a hessian sack—almost impossible. I shrug, feigning nonchalance. “Be my guest.”

 

She scowls at me, opening the front door and then going inside. She pushes the door half closed behind her, but guess what…I’m not waiting outside. Sloane must hear me follow her in, my black bag in hand, but she doesn’t say anything. She’s actually conducting a bona fide search of the ground floor, gun raised and ready to fire. It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever fucking seen.

 

She sweeps the lounge, the kitchen, the pantry, the downstairs bathroom, the rear yard. I might as well be watching a cop at work. She has to have done this before. Has to. I follow her at a distance, just in case there actually are people inside and she needs me to brutally beat the living shit out of them for her, but other than that I let her do her thing, and I keep my mouth shut.

 

Once she’s ascertained that there’s no one waiting for her in her shrubbery, she stalks back through the house, glaring at me as she passes, and heads upstairs. The bathroom, a spare room, a linen closest, another bedroom—her bedroom. I smell her as soon as I walk in. The scent is fresh and bright, even though she hasn’t been here for a week.

 

“There you go. You can have your stupidly big gun back now,” Sloane says, pressing the weapon sideways into my chest. I grab hold of the thing and snick the safety on, raising an eyebrow at her.

 

“So you’re happy that there’s no one here?” A little mockery works its way into my tone; I just can’t seem to help myself.

 

“Oh, no,” she says, tipping her head to one side. “There’s someone here. There’s someone here that really shouldn’t be, and I’d really like it if he would leave now please.”

 

I drop my bag on the floor.

 

Her eyes grow wide.

 

I put the gun down on top of her dresser and I prowl toward her, feeling positively predatory when she starts to back away. In five short steps, I’ve closed the gap between us and her back is pressed up against her bedroom wall. I place my palms against the wall on either side of her head. “I’m not going anywhere for another fifteen minutes, Sloane.”

 

“You shouldn’t have done that back at my parents’ place,” she says. Her voice sounds breathy and distracted, which is a goddamn green light if ever I’ve heard one. I lean forward some more, so that my face is only a couple of inches away from hers. Her eyes are unblinking, staring back at me, traveling all over my face, and I know what she’s thinking about. I know what she wants. It’s pretty fucking cruel, but I feel like teasing her a little bit…so I lick my lips. Sloane instantly turns her head away from me, pulling in a sharp breath. Yeah. She wants to kiss me.

 

“Why shouldn’t I have done that back at your parents’ place?” I growl into her ear. I take the tip of my tongue and I carefully flick her earlobe with it; my cock stirs again, already very nearly fully hard from the little show she just put on with the gun.

 

She won’t turn back and look at me, but her body reacts, jumping a little. “Because they’re my fucking parents. I don’t know what kind of household you grew up in, but in mine we don’t go around giving guys hand jobs under the table while we’re trying to have an important discussion.”

 

She sounds angry, but her body is such a traitor. She wants me; I can tell by the rapid rise and fall of her chest and the way that she’s rubbing her palms against her bare thighs. She liked me touching her when I shouldn’t have been touching her, and she liked touching me, too. She’s mad at herself because of it, but I’m guessing when I put my hand down the front of those skimpy shorts, she’s already gonna be wet for me.

 

“I’m not sorry,” I say under my breath. “And you’re right. You don’t know what kind of household I grew up in.”

 

That seems to have gotten her attention. She glances at me out of the corner of her eye, and then…then she fucking sucks on her bottom lip. Sloane is one of the most carnal people I’ve ever met, and I’ve met a whole lot of people. She takes the most regular of bodily idiosyncrasies and performs them in the most sexual of ways. No other woman could do what she does and produce the same throbbing, blood-pounding-in-my-veins reaction from me; when other women do things like that, it’s to draw attention to their mouth, and it’s usually blatantly obvious. It’s mildly entertaining, sure, but it’s all an act. None of that stuff turns my dick into reinforced motherfucking steel like Sloane’s entirely subconscious flirtations.

 

She seems to realize what she’s doing and the lip sucking action stops abruptly. “You lied to my parents,” she says, as though she’s just suddenly remembered that point. “You lied about what you do for a living, and you lied about being my fucking road trip partner. I thought you didn’t do that?”

 

“I don’t normally. I don’t lie to anyone. I will certainly never lie to you, Sloane, but I will lie for you. Only you.” Maybe the lip thing’s caused me to lower my guard for a minute, because it almost even surprises me when I hear myself say that. Sloane opens her mouth, looking mildly stunned. Now’s probably the perfect time to raise that fucking guard again, before anything else slips out. “Is there anything else, Sloane? We only have thirteen minutes left.”

 

She makes a pssshhh sound, placing her hands against my chest, as though she’s about to push me away, but I pre-empt her, leaning in with my body so that I’m pressed up tight against her. I know she can feel me. I know she can feel my cock digging into the gap between her legs, begging to be let in. She swallows, and her fingers curl ever so slightly against my pecs. I totally have her.

 

“We can’t do anything with thirteen minutes,” she murmurs.

 

This is perhaps one of the greatest challenges that has ever been issued to me. I finally give in and let go of the smile I’ve been holding on to; it’s changed now, though. Before, I was merely entertained by how unbelievable this girl is. Now, I’m going to show her how unbelievable I can be. “Oh, angry girl. I am about to make you eat those words.”

 

“What—”

 

I completely ignore whatever she is about to say and lower my head so that I’m pressing my lips, teeth, tongue against the skin of her neck. She doesn’t get more than that one word out. She should have been expecting this. She should have known better when she put on those fucking shorts this morning. I grab hold of her hands and I clasp them behind her back, pulling her away from the wall. She makes a gasping sound as I collect her up—she’s not entirely weightless against me, which makes me incredibly fucking happy. She has curves. Nice ones that I constantly think about palming and licking and biting and doing all kinds of messed-up things to. If she were skin and bone and weighed nothing at all, then I wouldn’t want her the way that I do. I drop to my knees on the floor right where I stand, and then I fall on top of her, pinning her under my body. It takes me two seconds to find my way beneath the flimsy shirt she’s wearing. None of this shit is Zeth-proof. Not even close. I can’t get to her properly, so I tear the material, ripping it straight off her body. I lean back and let myself enjoy the view for a moment.

 

No. Fucking. Bra.

 

Sloane’s arms are out to her sides, her hands clenched into fists, but she’s relaxed. She’s not worried. She’s not trying to fend me off, or fight her way free. She’s telling me everything I need to know with her eyes; with the way her chest is rising and falling like she’s just finished a hundred-meter sprint; by the way her nipples are drawn tight and are dark pink, pleading for some attention; by the way she’s wriggling her pelvis underneath me, pushing upward, letting me know what she wants.

 

“How long?” she pants.

 

“Eleven minutes.”

 

“Oh, god.” She grabs hold of my hand, pulling it toward her mouth. Her pink tongue parts her lips, and she licks the tip of my index finger. As if that’s not enough to set my head roaring, she then gently bites down with her perfect teeth, sending what feels like an electric shock darting around my body.

 

“Fuck, no,” I tell her, pulling back my hand. “We don’t have time for that.”

 

She looks pained, her breasts heaving as her breathing quickens. “Then what do we have time for?”

 

I rock back onto my heels, reaching for my bag. I have something for her. I have something for her that I think she’s going to like. I hear her groan when she sees what I’m doing—she has mixed feelings about this bag, I know. But I also know that her excitement levels just shot through the roof, because she’s grabbed hold of the weft of her bedroom carpet with both hands and she’s squeezing so tight her hands have turned white.

 

“Patience, angry girl. Patience.” Yeah, right. Fuck patience. I tear open the zip on the bag, and I find what I’m after almost immediately. It’s a small, oval-shaped device, a new addition to my bag of tricks. I’ve never used anything like it before, but I know what it’s going to do to her. I put it down while I grab hold of her by the ankle, pulling her along the carpet toward me.

 

“What the hell is that?” she asks. “I’m not doing—”

 

“I’m not interested in that. I’m interested in you closing your eyes. I’m interested in you letting yourself go.”

 

She stops talking, staring up at me, while I open her fly and rip her shorts roughly over her thighs. Fuck. Sloane in her panties—motherfucking black lace—and nothing else is a hell of a sight. Her cheeks are flushed, and her lips are swollen and red, and I know she’s been biting them again. I want to bite them, too. I want… I want to… No. I shake that thought out of my head, crushing it down with a colossal force. Not fucking right now. Now I have other things to attend to. “Open your legs for me, Sloane.”

 

I run my hands down the insides of her thighs, enjoying the sheer silk-soft feeling of her skin underneath my fingertips. She does as I ask her to, hitching up her knees and then letting them fall to either side, exposing herself to me. No more comments. No more objections. No more talking whatsoever. The only sound is our ragged breathing as I carefully stroke my fingers over her pussy. A violent spike of adrenaline rocks through me when I feel how wet her panties are.

 

I’ve never been one to get worked up over girls ruining their underwear, but with Sloane it’s different. It’s been different since the beginning, when I fucked her back at the apartment. I claimed her underwear then, and I’ll be claiming this pair, too. I tease the slinky garment off her hips, and then I descend on her body like an unstoppable force. I am an unstoppable force. Not even I can stop myself now. I climb up, resting on one elbow, and then I trace my tongue across her chest, feeling the heavy weight of her breast in my hand. I work my tongue over her nipple, licking and sucking; my dick throbs painfully when she inhales in a sharp breath and her hands reach up and bury themselves in my hair.

 

It feels so fucking good to have her pull me to her, but I can’t allow that right now. If she does that, I’ll be tearing my clothes off and sinking myself balls-deep inside her, and that would blow my remaining seven-minute deadline right out of the water. The last thing we right now is Lacey standing in the doorway, complaining about me taking too long. I sit back, grabbing hold of both of Sloane’s wrists.

 

“No touching,” I growl. A look of shock draws her expression a little flat, and I realize that she’s taken my command entirely the wrong way. She thinks I don’t want her hands on me. Fuck. This is the problem, right here. This is the problem with caring what the other person is thinking. Things were a hell of a lot easier when I didn’t give two fucks.

 

Six minutes.

 

I grab hold of my new little toy, and then I bend myself down, letting my eyes travel up the length of Sloane’s body. Some guys don’t eat pussy. But then again, some guys aren’t really fucking good at it like I am. It’s the best way of getting a girl off—the most enjoyable way I’ve found. And making Sloane come with my tongue is perhaps the most amazing rush I’ve ever felt. Period.

 

I start off slow. She’s so wet now, and she tastes fucking incredible. I groan, trailing my tongue over her pussy, around her clit, circling and flicking the tip over her so that she starts to tremble. She’s already good and ready, but I give her a minute to settle in before I press the narrowest end of the vibrator against her pussy. This isn’t your average vibrator, though. It’s a tens vibrator—the kind that not only vibrates but produces an electrical charge. I’ve got it on the lowest setting to start with, but it won’t be staying there for long.

 

Sloane rocks her hips against my mouth, moaning under her breath, and I slide the thing inside her, slowly, waiting for her to tense. She does stiffen slightly, but then a low groan emanates from the back of her throat and her body arches toward the ceiling—yeah that’s what I thought.

 

I want to fuck this girl so bad. I want to tie her up and tear into her so fucking hard that she can’t walk straight for a week, but it’s just not on the cards. More’s the pity. I can’t carry on without something, though. Something to quench this fire raging inside me. There’s only one thing that can immediately do that.

 

I’m quick when I find the knife in the duffel. It’s out and the business end is gripped in my fist before Sloane has chance to check out what I’m doing. Her head kicks back straight away when I start flicking my tongue over her clit again. Her breath starts to come in stuttering gasps now. I want to taste her. I want to taste her as she comes all over my tongue, and I want it now. I put down the knife long enough to crank the setting on the tens vibrator, turning it up to the next level. Sloane’s legs kick out straight, and she lets out a startled cry. “You got this,” I growl. “You can take it.”

 

And she can. She does. My balls are drawn up and tight next to my body, furiously demanding that I do something to release the tension I’m almost crushed under right now, but I put that out of my mind. This is her. This is just for her.

 

“Come for me, angry girl,” I tell her. “Do it for me. Now. Don’t make me fucking wait.”

 

As soon as the words have left my mouth, she’s obliging my request. I get what I want, and at the same time I tighten my fist around the blade of the knife, feeling something as powerful and intense right along side her.

 

And then Sloane does something that makes the feeling transform into something else entirely. She screams as she comes, but she doesn’t scream for god, or fuck like most people might. She doesn’t scream that.

 

She screams my fucking name.

 

I let go of the knife and hiss a little at the release of pressure. The cut in the center of my palm’s pretty deep, but I’m not gonna hang around to investigate it right now. We’re down to our last minute before Lacey starts leaning on the car horn. Plus, I don’t know why but Sloane calling out for me has made me want to completely forget the timeframe I gave Lacey and stay here with Sloane all fucking night. Make her call out for me again.

 

I get to my feet and Sloane remains on the floor, naked, in a tangle of arms and legs. She looks like she can barely move. Her eyes seem glazed, as though she can barely see. I feel an immense surge of pride. Yeah. I make that puddle of a human being. I place the vibrator back in the bag, along with Sloane’s panties—I said I was going to keep them—and she raises an eyebrow at me. She doesn’t object, though.

 

“You’d better hurry,” she says, her eyes focusing on me. I love that she doesn’t cover herself up from me; I love that we’re past that.

 

“Don’t worry. I’m gone,” I growl. I clench my fist into a ball, letting the pain rattle through my nerve endings. Enjoying it. I feel like telling her I’ll see her later, but Sloane doesn’t know she’ll be calling tonight and asking me to get her, so I don’t say that. Instead, I say, “Where’d you learned to clear a building like that?”

 

She laughs, closing her eyes. “Where d’you think? Call of Duty.”

 

Ha! This girl is one of a kind. I let out a sharp laugh, and then I turn and I go. My hard-on is causing me some serious fucking grief as I walk away from Sloane’s naked, perfect fucking body. It’s killing me, but when you’re out of time, you’re out of time. Besides, being denied the opportunity to sink your dick into a girl like Sloane can only make the waiting sweeter. She’s a girl worth waiting for. I mean, come on. Call of fucking Duty? I don’t know a single girl on the face of the planet who plays CoD. That last little tidbit has me entertained right up until I get outside the house and I see that Lacey is pulling a sour face at me out of her window.

 

“You’re nineteen seconds late,” she informs me, as I get in the car. Despite the front seat now being vacant, Lacey’s remained in the back as always. “You’ve never been late.”

 

“I’ve been late plenty of times, Lace.” I turn the engine over, pulling in a sharp breath when I forget all about my hand, which is bleeding copiously everywhere, and I try to grip onto the steering wheel. Looks like I’ll be one-handing it back to the warehouse.

 

I know Lacey notices that I’m bleeding; she notices everything, but she doesn’t say anything. Not until she comes out with this little gem.

 

“You are so in love with that girl.”

 

I glance at her in the rearview, intending on sending her the most hateful look ever concocted by a man, but instead I catch sight of Sloane’s house disappearing into the trees behind us. My stomach twists a little as it vanishes from sight.

 

“I don’t love her,” I say. “I don’t love anyone.”

 

Lacey makes a soft sound of laughter over my shoulder. “Of course you do. You love me. And now you love Sloane, too.” She sighs softly, finishing her outrageous statement with a few distracted words that make my head spin. “You see, once you open up your heart to one person, Zeth…it’s so much easier for others to slip in unnoticed, too.”