I lowered myself over her and sank my teeth into one luscious curve of her ass.
“Did you just bite me?” Sloane demanded as I leaned back to admire my handiwork.
“I’m giving you a souvenir to remember our final weekend of debauchery,” I said.
She clambered to her knees on the mattress and faced me, looking like a golden-haired goddess. I wanted her. Again and again and again. And each time I had her, I realized it still wasn’t enough.
“In that case, I get to give you one too,” she announced.
She pounced and I let her push me over backward, enjoying the feel of her warm, soft body in my arms. Her sleek thighs straddled my own, and when her hand gripped my already hard shaft, I had to grit my teeth to keep from groaning.
“Not there,” I growled.
She pouted.
My phone rang from the bedside table.
“Does your admin usually call you at 10:00 p.m. on Valentine’s Day?” Sloane asked, peeking at the screen.
“Neither one of us has a life,” I explained before answering the phone. “Petula, you’re on speakerphone and I’m not alone.”
“Has the world ended and I’m unaware?” Petula demanded.
“Very funny. What do you want?”
“Representative Houser wants to move your lunch forward an hour tomorrow.”
I glanced up at Sloane, who was releasing her hair from its knot. “Reschedule it. I’m busy this weekend.”
“Does this have anything to do with your company tonight? You really should let me run a background check on her.”
“You already did and it’s just business,” I lied.
A pillow hit me in the face. Sloane pointed at her bare breasts and mouthed, “Business”？
“I have to go, Petula. Something’s come up.”
Sloane smugly studied my hardening cock.
“Wait. While I have you, I need you to go to this address and take the man who lives there shopping for a new suit this week,” I said, then rattled off Emry’s address. “Something that says eligible widower, not befuddled grandfather.”
“Consider it done,” Petula said. “One final thing. I confirmed your reservation for you and your lady friend next Thursday evening.”
Sloane’s eyes narrowed.
Shit.
“Thanks, Petula. Take the weekend off,” I said quickly. I disconnected just as my blond bed partner vaulted off the bed.
“Sloane,” I said sternly.
“Don’t even try it,” she said, grabbing something off the floor. It was the lacy corset I’d ripped off her. She threw it over her shoulder and bent again.
“Are you actually jealous?” I demanded, amused.
“Of course not,” she huffed. “I just don’t want to be cavorting with a penis that’s cavorting with other vaginas. It’s not hygienic.”
Sloane Walton was unlike any other woman I’d ever taken to bed. “I’m not cavorting with other vaginas,” I said dryly. “Where are you going?”
“If you think I’m just going to take your word for it, you’re an idiot,” she said, gathering her discarded clothing off the floor.
“I’d like to point out that of the two of us, you’re the one actively pursuing men on a dating app.”
“I’m not sleeping with any of them. Yet.” Frowning, she whipped back the duvet cover and felt around under the sheets. “Have you seen my underwear? Never mind. I don’t need them.”
I reached for her, but she dodged me.
“I’m not sleeping with my Thursday date either.”
“Yeah, okay.” She gave an unladylike snort and bent for her bag.
It gave me the opening I needed. I grabbed her around the waist, lifted her in the air, and tipped us both onto the mattress.
“If you don’t get off me right now, Lucifer, I’ll knee you in the balls. And while it would be a destructive blow to women everywhere, I will do what I have to do,” she said fiercely.
“You’re jealous,” I said again, thoroughly enjoying myself.
To be on the safe side, I rolled her and settled myself between her thighs before leaning down to kiss her mouth.
She softened instantaneously beneath me, but my victory was short lived when she bit my lower lip.
“Ow.”
“Serves you right. Now, give me my pants, and we’ll pretend this never happened.”
That wasn’t an option. “I don’t have a date Thursday,” I told her.
She flailed under me, which didn’t help me forget about the raging hard-on I had nestled against her belly.