“GOOD MORNING!” FREYA SHOUTS TO me over the noise of the sewing machine as she strides in through the back door of the house. Her face falls to what I’m working on. “What is that?”
I lift my foot from the pedal and take a sip of my coffee. “A suit.”
Her face screws up. “I can see that. Why are you sewing it?”
“Because I feel like it,” I reply through clenched teeth and pull the fabric out and cut the thread with my scissors.
She looks down at what I’m wearing. “Why are you still wearing your coat?” I frown up at her and sniff as she adds, “Why do you look like you’ve not slept?”
“Because I haven’t,” I mumble, shoving the fabric under the needle and pressing the pedal to full speed again. “And I’m not wearing much underneath this.”
I’ve been up all night making this suit, carefully cutting out the custom pattern I drew to be exact to Gareth’s measurements. Regretfully, I’ve just barely finished the pants. I’m out of practice. I shouldn’t have let my sewing skills rot these last few years in Manchester.
Yet another way I’ve let men control my freaking life.
My machine suddenly stops. With wide, confused eyes, I look over and see that Freya has pulled the power cord from the wall. “What are you doing?” I bark, rage bubbling up inside of me.
“Explain why you look like a hungover Jackie Kennedy, then I’ll give you power back.” She props her hands on her hips and taps her foot expectantly.
“Because Gareth Harris is infuriating!” I growl loudly. “He wanted me to have all the power, but just when I started to get my footing, he ripped the rug out from under me.”
Freya’s green eyes are wide with excitement as she drops down on the chair beside me, plug still in hand. “Are you shagging Gareth Harris? Oh, God, please say yes because it would be the perfect sort of real-life fantasy my therapist says I need to engage in!”
“I didn’t even get a chance to shag him last night!” I peal, my voice nearly an octave higher than normal.
She glances down at the sexy bra peeking out from under the trench coat. “You showed up in that and nothing happened?”
I narrow my eyes and point my scissors at her. “Oh, something happened.”
She plasters on a fake smile and slowly clasps my hand in hers and lowers the scissors. “Let’s not use sharp instruments for vocabulary emphasis when you’ve had no sleep, shall we?”
Her sing-songy tone does nothing to calm my rage that’s been bubbling all night. “We messed around and then he told me to go home and think! What is that about?”
Her brows crumple. “Maybe he is worried it’s too soon since your divorce?”
“That shouldn’t be his concern. It should be mine!”
Freya exhales slowly. “Sloan, love, Gareth Harris isn’t a man about town. He’s not pictured in the papers with women, ever. He doesn’t even take women to red carpet events. He’s advertised as England’s sexiest loner! If he’s entering into some sort of relationship with you, he’s probably just being extra cautious.”
“That’s an overly nice way of putting it,” I snap. “You know what I think he’s being? A cock-tease!”
She snickers but quickly sobers when I don’t crack a grin. “So, how did you leave it?”
“The ball is in my court again. I’d already taken the ball and bounced it in a fucking trench coat. Now I have to put myself out there all over again.” I prop my elbows on the table and massage small circles on my temples.
“Well, that’s far better than rejection, love.” Freya rubs my shoulder encouragingly.
“It doesn’t feel like it,” I murmur.
Freya looks at the cut out patterned pieces of navy stretch cotton strewn about the table. Knowing Gareth’s texture issues, I am confident this fabric is one he’ll love. The very mild stretch also means that it can be fitted to his body to look more expensive than it is.
“Who is the suit for?” Freya asks.
I roll my eyes. “Who do you think?”
She lifts her brows. “Making a custom suit for a bloke must mean you like him.”
“I’d like to have sex with him! The suit is a…commitment of some sort I suppose.”
“Well, you’ve done the hard work of designing and cutting everything. Why don’t you go brush your teeth and get some sleep? A hot shower would do you good as well. I’ll take it from here.”
My face softens. “Do we have the time?”
“We most certainly do. Today we were going to start prepping pieces for that awards gala so many of our clients are attending. Last I checked, we had a dozen people to style for that night. But we have some time. Go take a sickie, Sloan. I got this!”
“You’re amazing, you know that?”
“I do, indeedy!” Freya beams. “Besides, this angry, hostile, scissor-slinging Sloan is a vast improvement from the moping mess you usually are when Sophia is gone.”
My heart lurches at the mention of my daughter. Then I marvel over the fact that I went an entire twenty-four hours without crying and worrying about what Sophia is doing or how she is feeling. I can’t remember the last time I did that. “Well, I suppose I wouldn’t mind brushing my teeth.”
“Yeah, you don’t want to get your stink on this nice fabric.” She smiles and helps me out of my chair. “Off you go. Take a nice bath and close your eyes. I have a feeling things will look a whole lot better when you wake.”
A few hours later, I’ve slept, showered, and groomed myself. Dressed in a neat pair of houndstooth shorts with black tights and a white blouse, I feel human again. A phone call from Sophia telling me she’s home from school cheers me up even more.
But, unsurprisingly, my thoughts drift back to Gareth as I head downstairs and lay eyes on the suit I designed that’s now hanging on a clothing rack in the foyer. My hands run over the seams, the stitching, the lapels, the navy button closures. Freya’s been busy. She even finished off the blue-and-white-checked pocket square. The two-piece suit has been pressed and sprayed with my signature vanilla essential oil that we spritz on the inside of all the clothes we send out to clients.
I lean in and inhale, imagining Gareth’s thick muscles inside the fabric, soaking up the scent of me. The stirring between my legs is all the sign I need to know that I’ll be delivering this to him today.
“Does it meet your superior standards?” Freya’s voice chirps from behind me.
I turn and give her a full, genuine smile. “Exceeds them, as usual.” I eliminate the space between us and pull her into a hug. Getting choked up over a suit is silly, but it’s such a representation of the life raft Freya has become in my life. “You are a true friend, Freya.”
“You’re bloody well right I am.” When I pull back, she hits me with a serious look. “You know this earns me some dirty details, right?”
I laugh and hug her again. “In due time, Freya. In due time.”
After a thousand more thank yous, I find myself in my car and on my way to Astbury. Freya gave me a calculated stare when I tucked Sophia’s booster seat into the concealed tailgate of my vehicle but let me escape without any questions.
I can’t explain exactly why it’s so important for me to keep Sophia a secret from Gareth. I suppose it’s since this is just a sex thing, I don’t see a need to share our life stories. Telling him I’m a mother also might change the way he sees me, and I don’t want that.
Today I’m going to be a sex goddess. Today I’m going to stroll into Gareth’s home and command his attention. I’m going to be the strong woman I know I’m capable of being, and I’m going to quit letting him tell me how this is all going to happen.
I pull up to his gate just as the sun begins to set. It’s so much brighter in the country than it is in Manchester. Maybe after Cal’s mother passes on, I’ll feel more freedom in where I live and I can move out to a place like this. Mind you, a much cheaper version.
I press the button on the security panel, and my heart jumps when a woman’s voice peals through the line. “Hello? Who is it?”
The flirty words I had prepared for Gareth get stuck in my throat, clearly unsuitable for whomever is on the other end of the line. In all the times I’ve been out here, a woman has never answered Gareth’s intercom. It’s always been him. Every freaking time. Whomever this is must be very familiar with Gareth if she’s answering his line.
Is this why he kicked me out of his house last night? Was someone due to come home? A girlfriend? Freya said he’s never seen with women, but that doesn’t mean he couldn’t have some secret girlfriend he hides from the public eye.
I look down the lane that leads to exactly where I want to be. The place where I imagined stripping naked and losing myself for an hour or more. Clearly, someone has already beat me there.
“Hello, is anyone there?” The woman’s voice chimes into my car once more and my hands tense on the steering wheel.
“Yes, I’m here,” I reply as anger replaces shock. I lean out my window and shout into the speaker, “And I have a message for Gareth Harris. You tell him that I’m not taking a number and that he should find someone else to mess with!”
“What?” the lady asks, but I don’t hear what else she says. I slam my foot on the gas pedal to reverse and a loud thump startles me from behind.
My hands tighten as I press my forehead against the wheel with a groan. I think I know what I hit, and I dare to say it didn’t survive the collision.
I slide out of my car and wobble on the gravel in my heels to see what I’ve pummelled. A stupid stone bird bath that was once a quaint, ornate, little thing now rests in a heap of eight pieces on the side of the road.
“Son of a bitch!” I exclaim and move to look at the damage to my car. A lovely bird bath-sized dent is imprinted on the corner of the bumper. “Freaking hell!” I cry and kick some rocks because this is just my luck. Why wouldn’t I damage my car in a blind jealous rage over a man I’ve barely started a relationship with yet? This makes perfect sense.
Gravel crunches from a distance. My gaze swerves down the driveway in response to find Gareth jogging right toward me. My traitorous eyes do a double take. His pecs are ridiculously bouncing under his T-shirt with each gallop he takes. He has a lot of nerve.
“Christ, Sloan, are you okay?” Gareth’s face is full of worry as he presses some numbers into the keypad on his gate. As soon as it’s open enough, he slips through and runs across the road to where I’m standing.
“I’m fine,” I reply in a warning tone and move past him toward my car door. “I’ll pay to replace your bird bath, but you should think about putting it somewhere besides directly behind your driveway. That’s unsafe.”
“It’s not my bird bath,” he argues. “It was here when I bought the place.”
“You still should have thought to put it somewhere that makes more sense!” I snap, opening my door and wrapping my fingers around the frame where the window is open. “I mean, what kind of birds are going to bathe themselves next to a road?”
“It’s a private drive,” Gareth barks, crossing his arms over his chest. “It only leads to mine and Hobo’s driveways.”
“Well, you clearly have guests!” I flick my hands toward the house where his lady is probably gawking out the window at us as we speak.
“Most people drive forward out of my driveway. You know… because they actually enter my property.” He hits me with a fixed narrow stare that I don’t altogether appreciate.
“Oh, believe me, I know! I had a nice chat with your current houseguest. She sounds oh-so lovely on your little speaker. She probably has a future in telephone porn if she wants one.”
“What are you talking about?” he asks, his body tense like he’s on the verge of springing at me.
I slam my door shut, crossing my arms over my chest and leaning toward him. “The woman who answered when I called just now. Please, don’t let me delay you from servicing her.”
“Servicing her?” His forced laugh causes a thick vein to pop out on his neck. “You think someone I’m fucking would be answering my security gate?”
“I don’t know your life!” I turn to reopen my door, but in one swift move, Gareth storms up behind me, grasps my arm, twirls me to face him, and slams my door closed.
“Running away again, Sloan?” he seethes, pressing in so close to me, I have to arch my back to keep my face from touching his. “This is exactly why I told you to leave last night. You don’t have the strength to be level-headed with this arrangement. Things get a little uncomfortable and you run away like you did a year ago.”
“I’m not running!” I exclaim, shoving against his chest. “Do you think I drove out to Astbury to admire the English countryside?”
“Then why are you leaving?” he asks, his nostrils flared as he hunches down an inch so we’re nose-to-nose.
“Because, casual or not, I don’t want to be one of many!” I nearly howl, so I clench my teeth together to maintain some control. I’m completely overreacting, but I can’t help it. All I can think about is Cal and his Lady Godiva, and it’s making me regret putting myself out there again. “This is the worst kind of déjà fucking vu for me, and I’m not signing up for it again.”
“Sloan”—he grabs my arms so I stop struggling to get my door open—“the voice you heard was not someone I’m sleeping with. It was my house manager, Dorinda. She’s here until a security guard arrives to check my cameras because there was a break-in at Hobo’s house this morning.”
“Oh my God.” My breath catches in my throat as my hand reaches up to cover my mouth. “Are him and Brandi okay?”
“Yes,” he replies with an exhale, his eyes blinking slowly as he changes his focus. “Hobo and I were both at practice, and Brandi was with her mum in London.”
I awkwardly cross my arms over my chest, wishing I could shrink down to the size of a pebble. “What happened?”
Gareth shrugs. “A couple of blokes got through his security gate and stole a bunch of stuff. Trashed the property. Could have been worse if they were home.”
“How awful.” My voice is small, and I can barely look Gareth in the eyes as I turn to gain some space from him. I’m such a freak for assuming the person who answered was someone he is intimate with. This is mortifying. “Please extend my apologies to Dorinda.”
Gareth looks at me, releasing a heavy sigh. “You actually met her before. I’m surprised you didn’t recognise her voice.”
I lean against the hood of my car, staring down at my feet in shame. “You want me to dominate you and you’re over there assuming logical things? None of this is logical.”
I steal a glance at his reaction, and the intensity in his gaze nearly takes my breath away. He moves over to me and places his hands on either side of me, caging me in like the wild animal I am right now. “I don’t want you to dominate me, Sloan. I just want to surrender to you.”
“Why?” I ask, wondering if I’ll ever feel secure about this crazy notion.
“Because, on some bizarre level I don’t fully understand, I need it. And I think you need it, too.” He inhales a shaky breath and brings his hands to my waist, squeezing his palms around me to hold me captive. “Asking you to leave last night was fucking brutal, but I had to create a degree of separation between us to ensure that our lines stay clear and never blur. This is truly just about sex after all, and things got incredibly intense last night. Similar to how they did our first time together. I just felt like if you could leave and still come back, then we could do this together properly. Am I right?”
“I’m here aren’t I?” I retort, trying hard to ignore how much I love the warmth of his hands on my sides. This is intense, but everything with Gareth is intense. He’s an intense sort of guy. I don’t like him doubting me, though.
Gareth’s eyes crinkle with a poorly concealed smirk. “Technically, you’re in the middle of the street with a broken bumper.”
I scoff and ignore the way his body vibrates with silent laughter. I ignore the way he watches me as I look away. But I can’t seem to ignore the question on the tip of my tongue. “Gareth, I have to ask again…Why me?”
His eyes close as if he’s weighing his answer in his head before giving it to me. When he opens them, the dark smoulder in the hazel depths is knee-trembling. “Treacle, I want to surrender to you because I sense that it’s been a long time since you’ve been with someone who put your needs first.” He brings his hands to my face and runs his thumbs along the hollows of my cheeks. “I’ve watched you come into my house for years, style me, fill my closet, do your job. But it wasn’t until that night we slept together that I felt like I saw the real you.”
“I was a mess that night.”
“You were a mess until you weren’t…Until you took control. Until you asked me to kneel. Then you were the most beautiful fucking woman I’ve ever seen in my life. That was a turn-on for me, like something I’d never felt before. So this isn’t an entirely selfless request I’m putting out there.”
My body quivers in response to his words. His voice is like a sexy caress over a quiet part of my soul that I’ve been hiding for years. I reach up and grab his face in my hands, taking in every one of his features. Suddenly, a strong, overpowering sense of ownership nearly chokes me. He is mine to use, to please, to care for. To give and take from. I want him this way. I want to embrace whatever this is we’re doing and dive in head first.
My voice is strong when I reply, “Okay, then. Let’s do this, Gareth Harris. I’m all in.”
He licks his lips, a pleased smirk teasing the corners of his mouth. He reaches down and lifts me up onto the hood of my car, tucking himself perfectly between my legs so we’re nose-to-nose. He dips his mouth close to mine, but I pull back with a sharp intake of breath. “Not the lips,” I remind him.
His jaw ticks once before he drops his mouth down to my neck and kisses me there, nibbling at my flesh with tantalising bites. He moves to the other side of my neck as his hands slide up my ribs and squeeze my breasts through the soft chiffon.
I hook my ankles behind his back and pull him in snugly so his dick presses into the heat of me. His large, firm body feels so good, I forget everything I was worried about. “Take me inside,” I command.
He pulls back and looks at me so seriously, I think he’s going to say something bad. “Okay. And just for your information, I’ll be giving you the code to my gate.” His deep voice vibrates against my skin as he leans in and peppers my jaw with feather-light kisses. “Because while you and I are doing whatever it is we’re doing, I promise you that I won’t even look at another woman.”
My heart thunders in my chest from the uneasy feeling I get over his promise. His devotion. The look in his eyes. The sincerity of his touch. I believe him. I believe him more than the day Cal said, “I do,” to me. It’s crazy how a sex-only relationship can still be so committed.
Needing to lighten the mood, I grasp his face in my hands and reply, “That’s good to know because I do not want to see that bird bath killer I just turned into a minute ago ever again.”
He doesn’t laugh like I thought he would. He stares down at my mouth and with a deathly serious tone, he replies, “That’s a bloody shame because I kind of liked her.”
I whack him on the chest, a gesture I’m actually growing quite fond of. He chuckles as he helps me down off the car and opens the driver’s side door for me. “I think it’s time to get your car out of the road, don’t you?”
His wink elicits a smile of my own. “Would you like a ride?”
“Yes, Sloan Montgomery. A real ride this time.”
I hurry into the kitchen to tell Dorinda and her son, Robert—who prepares my meals for the week—that they can head home for the day. I have about an hour before the security guard I hired will arrive, and I intend to make good use of that time. Dorinda gives me a curious sort of look as she collects her purse and makes her way out the kitchen side door where their car is parked.
Dorinda has been with me since I bought the house, so she knows I don’t bring women out here. In fact, I don’t bring anyone out here. Sloan sort of just slipped in on a technicality I guess.
When I first moved to Astbury, I had hopes that my family would visit a lot. I spent a load of money on an interior designer to make it a place where people would want to come and stay. Essentially, the exact opposite of what we grew up in.
I still remember when our father moved us all out of the Manchester flat. It was tight quarters with four kids plus newborn Booker, but it was cosy and happy. It was a place I was excited to go home to.
Then Mum got sick and Dad suddenly uprooted all of us to live permanently in the enormous Chigwell house he had purchased in East London. They hadn’t owned the property long, so Mum never got a chance to furnish it before she became bedridden.
After she died, Dad got rid of as much of her memory as he could, including everything from the Manchester flat. The Chigwell house was so barren and cold, I remember the boys loved playing with their cars in the foyer because their voices echoed off the walls and marble flooring.
We all still congregate in that house for Sunday dinners despite the fact that we don’t have many great memories. The truth is, the only good ones I have of that home are when we sat around the kitchen counter, using tomato sauce bottles as players to go over football formations with Dad. Those were the only times he ever spoke to us with any sort of care.
Needless to say, my kitchen counter doesn’t have stools. But furnishing this house was all for naught because Dad has never stepped foot back into the city of Manchester since Mum died, let alone Astbury. And my siblings rarely visit. Probably because I never invite them.
The longer I live here, the less I want them to visit. Like a proper masochist, I find myself going back to London and staying in the home I swear to hate. A therapist would have a field day with me. It’s only recently that I realised the life I’ve built for myself here in Manchester seems to be more and more pointless.
I leave the kitchen and find Sloan wandering in the sunken living area to the right of the curved staircase. She’s running her hands over a mirrored credenza in front of a huge glass window on the west wall. The sun casts down on her long, chestnut locks as she watches Dorinda’s car drive away.
I clear my throat, drawing her attention to me. “Well, you’re here now. What do you want to do with me?”
Sloan’s eyes rove over my body, and the smile that plays on her lips is almost wicked. What has been running through that head of hers while I was talking to Dorinda? Gone is the insecure, hostile woman from outside. The woman standing before me, sliding the short black scarf around her neck back and forth, is a bloody siren calling in ships from the sea. It’s enchanting. On the surface, she’s peaches and cream with a sweet, pleasing sort of nature. But there’s a fire beneath the surface of her that cannot be denied.
“For starters, I have a gift for you, Harris.” She nods her chin over to a sconce on the sitting room wall where there’s a garment bag hanging. “I was up most of the night making that for you. It seems when I’m pissed off, I’m kind of productive.”
She giggles to herself as I stride over and unzip the bag to see a deep navy suit inside. I run my hands down the fabric, relishing in the signature softness of everything Sloan buys for me. My voice is awestruck when I croak, “You made this?”
I look over and she shrugs. “Freya did most of the sewing but, yes, I designed it.”
I pull out the shoulder on one side to get a better look. “I had no idea you were capable of this kind of work.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Gareth.”
I turn to look at her big brown eyes blinking rapidly like she’s not sure herself of who she is. Well, I hope whatever we’re about to embark on helps her with that because I know she’s a hell of a lot more than she lets on.
“Do you want me to try it on?” I ask, hoping this will be our foreplay because, for me, it sounds about as hot as a student, professor scenario.
Her nose wrinkles with embarrassment. “You can do it on your own later. For now, I’d like a tour.” She turns on her heel and crosses her arms over her chest like she’s an estate agent at a business meeting. “And you can do it with your shirt off.”
“Oh, can I?” I blurt out, smirking like a prat and marvelling over her swift change of demeanour.
“That’s what I said.” She licks her lips in a vain attempt to hide the naughty grin threatening her serious façade.
“Whatever you say, Treacle.” I pull my T-shirt off and drop it on the floor by my feet. Sloan’s eyes are like a slow burn spreading over every hair on my chest, causing my stomach to flex in anticipation.
She clears her throat. “Well, what are you waiting for?”
Attempting not to laugh at the hilarity of this situation, I do my best to give her a tour without getting an erection. It’s not without great effort, though, considering she’s eyeing me, not just like a piece of meat, but her piece of meat. It’s a huge fucking turn-on.
I gesture to the doorway on the opposite side of the living room, which leads down a glass-lined hallway into a media room with a projection screen and theatre-style seating. Sloan nods appreciatively and asks some questions about the kind of movies I like to watch. I correct her with the word “films,” and our familiar American versus English banter makes me smile.
We progress down the hallway into the training room that’s kitted out as nice as a commercial gym. I have a lot of the same equipment we have at the Trafford Training Centre because, even on off days, I’m always training. Staying fit is part of my job the same way a CEO has to check his emails every day.
Past the gym is where I can tell Sloan’s eyes really light up. “You have a pool!” she squeals, waltzing past me and greedily checking out the indoor pool room. The sunlight beaming in through the glass skylights reflect colourful sparkles on her face as she grins back at me. “How often do you use this?”
“Never,” I reply honestly.
Her jaw drops. “What? I would be in this every day!”
I shrug. “It’s not big enough to swim laps in, so I don’t really see the point if I can’t use it for exercise.”
“What about for fun, Gareth?” She arches a challenging eyebrow at me.
I can only reply truthfully. “I don’t have very much of that I’m afraid.”
Her gaze narrows as she walks toward me, her heels clicking softly on the concrete. She drags her pointer finger across my bare chest and says, “Let’s see about changing that, shall we?”
I rush through the rest of the tour, my job of preventing an erection becoming painfully more difficult the longer I feel her eyes on me. The more we move around the house, the more confident she gets. It’s like some kind of odd foreplay for her to watch me show off my home.
I take care to leave my bedroom for last and feel a triumphant sense of relief as we finally reach the doorway. “I think you’ve been in here before.”
Her smile is playful. “A time or two.”
She splays her hand flat on my chest and pushes me backwards into the room, walking with me all the way to the tufted sofa at the foot of the bed. With firm hands on my shoulders, she pushes me to a sitting position.
“I had a lot of time to think last night when you kicked me out of your house.”
“I didn’t kick you—”
“Shhh.” She presses her finger to her lips and lowers her chin. “I’m talking. You’re listening.” She eyes me thoughtfully, then closes the space between us so her chest is in my face as she climbs onto my lap. With her legs on either side, she straddles me, her hands holding onto my neck for balance as she makes herself more comfortable.
It’s intimate. It’s confident. It’s exactly what I want from her.
My hands itch to run up her back, but I keep them fisted beside me instead. This is about letting go of control. This is about listening to her wants. Not my own. And having her on top of me has me craving that sort of mind-numbing release I had with her last year.
She flicks her long, wavy locks over one shoulder and I have to bite back a moan as the delicious scent of her perfume invades my senses.
“So I thought about how much sex is about trust.” Her golden eyes dance on my chest as she moves her hands forward and begins raking her fingertips over my pecs in firm, massaging strokes. “Especially the kind of sex we’re going to be having where we’re not actually in a relationship with each other.”
“I’m listening,” I husk and close my eyes as she squeezes my shoulders and rolls her hips on my lap.
“To build trust, I think it might help to have your eyes covered the entire time we have sex.”
My eyes widen instantly and I begin to argue. “Sloan—”
She presses her hand over my mouth, bringing her face up close so I can see the green loop around her pupils again. “I’m in charge, Gareth. You want it and I’m taking it. You need to trust me to guide this ship because I’m ready to try this for real. Last night was an amuse-bouche. This is going to be the main course.”
I swallow slowly, the erection growing in my jeans becoming painful against the zipper as she greedily grinds down on me. She begins rocking and swirling her hips, alternating between the two. Her arse pops up behind her like she’s fucking double-jointed.
“Fuck me, Sloan.” I press my forehead to her chest. I’m quite positive I won’t live through this experience but, bloody hell, it’ll be worth the ride.
“That’s exactly what I’m going to do,” she says, slowly undoing a couple of buttons on her blouse right in front of my face.
I pull back to watch her unfasten three more before she slips her hand inside the material, revealing a white lace bra and a whole lot of lush skin. She drags her finger down the swell of her left breast and hooks the cup of her bra with her index finger. A hint of her pink nipple peeks out, and I know instantly that I will do whatever the fuck she wants me to do.
“You tested me last night. Now I’m testing you today.” She pulls off the thin, black scarf from around her neck and holds it out in front of me. “Just let yourself go to only follow my commands. I promise you, it will be worth it.”
Darkness consumes me as she wraps the fabric around my eyes and takes away the arousing sight of her. As a texture sensitive person, it’s a disarming feeling to have my sight taken away from me. Seeing what’s coming helps me prepare for things that may cause a negative reaction from me. But I trust Sloan more than most when it comes to my body. She’s known how to touch me from the second we met. And the light in her eyes that seared into me just before she blindfolded me turns me on more than the flesh on her body. If this is what she needs, I’m going to give it to her. One hundred percent.
Her lips brush against my earlobe as she pulls the knot tight. “Trust me, Gareth. Those moments when you want to stop, when you want to think, when you want to control…Just push yourself past those feelings. Force yourself to be in the now with me. No past. No future. Just my voice.”
I can feel my Adam’s apple bob in my throat from the sultry tone and I want it. Now. I want my jeans off. I want her clothes off. I want to be inside of her. I want everything she’s denying me.
More than anything, I want to be free. From my mind. From my thoughts. From my past and my future. I want this.
“Let’s do this, Treacle.”
My panties are soaked as I slide off of Gareth’s lap and stare at his gladiator body, shirtless and blindfolded in front of me. His scruffy jaw. His chest rising and falling in suspense as the sound of my clothes dropping to the floor narrates the scene.
It’s erotic as hell. To have a man so strong, so masculine, so intense and mysterious just sit here and wait for my next move is the most sensual experience of my life.
“What are you doing there, Tre?” he asks, his voice more timid than before. The anticipation is clearly weighing heavily on him.
“I’m getting naked.” I bite my lip so I remain serious because this is serious. He’s trusting me to be confident, and I’m trusting myself to be woman enough for this. That’s why I had to do this blindfold thing. I said it’s for trust and it partially is. Mostly, it’s because I feel like I need a barrier between us. A shield to hide the crazy nerves roaring in my limbs.
I don’t want to be nervous. I want to be brave. I want to dive into this arrangement head first and live for once in my damn life. I can do this.
Once fully naked, I glance at my reflection in the glass wall of his closet. My heart falters. I barely recognise the woman staring back at me. She’s naked and curvy, and her hair is tousled in a sexy, effortless sort of way I could never recreate on purpose. She has a wild, excited look in her eyes that I haven’t seen in a long, long time.
The idea is insane because I work in fashion. Mirrors and appearance are the cornerstones of what I do. I take great care to present myself on a level that my clients will be comfortable with. I look the part of a stylish stylist.
But at some point, I stopped looking at my reflection. I was focused on the clothes, and the hair, and the makeup, but I didn’t actually see the person staring back. Maybe it’s because I didn’t like who I saw.
But I like who’s staring back at me now. I like her a lot.
“Sloan?” Gareth’s voice snaps me out of my reverie.
My reply is instant. “Stand up.” My jaw is taut, legs wide, eyes assessing his every muscle.
His furrowed brow lifts curiously as he uses his thick forearms to push himself to a standing position. Now that I’m completely naked and barefoot in front of him, he seems like a giant. I’m five-nine, but I push six foot in heels, so Gareth is normally only an inch or two taller than me. As we are now, my eyes barely meet his jaw.
It doesn’t slow me down. “I’m going to touch you, Gareth. A lot,” I state, stepping so close to him that I can feel the heat of his skin on my nipples. “Will that be okay?”
The wrinkle in his brow indicates that he’s nervous. “S—sure.”
“You have to trust me, Gareth,” I reply, pressing a firm hand on the thick bulge in his jeans. “If you put all your trust in me, you don’t have to worry about your texture sensitivity. I’ll tell you how to feel.”
His throat moves with a slow swallow as he nods. “Okay.”
“Good,” I husk and blow cool air against his chest.
A deep noise rumbles from his throat as goosebumps flare up over his pecs, his nipples becoming impossibly firmer.
“Take your jeans off.”
He does as he’s told. When he stands to his full height again—shoulders wide, legs thick, muscles tense and waiting—it feels like I’m standing at the helm of a ship during a perfect storm. A storm where anything could happen. Death, life, crash, or the most exhilarating ride of my life.
Without hesitation, I move to press my bare flesh against his. Smooth against scratchy. Soft against firm.
“Fuck me,” he murmurs when his bare cock rubs against my lower belly.
I press my lips to the mound of his pec. “I intend to,” I reply, dipping my head and swirling my tongue around his nipple.
“Christ,” Gareth falters. His hands wrap around my body in response, one in my hair and the other cupping my ass cheek.
I bite down on the nubby flesh and he hisses loudly. “You’re not supposed to be touching, Gareth.”
His hands drop, and I glance down to see them fisted at his sides in frustration. If I could see his eyes, I am sure they’d be shooting daggers.
“This is making me crazy, Sloan.”
“Good.”
“I want to feel you.”
“I’m letting you.”
“With my hands.”
“Well, where’s the fun in that?” I slide my hand down his forearm and twine my fingers with his, pulling them up so they are between us. “Besides, this is about my control. Not yours. Stop trying to rock the boat.”
The tense muscle in his jaw relaxes. “That’s your second boat pun. I’m going to start to confuse you with my brother Camden if you’re not careful.”
“Does this remind you of your brother?” I ask, placing his hands on my breasts.
His smartass remark is completely forgotten when he realises what he’s touching.
If there’s one part of my body I can say that I’m proud of, it’s my breasts. Motherhood didn’t ruin them like it does for so many women. Mine remain the same teardrop, handful they were before. No more. No less.
Gareth’s rough palms massage the two masses of flesh like a caveman testing the strength of a rock. I stare down at his hands on me, grateful for the blindfold because it allows me the freedom to watch unabashedly. His skin is so tan and virile compared to the pale complexion of my chest.
I stifle a moan as he gently rolls my nipples between his fingers. The pressure causes a warmth to shoot through the core of my body, and I have to grip his elbows for balance.
“It’s like I’m reading Braille,” Gareth says, his jaw slack as he continues blindly assessing every inch. “You know I’ve yet to see these in the flesh, right?”
“I’m aware,” I croak, my need becoming too much for me to handle. “I need you to sit down.”
His low chuckle is like fresh oxygen as he reaches backwards for the sofa and lowers his naked body onto it. Without a word, I walk over to his nightstand where I recall him grabbing a condom from the last time. I am pleased to see he still has several left. When I grab one, my eyes catch sight of a tiny piece of familiar black fabric. I grasp the bundle and spread it out to see it’s the ripped panties from our first night together. He kept them all this time? I don’t know if I should be touched or creeped out.
“Sloan, where are you?”
“I’m right here,” I reply, shaking off my thoughts and returning to where he waits for me.
I rest one knee on the sofa beside him and press my front against his side, allowing some delicious skin-on-skin action as I comb my hands through his thick hair. He practically purrs when I tug his head back and run my tongue along his throat.
“Do you like that?” I ask, nibbling on his earlobe and tightening my grip in his hair.
“Yes,” he pants.
“Do you want more?”
“God, yes.”
I bring my other knee up so I’m kneeling next to him, my ass arched up as I splay one hand on his thigh and one on his shoulder. I kiss my way down his chest, his abs, careful to avoid his dick when I press open-mouthed kisses on each of his muscled thighs.
Removing my hand from his thigh, I grip his length in a sudden, strong embrace.
“Oh fuck.” He bites his lip and shifts uncomfortably in the seat as I test the firmness of his length, blowing cool air on the thick vein that runs along the underside of his cock.
“Do you want me to fuck you, Gareth?”
“Treacle, I’ve wanted you to fuck me for the past year.”
“Say that word again.”
“Which one?”
“You know which one.”
He swallows slowly, steeling himself to sound stable. “Fuck.”
“Yes,” I husk.
“Fuck,” he repeats.
“Yes,” I husk again and my tongue swipes the vein on his shaft.
He nearly jolts off the sofa. “Fuck!”
I wrap my lips around him and suck him back as far as I can handle.
“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, Sloan,” he groans, his hands sliding into my hair.
“Pull my hair,” I pant, then drop back down on him.
He takes care to shape my hair into a ponytail so he’s pulling all the locks with the same pressure. Matching my motions on his dick, he pulls back and releases with every bob of my head, riding me instead of steering me. Dampness seeps out between my legs and my desire to have more takes over.
Unceremoniously, I release him from my mouth and feel around the sofa for the condom I abandoned earlier. I’m grateful Gareth can’t see my trembling fingers as I rip open the condom and slide it over his throbbing, soaked erection.
“Fuck, Treacle.” Gareth’s voice is rough with desire as I position myself astride him and press his tip between my folds.
I pause there, taking in the full sight of him. Hands out to his sides, palms up, body tense and waiting. Waiting for whatever I’m willing to give him. He’s so incredibly sexy. Most men wouldn’t accept this kind of role reversal. They’d feel emasculated. Callum certainly would have.
But Gareth isn’t like most men. He’s hard and soft. Strong and flexible. He’s huge and muscled but willing to be completely at my mercy.
“Take off the blindfold,” I demand.
He hesitates for a moment before pulling the fabric down so it hangs around his neck.
Now’s the time Gareth could look at my body. My breasts, my pussy. The apex where his condom-covered dick sits, waiting for enclosure. There is mountains of flesh he could gawk at, but his eyes are locked on mine. His hazel eyes—framed by long, dark lashes and a serious brow—are trained on my face, witnessing everything I’m feeling.
Without a word, I sink down onto him, shifting my legs out as wide as possible to take him as deep as he can go. Both of our jaws drop in silent cries and our foreheads press together as our bodies adjust to the pressure. I haven’t had sex with anyone since Gareth over a year ago, and my body is reminding me of that painful fact.
But there’s always a beauty with this kind of pain and burning ache that’s like scratching an itch to the point of orgasm. It doesn’t take long for my hips to begin grinding against the tightness of him inside of me, digging into that delicious pain.
“Touch me, Gareth.” My lips drag up his forehead as I throw my head back and shift even deeper on top of him. “I want to feel your hands all over me.”
“With pleasure,” he growls and begins a smooth coast up my legs and over my ass. Then his hands continue a strong slide up my spine, pausing to grip my hair in a tight squeeze.
“Yes,” I moan. “Pull it.”
He obeys and takes the opportunity to press his lips to my neck, inhaling deeply as he does. “You smell so fucking good,” he husks, suckling at the pulse thundering in my throat. “And you taste even better.”
“More,” I croon and swirl my hips on his lap. “I need to hear your voice, Gareth. Tell me everything you’re thinking.”
“I can’t wait to feel you come on my cock,” he replies instantly, his other hand digging into the meat of my ass cheek, riding the rocking motion of my pelvis. “When I felt you come on my fingers last night, it took everything I had not to come all over myself.”
“I would have been so mad.”
“Why?” he asks, clearly teeing me up to talk dirty back to him.
“Because I want to feel you come,” I reply, grabbing his hair firmly and yanking his face from my neck so he looks into my eyes. I stare him down as I use his shoulder for leverage to begin bouncing on his lap. “I told you this cock is mine and I meant it.”
His eyes hood at the increased friction. “Fucking hell,” he moans, his own hips thrusting up to meet every drop of pressure I’m giving him.
“Faster, Gareth. Fuck me. Fuck me hard.”
A frenzy takes hold of both of us. Next thing I know, I’m screaming for him to flip us over. He lays me across the length of the sofa, and I prop one foot on the arched back as he positions himself between my legs. He grabs my other leg and begins thrusting into me so hard, I have to hold my breath to stop myself from erupting instantly. No man I’ve ever slept with could keep a pace like this, but Gareth seems to be doing it without breaking a sweat.
So this is why women lust after athletes. The strength. The muscles. The stamina.
I score my nails up his back, relishing the feeling of his muscles flexing with every pump of his hips, and he grunts from the pain of my hold. What began as a warm, controlled fire in the hearth has exploded into a raging house fire that will desecrate every cognizant thought in my mind.
I can’t speak. Noises are coming out of me, but I’m not willing them to do so. And despite how much I crave Gareth’s dirty mouth, I don’t have the energy or the mindset to utter a single demand.
I don’t know who’s in control anymore. All I know is when we finally fall over that cliff together—when that fire hose smothers the raging inferno—all that’s left is smoke, sweat, and heavy breathing. A cloud of delirious ecstasy.
Gareth pulls out and lifts his heavy weight off of me, sitting up between my legs and pulling off the condom right in front of me. I watch the veins in his forearms as he ties a knot and drops the rubber on the floor. In one swift move, he rolls us so I’m on top of him. His softening penis presses against my belly as my head and hair splay across his damp chest.
His fingers find my hair as I stare at the wall, recovering from the shock of such a powerful orgasm. I would have thought the slickened feeling of sweaty flesh on sweaty flesh would bother Gareth, but he doesn’t seem tense. He seems relaxed, the rise and fall of his chest slowing as he catches his breath.
Gareth’s voice is hoarse and muffled in my ears when he croaks, “If that was the main course, I do hope you’ll be offering seconds.” His fingers brush my scalp as he mindlessly plays with my hair.
With a smirk, I muster all the strength I have to lift my head and rest my chin on his chest. “I think I’m definitely up for seconds.”