“What are you doing here?” I ask as I open the door, my eyes trained on his green ones.
“What in the fuck happened to your face, Imogen?” he barks as he barges past me into my living room.
After closing and locking the door, I turn around to see him standing in the living room, his angry gaze on me, his jaw clenched and his balled fists resting on his hips, waiting for an answer. I inhale a deep breath before opening my mouth to speak, but he can’t stand waiting.
“He do that to you?” he asks as his arms move and hang loosely at his sides, attempting to appear relaxed, although he’s anything but.
“After the party,” I admit with a nod. “I broke it off with him.”
His eyes narrow, “He hit you because you broke up with him?”
“Graham assumed I was breaking it off with him because you were back,” I state. “The driver held him back once we were in front of my house. I ran inside and set the alarm.”
“Fuck,” he bites. “Why didn’t you call me?”
I look up and into his eyes, which are focused on me and still angry; but I have a feeling he’s as much angry with me right now as he is with Graham, and that pisses me off.
“Why would I call you?” I huff.
“Maybe because I’m your husband, and it’s my job to protect you, and he fucking hit you,” he roars.
I jerk back as though he’s the one who’s just hit me and stare at him, my mouth agape before anger builds inside of me.
Fuck. Him.
“Your job is to protect me?” I say with harsh laughter.
“Imogen,” he hisses, his tone one of warning.
“No, really, explain to me how you’ve protected me? Were you protecting me while you were high as a kite, fucking whores, and I was home alone? I mean, I’m curious as hell,” I say, crossing my arms under my breasts.
“I never hit you,” he grinds through clenched teeth.
“No, that was the one shitty thing you never did. But you cheated on me, probably more times than I could even count,” I say, tipping my head to the side and watching as his eyes cloud over, knowing I’m right.
In a flash, he’s in front of me, one hand gently cupping my bruised cheek, the other clamped firmly around my waist. His thumb traces my bruise, and his lips are so close they’re almost touching mine when he speaks.
“I’ll kill him for marking you, sunshine,” he whispers.
It’s as if all of the breath has left my lungs. They burn and my eyes sting as they water. Peace washes over me, as though my body suddenly feels warm and safe in his arms.
I swallow the lump in my throat and try not to cry. I feel like I can finally breathe for the first time since Graham’s hand lashed out against my cheek. I’m safe. I won’t admit that he’s right, that he makes me feel safe and protected—but right now, I do feel just that.
Then his words repeat in my head and my breath is lost for a while other reason—Sunshine. A name he hasn’t called me in at least ten years. As much as I love it, I hate it at the same time.
“Sloane,” I warn.
“Baby, I don’t give a fuck what kind of bitchy attitude you threw at him. A man doesn’t put hands on a woman, especially not my woman. My cum was still inside your pussy and he hurt you,” he rasps.
I fight to get out his grasp, but he only holds me tighter. If I don’t fight him right now, that blanket of safety will consume me completely, and I’ll give in to him—again.
“I’m not yours,” I growl.
“My name’s on your body, my ring on your finger, and you have my last name. I explained this shit to you; makes you one hundred percent mine, Genny,” he growls right back at me.
“We don’t work, Sloane. I’m not yours, and the divorce is happening,” I practically plead. I need him to release me, he makes me feel way too much.
I watch as his eyes alight with humor and he laughs, his voice deep as it washes over me. Dammit, I love it. I hate that I love it, too. His scent, his warmth coming from his body, and then his damn laugh makes my body feel hot. Not to mention the way the rough pad of his thumb gently runs over my bruised face over and over. It’s too much.
“We work, sunshine. We’ve always worked where it counts,” he rasps. “I was too fucking baked, searching for the next high, too fucked up in my head, to be any good to you before, but we work. We fucking work, baby.”
“What’s different now?” I ask, trying not to sound as breathless as I feel, staring up into his green eyes. “Why are you saying all of this? Why do you care?”
“I’m sober,” he says simply.
“Yeah? For how long?”
I watch as he bites his lip and studies me. Stupidly, my body wants all of him, right now. Saturday night was not enough. It’d been so long. Now that I’ve had a taste, I want more. I always want more when it comes to him. So much more.
As much as I should hate myself for it, I can’t—my heart has always wanted Sloane and nobody else. My body has always craved him, as though it can never get enough of him, no matter how badly he’s hurt me, time and time again.
“Can’t tell the future,” he states.
I feel supremely disappointed. It’s not the answer I wanted from him, but it’s probably more honest than the answer I crave.
“I can’t waste any more years,” I murmur. “I’m over it all.”
“Imogen?”
“I’m thirty-five, Sloane. I want a family. I’ve wanted a family for a long time. Graham was offering that to me, and I’m not going to lie, it was tempting. As my father says, I’m old, and nobody will want me anymore. I can’t help but feel that there’s something out there for me; but at the end of the day, I want a baby, and I want a husband who loves me,” I admit.
I feel as though a weight has been lifted off of my chest just by saying the words out loud.
“But you don’t want those things with me?” Sloane asks, taking a step back from me and dropping his hands from my body. That fear climbs up my throat again, threatening to choke me just at the loss of his hands on my skin.
“I waited for those things for years, Sloane,” I whisper.
“I can’t just let you go, knowing you’ll be going to another man. Not when you’re right here, wearing my old Devils shirt—not when you’re still mine,” he rasps. Without another word, he closes the distance between us and crashes his lips against mine. “Not when my sunshine is still inside, burning. Not when my stupidity didn’t completely extinguish that flame.”
Lifting my hands, I place my palms on his chest to push him away, but he’s solid and doesn’t even move a millimeter. Sloane’s tongue tastes my lips as his hands wrap around my ass and squeezes me roughly. I moan, and he takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into my mouth.
His stroke his firm and warm, and I can’t help but think about the stroke of his cock as his tongue takes over. One of his hands slides up my back and tangles into my ponytail as he twists my head to the side to deepen our kiss. He groans before nibbling on my lips and then presses his forehead to mine.
“Don’t walk away from me, sunshine,” he whispers.
“Too much has happened between us for this to work out,” I say, my voice trembling.
“We’re too good together for it not to work.”
Closing my eyes, I admit, “I’m tired of hurting.”
I’ve never admitted to Sloane how much his actions hurt me. I’ve always withheld sex or acted like a bitch to him, but I’ve never come right out and told him how his actions truly affect me. I’m not the same person I was three years ago, and I’m willing to admit the truth to him now. He needs to know.
When he went away, I felt free. I took a good two-years to work on me, to reflect and really examine the woman I had become. I hated myself, and that wasn’t all because of him, it was me too.
I’m definitely not the same woman as the one he left three years ago; and yet, I’m not much different, either. I’m still vulnerable and scared, strong and independent�
��except now, I want to voice my feelings rather than bottle them up.
I’m tired of hurting.
Genny’s words ring in my ears as I press my forehead against hers and just breathe. I did this to her. Nobody but me. I hurt her. I knew I did, and yet I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. And had I not been locked up, I wouldn’t have stopped.
“I’ve worked on myself for the past three years, done a lot of soul searching, and I want it all, Sloane. But I don’t know if you can give it to me,” she murmurs against my lips. My chest aches at the pain in her voice and the accuracy of her words.
I don’t know if I can give her everything, either.
But I’m not about to let another man give it to her.
I’m a selfish fuck, and Imogen is mine.
So, I take another deep breath and give her the words she needs to hear.
“I won’t hurt you anymore, sunshine,” I lie. I’ll hurt her. It’s inevitable—I don’t know how not to.
“Sloane,” she moans, sounding pained.
I move my hands, sliding one underneath her shirt, and then shove it down her jeans to cup her ass and squeeze her soft flesh. The other hand I move up her side, beneath the shirt, and wrap it around her ribs, sliding my thumb over her nipple from the outside of her bra.
“You’re mine, Imogen,” I remind her. Her body trembles against me.
When her eyes meet mine, I know she’s relented, like she always does. I give one more squeeze at her tit and her ass before I release her. I then reach down and pick her up by her thighs before I carry her to bed.
“And I’m going to show you right now, just how mine you fucking are.”
I let out a squeak as he carries me to my bedroom. I have to direct him once he’s up the stairs, but then, as soon as we enter the room, he tosses my body across it and onto the bed. I expect him to pounce on me, but he doesn’t. He stands in the middle of the room and looks around.
My master bedroom is decorated in all extremely pale greys and bright whites, except for a few medium gray decorative pillows on my bed and my dark grey sheets.
I have an all metal gold nightstand with a glass top and two white club chairs in front of the three windows that look out at the valley and city around us.
“This fits you,” he murmurs, looking around before his green eyes connect to mine. “It’s light and soft, like you,” he says, tipping his lips in a grin.
I shake my head slightly at his words.
“Why are you wearing my shirt, sunshine?” he asks, using that fucking nickname again as he prowls toward me.
My only answer is to shrug. I’m not about to really tell him why it’s the only thing I took with me from our life together in Shasta. That and my gigantic wedding ring that sits on my finger, since I’m unable to let it go. I don’t dare tell him why I still wear it, just enjoying the weight of it on my finger.
“You miss your man?” he asks as his hands slide up the outside of my thighs and underneath said shirt. He drags it up and over my body, causing me to shiver.
I watch as his eyes take in my torso, my bra covered breasts, my ribs, and my stomach. When they get back to mine, I expect to see them heated with desire, but instead he looks angry.
“You look too skinny, baby,” he murmurs as he unbuttons my jeans and yanks them down my legs, leaving me in just my bra and panties.
I don’t bother responding to his words. I’ve lost weight, and I haven’t decided if I hate it or love it. Graham loved it, but he’s a piece of shit, so I’m leaning toward hating it.
I suck in a breath when he lowers to his knees, his lips touching below the center of my ribs. He then kisses his way down my stomach, his tongue swirling around my belly button before he reaches the top waistband of my panties.
He gently tugs my panties down my legs, and without a warning, his tongue licks my entire slit before it swirls around my clit.
“Sloane,” I moan.
His tongue dips inside of me while his hands move to my ass and lifts me up slightly, pulling me even closer to him.
I gasp when his teeth graze my clit, one of my hands flying behind me to hold onto the comforter, and the other diving into his thick, blond hair. I spread my legs a little wider and arch my back, pushing my pussy even closer to his face.
He moans and starts to devour me, his mouth and tongue working me to the brink of a climax. Just when I’m about to fall over the edge, he sits back, moving away from me.
“What? Why?” I practically cry.
“Want you to come on my cock,” he murmurs as he slowly stands.
I watch him undress, a whimper escaping my lips when he’s completely naked. His body is bigger than it was three years ago, his muscles more defined.
My eyes dart down to his hard cock, and I bite my lip at the sight. When my eyes go back up his body, I notice that he’s got his cocky grin in place at my obvious ogling, and I roll my eyes.
Sloane leans over my body and presses his lips to mine before he moves them to my ear.
“Come ride me, sunshine. I want to see that body I’ve been dreaming about for three years above me,” he whispers.
My entire body breaks out in a shiver, and I nod. He throws back my comforter, sending pillows flying everywhere before he props his back up against the ones that didn’t go skidding across the room. I roll over and lift myself to my knees, removing my bra as I make my way toward him, then straddle him.
“Fuck,” he rasps as his hand slides from my stomach, up between my breasts, and around the back of my neck.
“Condom?” I breathe.
Sloane grunts, before he shakes his head. “No more of that, sunshine. It’s just us now, only us.” I make a noise in the back of my throat and close my eyes, wishing that his words could be the truth. “Baby,” he murmurs shaking me gently and I open my eyes. “I’m fucking serious, nobody else. Just you and me, from now on.”
He squeezes my neck as I take him inside of me, sitting until I’m completely full of him. Sloane is focused on me, and maybe it’s just me wanting to see it, but the truth to his statement is there. Damn if I don’t want to believe every word, every single freaking word.
I look down and into his green eyes, which are now full of desire, need, and want. His hands wrap around my waist, and I expect him to force me to move, but he doesn’t. He just watches me, his head slightly tilted, his eyes roaming over my face but nowhere else.
“You’re mine,” he rumbles, giving my waist a squeeze. “All of you. It was meant for only me.”
I fight back the tears that threaten to spill at his words. I want to ask him if all of me was meant for him, then why wasn’t all of him meant for me, but I don’t.
Instead, I close my eyes, unable to look into his for another minute, and I ride my husband. It doesn’t take long for the orgasm that I had been on the brink of only a few moments ago to return.
Sloane moves one of his hands from my waist to press his thumb against my clit. My entire body shakes as my head drops back, and I let everything else wash away and only feel. I feel the way our bodies fit together, the way his hands slide over my skin—his fingers rough. When I come, my entire body locks up and I let that orgasm roll through me.
Without skipping a beat, Sloane flips me onto my back and drives into me, his pelvis thrusting against mine as he fills me over and over until his muscles tremble above me and he lets out a moan with his own release. His body sags, and he buries his face in my neck with a long groan as his thrusts continue, slowly and languidly.
“You aren’t leaving me,” he whispers against my neck.
I try not to react, but my body must tense because he lifts his head and his eyes meet mine before he tips his head to the side in question.
“Tell me, Genny,” he murmurs as he lifts one of his hands and traces my hairline, with his fingertips.
I shake my head, but he doesn’t let it go. He urges me again to tell him what I’m thinking, and so I do. I can’t hold it in.
“If all
of me is meant for you, then why isn’t all of you meant for me, Sloane?” I ask.
He freezes as his eyes meet mine, his cock still inside of me, and his weight on me. I know he’s angry because his jaw clenches, and I watch a muscle in his cheek jump.
“Sloane?” I hesitate when we sit in silence for what feels like a lifetime.
“You know the life, babe,” he says as though its no big deal.
“Get off of me,” I grind out.
One of his hands moves to wrap around my hip, and I know exactly where he has it. He squeezes the tattoo that says Soar, in pretty black lettering with black birds around it. Then his eyes meet mine and he gives me a cocky grin.
“It’s the life, Genny. You don’t get to just run away when you don’t like something. We make it work. We always make it work,” he grunts as he slips out of my body and sits back against the headboard.
“While that is fine and dandy for you, because you get to do whatever you want to, it doesn’t work for me anymore,” I state. He only laughs.
“Sunshine, it takes me less than five minutes to remind you just how much we do work together just fine.”
I narrow my eyes on him and decide to get out of bed and away from him. I don’t get far. He sits up and reaches for me, pulling my front against his and holding me against his body. I look up at him, giving him my most evil eye, but he only laughs.
“Lay it out for me, babe, tell me what you want,” he offers. I narrow my eyes on him, but he is the epitome of cool, calm, and collected.
“You really want to know?” I ask, sounding bitchy but not really caring at the moment.
“Yeah. Wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t,” he smarts back at me.
“Like I said, I want a baby, more than one if its possible. I want a husband who loves me.”
He shrugs, “Already love you, Imogen. You want a kid, it’s yours,” acting as if it’s no big deal.
Rough & Rich (Notorious Devils Book 6) Page 7
